Balanced On The Edge

CAREFULLY BALANCED ON THE EDGE OF A HOLE IN TIME

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  • About Balanced on the Edge – Balanced On the Edge
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  • Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd
  • the view from my precarious perch

    • About Balanced on the Edge – Balanced On the Edge

    At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is, But neither arrest nor movement.

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    Balanced On The Edge - Kindle edition by Lindia Platt, Laurel DiGangi. Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, phones or tablets. Use features. Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd— a personal memoir that captures every aspect of the s through the eyes of an insecure and reckless girl.

    And do not call it fixity, Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards, Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point, There would be no dance, and there is only the dance. You are commenting using your WordPress.

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    You are commenting using your Twitter account. You are commenting using your Facebook account. Notify me of new comments via email. Folly Beach Tania Rochelle: Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Email required Address never made public.

    For over years, children were torn from their parents, families were torn apart, and now we have the mass incarceration of a disproportionate number of people of color. These are difficult conversations to have, but we need to have them. The US government now continues the tragedy of white supremacy in their efforts to dehumanize and criminalize the people south of the border.

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    Write a product review. Her words gave me insight into how to go deeper into what I truly think about myself and the world and to try to put those thoughts into my writing. But experience counts for something. This art can also literally be worn in the public space in the form of a specially-designed badge with the same work. The elections and the onslaught of trolls and bots has left me fatigued with and leery of other social media outlets, and so I return to my own private Idaho on the web—my blog!

    This current administration is doing to Muslims and Latinos what plantation owners did to black people both during and after slavery. But here, in this memorial, there is hope and courage. If the black community can continue to have hope, I will, too. It is the very least we can do. Her interviews with accomplished poets are intimate, in-depth, and engaging.

    Sharon Olds seems to live in a kind of poetic trance state that resonates with me. She speaks of how she pays attention to the fleeting thoughts that come to her, the thoughts we humans have a tendency to sweep under the rug. Her words gave me insight into how to go deeper into what I truly think about myself and the world and to try to put those thoughts into my writing. I know I hold back a lot.

    Reverse edge is "balanced"

    The hardest part of writing and of living in general is to sift through received notions about the world and to instead open up to infinite possibilities. I hear it as NaPoRhyme—O.

    I would like to get rid of the National part of this abbreviated term, because the word national has taken on sinister connotations in the era we are now living in. Today I found the plaster Virgin with Child, Her mountaintop avatar wound with plastic rosary beads Left in offering.

    The setting of this journey poem is the Camino de Santiago in the Pyrenees. Go to this link to read the entire prompt and the first two stanzas: On the side of the path a pony skull Picked clean as a bleached sheet Sinks into the grass, eyes dull. On the hill they prance and bleat, Unaware they are alive only to be killed— Viand de cheval, a delicacy in this ville.

    • About Balanced on the Edge.
    • Dont Forget.
    • San AgustÍn (Santos. Amigos de Dios) (Spanish Edition).
    • The Art and Science of Stuffing Up Your Life.
    • A Gathering of Lions and Lambs: Book 1 of The Lions and Lambs Saga!
    • Edge Play.
    • Waltz.

    I could spend an entire day navigating the links Maria Popova includes in her articles on Brain Pickings. We thrive on support and love.

    Balanced on the Edge of the Crowd

    I may or may not come back to it. My latest just-for-the-fun-of-it project is based on a prompt from the book The Practice of Writing Poetry: This book is a treasure for anyone who wants to go deeper into their unconscious mind to reveal thoughts or feelings the waking mind refuses to acknowledge. Snively suggests beginning the poem with a predicament of some sort in which the speaker arrives at an unexpected location.

    The point is to interrupt our preconceived notions and let the poem take the poet on a journey, not the other way around. Snively gives a few pointers about how to achieve a certain cohesion in what will be a long narrative poem. Here are my first two stanzas.

    1. Ecocritical Theory: New European Approaches (Under the Sign of Nature)!
    2. .
    3. .
    4. Mechanical Engineering Primer!

    From between large clouds A bird of prey soars like an omen. My heart beats In my ears, from the climb, from the load I carry, set aside for now. As the breath stills,.

    The mountains extend, like branches of mind, Or mind attaches, an appendage of mountain. The body thins here, as though it were a kind Of muslin scrim between me, the air, the sun. Now permeable, flapping like a gauze blouse in the breeze clothes-pinned to a line, a ghost living with ease Of movement, like the bird, the sun, Tethered, but just barely, to the Pyrennes. Creating Space for the Sacred.

    the view from my precarious perch

    I read a story about astronaut Edgar Mitchell who, when he saw Earth from space, experienced a deep knowing, a profound sense that infused him entirely, that he was in the midst of a limitless cosmic mind. After his experience of seeing Earth from the surface of the moon, Mitchell created a center called The Institute of Noetic Science.

    But experience counts for something. When I woke up yesterday morning the light in the room was still dim. The closed door, stained dark walnut, looked like an open portal, a deep black tunnel. At the end of yoga class yesterday afternoon, when our teacher said to allow the mind to go into the deeper states of consciousness, this ink black portal, a door made of shadows, opened before me once again.

    Corpse pose is a preparation for death, not a moment to fear, but rather a letting go. I slide into the velvety, warm blackness, this state of consciousness where poetry is born.