Nature's Vibrant Light, So Exquisite

To create is to pull different threads 

of several things together to birth something new.

Creation is an endless journey of inner self-inquiry, 
outer movement and boundless imagination 
rising from our sacred spaces. 

Creativity is a mosaic, a recipe, a tapestry, 

a breathing changing kaleidoscope
of potent living creation.

We cannot miss any story that we are 

destined to live and experience.

Nature's Creative Gifts

"THE island dreams under the dawn

And great boughs drop tranquillity;

The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,

A parrot sways upon a tree,

Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.

Here we will moor our lonely ship

And wander ever with woven hands,

Murmuring softly lip to lip,

Along the grass, along the sands,

Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:

How we alone of mortals are

Hid under quiet boughs apart,

While our love grows an Indian star,

A meteor of the burning heart,

One with the tide that gleams, 

the wings that gleam

and dart,

The heavy boughs, the burnished dove

That moans and sighs a hundred days:

How when we die our shades will rove,

When eve has hushed the feathered ways,

With vapoury footsole by the water's drowsy blaze."

by William Butler Yeats

Every Day You Play

Every day you play with the light of the universe.

Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.

You are more than this white head that I hold tightly

as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.

Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.

Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?

Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.

The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.

Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.

The rain takes off her clothes.

The birds go by, fleeing.

The wind. The wind.

I can contend only against the power of men.

The storm whirls dark leaves

and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

You are here. Oh, you do not run away.

You will answer me to the last cry.

Cling to me as though you were frightened.

Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,

and even your breasts smell of it.

While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies

I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,

my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.

So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,

and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you.

A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.

I go so far as to think that you own the universe.

I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,

dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.

I want

to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

by Pablo Neruda

Southern Beech Forest

Forests of cascading moss—

trees webbed with a green bewitchment

not of their making.

It’s the woods you imagined for Sleeping Beauty

—lichen pours from the boughs

like a green arrested waterfall.

Here it seems to have always lately rained, the drops

still swimming on the leaf, boles beaded with droplets,

like a water jug.

Below, are the half-aquatic ferns

that thrive on a twilit glow at midday;

the fronds shine like gills

perpetually glibbed with water.

The forest has two weathers, rain and drip-dry.

It ingests sunlight and rain in half-hour doses, mixing them

with odd exudates of planet-skin to build this loam, this roof.

Such thickets Earth draws round her like a shawl

to keep out heat and chill, remnants of

old Gondwanaland beech forests

that carry with them still

the breath of paradise, since

now it seems agreed that Eden must

have been rain forest.

by Mark O'Conner

The Numbers

Radiohead

It holds us like a phantom

The touch is like a breeze

It shines its understanding

See the moon smiling

Open on all channels

Ready to receive

And we're not at the mercy

Of your shimmers or spells

Your shimmers or spells

We are of the earth

To her we do return

The future is inside us

It's not somewhere else

It's not somewhere else

It's not somewhere else

One day at a time

We call upon the people

People have this power

The numbers don't decide

Your system is a lie

The river running dry

The wings of a butterfly

And you may pour us away like soup

Like we're pretty broken flowers

We'll take back what is ours

Take back what is ours

One day at a time

One Moment In Time,
Breathe as Nature, as Nature's Creation,
We are born from this sacred earth
Our Ultimate Light Being.

Divine and Gentle Friend.

Tounka means

innovation, independence, determination, courage, sincerity and activity.