Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

Re: Southern Cross Review.org Nr. 63

Expand Messages
  • Frank Thomas Smith
    ... red!) ... Wow! I better start practicing now - I mean as a Lady in Red. (Let s hope Tango is still around then.) Here s some background:
    Message 1 of 79 , Feb 2, 2009
    • 0 Attachment
      --- In anthroposophy_tomorrow@yahoogroups.com, "sim1dg" <simonedim@...>
      wrote:
      >
      >
      >
      > --- In anthroposophy_tomorrow@yahoogroups.com, "Frank Thomas Smith"
      > eltrigal78@ wrote:
      > >
      > > I guess we'll have to wait till "next time".
      >
      >
      > That's fine Frank, I'll be a tango dancer and you, my partner.
      > This is the two of us in our next incarnations: (you look good in
      red!)
      > >

      > Love,
      >
      > Simone

      Wow! I better start practicing now - I mean as a Lady in Red. (Let's
      hope Tango is still around then.) Here's some background:
      http://southerncrossreview.org/59/tango2eng.htm
      Beijos,
      Frank
    • write3chairs
      ... I like this, Mike. What is interesting to me is how there is so much potential for depth in these conversations, if only we would ask the right questions,
      Message 79 of 79 , Feb 17, 2009
      • 0 Attachment
        --- In anthroposophy_tomorrow@yahoogroups.com, "Mike helsher" wrote:

        > Tarjei wrote:
        >
        > So it's much better to poke them with images and poetry...
        >
        > Mike:
        >
        > Yeah, little me would love to poke them, like with a pool cue or
        > something. But etheric prodding is the best I can do right now with a
        > poem I wrote that was inspired by my communications with the hole:
        >
        > Dim Wits
        > How dim are our wits compared to light itself?
        > Little pieces and bits that think that they think,
        > But not so do they ever think to shrink!
        >
        > The plant dies and returns to the ground,
        > Nurturing that from which it came,
        > And seeds! Oh glories seeds!
        > The wombs of our wits!
        >
        > My wit grows a picture unknown to the body,
        > Though charged with it,
        > Feeling arises, charges, vibrates, lives!
        >
        > Life, beautiful life! streaming in all directions!
        > Lighting all the wits that are dim -
        > That think only within, though light is ever flowing,
        > Encasing in a shell, creating a fragment:
        > A pin-prick on the Sun; the Sun a pin-prick in space!
        > And all that we are is dim, though buzzing with noise.
        > Chattering voices talking only to themselves,
        > Like a wound-up mechanical monkey:
        > Cymbals clanging never wondering who does the winding;
        > Never the eternity dreaming between the clangs!
        >
        > Who builds the snowman in me? that melts into time
        > As do all things...
        > Why so melted and alone?
        > "My poor fool is hanged," there is no jest,
        > What do I hear? What do I see?
        > What do I touch, feel, think?
        > The lights are so dim - so dim!
        > And yetÂ… and yetÂ…
        >
        >
        > Best
        >
        > Mike

        I like this, Mike. What is interesting to me is
        how there is so much potential for depth in
        these conversations, if only we would ask the
        right questions, press the right buttons, tickle
        the right nerve, the one that opens the door
        to learning the answers we'd really like to know.

        Jennifer
      Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.