Navigating Solutions and Darkness

Jodi kere nite bole/ Kabita thasa khata Jeno kere nite debona Jodi chhere nite bole/ Shohure kathakata Jeno ami chharte debona Ar ami ami jani jani  Chora-bali kato khani/ Gileche amader roj Ar ami ami jani jani  Proti rate hoyrani/ Harano shobder khonj Ar ebhabei narom balishe/ Tomar oi choker nalishe Benche thak porider snan Thonte niye benche thakar gaan  Ar ebhabei mukher chaadore/ Porichito haater aadore Sukhe thak rat porider snan Thonte niye bachiye raakhar gaan Jodi nimeshe harale/ Jibone poripaati Tobu here jete debona Jodi beche dite bale/ Shikore baadha mati Jeno ami bechde debo na  Ar ami ami jani jani  Chora-bali kato khani/ Gileche amader roj Ar ami ami jani jani  Proti rate hoyrani/ Harano shobder khonj Ar ebhabei narom balishe/ Tomar oi choker nalishe Benche thak porider snan Thonte niye benche thakar gaan  Ar ebhabei mukher chaadore/ Porichito haater aadore Sukhe thak rat porider snan Thonte niye bachiye raakhar gaan

I stand bewildered in the Room of Tapestries, and watch as looms of Fate weave the courses of lives. I wonder if it's worth anything to try and find the lines of my life among the invisible threads that crisscross all around me. Photo by Javid Naderi on Unsplash I settle myself on the floor, cross-legged, and look up at the open sky above. The room has no ceiling, for reasons long since forgotten. Outside, the last glimmers of sunset disappear behind a moss-covered hill. Lady Night spreads her mantle over the sleeping world. The humming in the Room of Tapestries becomes louder, more noticeable. The clack-clack of the many shuttles becomes faster, accelerating the rhythm of twilight into resonance with the night. The threads of a billion fates glitter in the moonlight above me. No longer invisible, they float like eerie insects on jeweled wings. I gaze up and up, till where the walls of the Room blend gently in with the indigo ceiling, studded with stars. A billion wis

It is troubling to see how easy it can be to dupe people into watching propaganda. Stick a pretty face onto the project, add in lots of scenes for maximum emotional impact. Some basic cliches about nationalism, some nonsense about one's blood boiling for one's country, orphaning kids in the course of war, and somehow managing to blame the other army for it. All nuance is immediately lost. Otherwise discerning people completely forget that violence isn't condoned in civil society. Simply because it's perpetrated on "terrorists" of a different nationality, all is justified. Our brave soldiers versus their barbarian hordes, over and over again. I'm all for necessary violence, to be sort of honest. But I've always felt that it should be through the neutral, detached, dispersal of justice rather than blind-rage fueled revenge fantasies. That's how people lose perspective. That's how you start thinking about the people who live down the road,

A new year already? I've been hanging out a lot lately with the kind of crowd I normally avoid. Not bad people, but problematic ones all the same. And I let all the terrible things they so casually say wash over me, and wonder how things can ever be different. I suspect the answer somehow involves the phrase "one step at a time". ----------------------- I've been working over the weekend because I dread the idea of being overwhelmed again on Monday. And because it doesn't really seem like work. I'm also taking a first step, and who knew editing and formatting a book of poetry would be so difficult? Who knew even the best of my own poetry was capable of setting my teeth on edge? ----------------------- I sort of broke up with someone this month. Weirdly enough, I sort of broke up with someone last month as well. And the month before that. It's been good practice for therapy, so something came of that. Some break ups more than others, but it is

Nanny knew all the old, dark stuff – old magic, magic that didn’t need witches, magic that was built into people and the landscape. It concerned things like death, and marriage, and betrothals. And promises that were promises even if there was no one to hear them. - I Shall Wear Midnight, Terry Pratchett