The Tifareth eight-fold path, Jane Adams
Month: October 2012
Words! … words! … words! They have shackled and chained you, O children of the mists and the mountains; they have imprisoned you, and walled you up in the dungeon of a lightless reason.
Osiria Rose has a lovely two color combination of blood-red petals on the inside and silvery white on the outside
Ave Babalon
Those who seek should not stop seeking until they find. When they find, they will be disturbed. When they are disturbed, they will marvel, and will reign over all. [And after they have reigned they will rest.]
Jesus, The Gospel of Thomas (via gnowing)
16-year-old boy named Tariq Aziz, who had volunteered to learn photography to begin documenting drone strikes near his home. Within 72 hours of the meeting, Aziz was killed in a U.S. drone strike. His 12-year-old cousin was also killed in the October. Did you seem him in the news?!
Oh! Tariq these rascals never even thought that your dreams were as valuable as Malala’s. That you wanted to get education just like Malala. Yet these NICE people…No body is going to talk about this, because it suggests that Americans are causing misery. That White men are the bad people. No one will talk about this because it does not fit the narrative of those killed in American war as barbaric, uneducated, savages deserving of death.
Beware the autumn people.
For some, autumn comes early, stays late, through life, where October follows September and November touches October and then instead of December and Christ’s birth there is no Bethlehem Star, no rejoicing, but September comes again and old October and so on down the years, with no winter, spring or revivifying summer.
For these beings, fall is the only normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond.
Where do they come from? The dust.
Where do they go? The grave.
Does blood stir their veins? No, the night wind.
What ticks in their head? The worm.
What speaks through their mouth? The toad.
What sees from their eye? The snake.
What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars.
They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth. In gusts they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen, and surely cloud all clear-run waters. The spider-web hears them, trembles—breaks.
Such are the autumn people.
Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962)e (via amber-and-ice)