It strikes me how incredibly observant and sharp you are. And as if it was not already immense, you are also able to translate these insights into words like no one else that i know of. I often don't understand everything (I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer tbh) but, somehow, it does not really matter since I believe that you manage to make the essence magically sip into me. You are such a freaking magician!
That is profoundly generous. I do think that we all have access to the kind of non -consensual mindfulness that pain and illness force us into presence with. 🙏🏻🖤
I have witnessed, experienced and lived in and through several of nature's harshest displays; fires, floods, earthquakes. All of them quite liminal; wild and wondrous, awful and magnificent, beautiful and horrifying. You shared that experience so beautifully here, as terrible angels. Thank you, you are an amazing poet with words. A side note: Loving the Madonna Secret, more than half way through.
Thank you, Sophie, for this. The awareness that is growing. As more people are forced to see, and are starting to feel, or perhaps finally able to put words on that discomfort, that hitch in the breath at a a fleeting sense of . . . despair. Your words. My words. The stories we tell, the shapes and feelings they evoke. Are so necessary now. When Perdita said on Sunday, that nature isn’t nostalgic. . . (and I had read her post before that as well), they were words I needed to hear. As one summer, when it was so rainy (but not nearly like this year), and so many of the herbs and veggies and fleurs in the garden were suffering from rot. I’d make my daily rounds, picking off rot so it didn’t spread into the plant, feeling glum, and even angry/resentful because my vision of a beautiful, bountiful garden was not happening. As I walked past the bee balm I heard, “Look at me! Look at me!”. I looked around and it was the bee balm shouting at me to REALLY look. And the clump of stalks and leaves and buds was literally glowing. It contained the sun within it. And the message that Monarda communicated to me was that the pain I was feeling, the angst and sense of loss, was MINE. And mine alone. None of the plants or insects or worms in the garden felt that way. They live in the moment, what they experience, however it is felt by them - pain, warmth, whatever it might be - is a feeling that the don’t sit with. It comes and goes. Only the human (me) was holding onto expectations, and MY vision, my desires. Part of my suffering was imagining theirs. This encounter helped me to let go at least of that, and not only that, but to take comfort in knowing that the pain I felt over the loss of my vision for the garden, or even for the plant itself it it were to die from root rot, was my pain alone. The plant accepted. Knowing on whatever level a plant knows, that it is part of the plan. Whatever the plan is now for us and Earth and Cosmos, we cannot know, except that whatever it is is what it has always been! Your words, and Perdita’s help me to stay in a place of Love and to recognize and honor the very present beauty and the gift of participation. And your words help me to find mine, for which I am very grateful. 🪶
Terrible angels, beauty as sirens- ❤️ how does love- the life force energy- pull us forward through it all? You have touched that edge for me- that terrible beauty. It’s so hard to talk about the beauty in the terror and the terror in beauty without sounding uncaring and disconnected. Thank you for diving into this place so eloquently and open-heartedly.
Thank you for this transmission, Sophie. I’m appreciating the invitation into your compost heap, as you help me see the ways in which I can reframe and metabolize my own life in new ways.
The terrible beauty is all around us, and I’m grateful for you helping us see that. Deep love.
(And the Madonna Secret has me riveted. I never want it to end)
Your words always stick with/to me. Terrible beautiful angels - light wrapped up in trees - I especially love hate this since I also love light playing in/through living trees. It is a visceral image, an idea to carry in the body. The ocean and water has held a lot of the terror beauty for me lately. 🌳🌊🔥
I'm constantly amazed by the depth of your writing and so happy that I found it! I feel like I'm constantly living on a tightrope between beauty and terror. In my experience it's something that most people don't see or don't admit too seeing. The most poignant example for me is when someone close to me was brutally killed, in viewing him afterwards I wrote a lot about the contrast of the beautiful orchids filling the room matching the color of his bruising, and the warm summer sun streaming into the window making the dust dance in the air. How so much beauty and pain can coexist is forever on my mind, also with recent climate apocalypse. I think all we can do is cling to the beauty to survive the pain, knowing that something healthy and strong is built from the ashes eventually. I deeply appreciate your vulnerability in writing.
