Magic

Yet another post from our pal: Psyche’s Call with Donna May

“Our psyche can function as though space did not exist. The psyche can thus be independent of space, of time, and of causality. This explains the possibility of magic.” – C.G. Jung.

And the photo is so beautiful and contains that wondrous invitation of a gate. Of course the symbolism is so clear with there being no fence or wall next to the gate. Have we all not seen a gate or a door or an opening somewhere that we know we are to go through? Have we not also known, from time to time, that our body is just a container, a something that our spirit or soul or consciousness is to inhabit as we spend time in this body, this earth, this time.

Good Night

And now, dear friends, a sweet good night, and thoughts of Rilke to hold us tight.

And once more from our dear friend, Donna May. May we all dream on with thoughts of snow and angel wings. And may we plumb the depths of our own souls, our own center which cannot hold.

Soul Writing

“Your writing voice is the deepest possible reflection of who you are. The job of your voice is not to seduce or flatter or make well-shaped sentences. In your voice, your readers should be able to hear the contents of your mind, your heart, your soul.” — Meg Rosoff

(Art by Julia Inglis.)

Janis

NPRdjanis

Posted by NPR

She died some time this week, 47 years ago. Forty-seven years. I was driving down some street in Iowa City on my way to university when I heard the news on the radio. And there it was. The first thoughts are…No…No…what now?…who will sing those songs for us…who will know?…No…

When I got to the classroom it was silent. No one saying a word. The students in their chairs, the prof standing in front, leaning against the desk. In that silence, in that room on a beautiful day in Iowa City, we were struck. In the confusion of loss and sorrow

APjanisJoplin

AP—Janis Joplin, Woodstock

it was as if we all knew, all at once, that words could not—should not—be spoken. There was that current underneath, that whirlpool of something else that made words insignificant. There would never be enough, never enough of anything. No one else spoke Soul to Soul. No one else could sing the Blues. She was lost to us, and it was we, we who could not save her.