Charles C. Seton, 1883
And then, the lover sighting like furnace with a woeful ballad made to his mistress’ eyebrow, Act II Scene VII from As you like it

He gazed upon his lover…

wondering what was lost in him

To have been so tempted by her lips,

her skin’s stillness under his touch

Reaching beyond the heaviness; the quagmire of his days

filling the loss of something he could not understand–

it’s mere existence weighing down the spirit of himself

Something lost in his soul

as if from birth he was torn from her

And only in flesh their joy reunited

He looked upon his lover…

and wept

Spiritual Quest

Edvard Munch, Selvportrett (Self-Portrait) 1881-82

Guest Post: Tim Rhatigan

Spiritual Quest

I used to believe 

we all needed a quest

to find out who we are

That life was one such journey

And it may be

But why should it not be

just everyday madness

Insanity is sanity

unless it’s sublime

And while I love the work

I don’t need another job

Am I Missing Something

Guest Post: Tim Rhatigan

Sconset Beach, Nantucket, by Edward Emerson Simmons, 1916


Days and nights 

roll in and out

like waves

with no notice

of tiny sand pebbles 

or life’s daily drama

The sand is silent 

to the sea’s shifting tides

our prayers fall short 

of the stars circling above

returning stubborn silence

to anxious hearts

Unraveling Eternity

(Spring, Edvard Munch, 1889)

Unraveling Eternity

They tell me you are dying

Don’t they know? 

From the moment you took your first breath you were dying             

you knew that

The girl who saw the shadows as doorways

An opening exposing pasts that can never change

A hint of the future with multiple yous

Untapped, undiscovered, and predetermined all the same

Wondering wide-eyed into the light

Adventures only limited to the what the imagination could inspire

Feelings unraveled that were never tempered–not with you–               

anger and love equal in fervor

Where is all that now?

Now that your body is no longer the vessel of experience

Questioning the reasons; tortured by the reality of Hell…

            this process of death

I have looked upon you as a goddess–a warrior of life

A boundary breaker of a soul’s purpose

You didn’t limit your perspective

            you saw the truth in living

And now as death reaches for your grasp

You pull back not in fear, merely an instinctual recoil

Not haunted by what has been, or even what is

            but in wonder as to where you are going next?

The Matrix

(Satan Smiting Job with Sore Boils, William Blake, c1826)

The Matrix

Fierce is the storm that rises from the abyss

All must yield in its path

The weak curl; the timid falter

Only conviction of mind, strength of will, does one push through

Damaged and drained, savagery sneers 

Darkening the brilliance of Source

The depths of Hell keep coming

There is no reprieve, only openings for despair–

Moments of bliss are only deceptions of reality

Belief in the Almighty spares your spirit

But Evil’s wrath ravages your soul

A feather is no weapon against a sword

And yet, we still breathe in the rapture of existence