Your prose is such a perfect and astonishing example of what you describe. I bow to your horrific and breathtakingly beautiful honesty (no pun intended). Thank you for sending your truth out to the universe's hungry hearts.
This brings on memories and sensations of the devastating fires in Australia a couple of years ago. The scene was one of death and carnage cloaked in otherworldly sunsets, eerily quiet landscapes and poetically charred remains. There is an awe inspired by terrible angels that is paradoxical in nature and experientially very humbling.
It strikes me how incredibly observant and sharp you are. And as if it was not already immense, you are also able to translate these insights into words like no one else that i know of. I often don't understand everything (I am not the sharpest knife in the drawer tbh) but, somehow, it does not really matter since I believe that you manage to make the essence magically sip into me. You are such a freaking magician!
That is profoundly generous. I do think that we all have access to the kind of non -consensual mindfulness that pain and illness force us into presence with. 🙏🏻🖤
I have witnessed, experienced and lived in and through several of nature's harshest displays; fires, floods, earthquakes. All of them quite liminal; wild and wondrous, awful and magnificent, beautiful and horrifying. You shared that experience so beautifully here, as terrible angels. Thank you, you are an amazing poet with words. A side note: Loving the Madonna Secret, more than half way through.
Thank you so much for reading Julie. And for weaving The Madonna Secret into your world.
Thank you, Sophie, for this. The awareness that is growing. As more people are forced to see, and are starting to feel, or perhaps finally able to put words on that discomfort, that hitch in the breath at a a fleeting sense of . . . despair. Your words. My words. The stories we tell, the shapes and feelings they evoke. Are so necessary now. When Perdita said on Sunday, that nature isn’t nostalgic. . . (and I had read her post before that as well), they were words I needed to hear. As one summer, when it was so rainy (but not nearly like this year), and so many of the herbs and veggies and fleurs in the garden were suffering from rot. I’d make my daily rounds, picking off rot so it didn’t spread into the plant, feeling glum, and even angry/resentful because my vision of a beautiful, bountiful garden was not happening. As I walked past the bee balm I heard, “Look at me! Look at me!”. I looked around and it was the bee balm shouting at me to REALLY look. And the clump of stalks and leaves and buds was literally glowing. It contained the sun within it. And the message that Monarda communicated to me was that the pain I was feeling, the angst and sense of loss, was MINE. And mine alone. None of the plants or insects or worms in the garden felt that way. They live in the moment, what they experience, however it is felt by them - pain, warmth, whatever it might be - is a feeling that the don’t sit with. It comes and goes. Only the human (me) was holding onto expectations, and MY vision, my desires. Part of my suffering was imagining theirs. This encounter helped me to let go at least of that, and not only that, but to take comfort in knowing that the pain I felt over the loss of my vision for the garden, or even for the plant itself it it were to die from root rot, was my pain alone. The plant accepted. Knowing on whatever level a plant knows, that it is part of the plan. Whatever the plan is now for us and Earth and Cosmos, we cannot know, except that whatever it is is what it has always been! Your words, and Perdita’s help me to stay in a place of Love and to recognize and honor the very present beauty and the gift of participation. And your words help me to find mine, for which I am very grateful. 🪶
Thank you for “staying with the trouble” alongside me Susan. It’s only possible with good company
Terrible angels, beauty as sirens- ❤️ how does love- the life force energy- pull us forward through it all? You have touched that edge for me- that terrible beauty. It’s so hard to talk about the beauty in the terror and the terror in beauty without sounding uncaring and disconnected. Thank you for diving into this place so eloquently and open-heartedly.
Thank you for being in this dance with me Mary 🔥🖤
Thank you for this transmission, Sophie. I’m appreciating the invitation into your compost heap, as you help me see the ways in which I can reframe and metabolize my own life in new ways.
The terrible beauty is all around us, and I’m grateful for you helping us see that. Deep love.
(And the Madonna Secret has me riveted. I never want it to end)
Thank you Gregory 🌋 ⚡️ 🩵
Your words always stick with/to me. Terrible beautiful angels - light wrapped up in trees - I especially love hate this since I also love light playing in/through living trees. It is a visceral image, an idea to carry in the body. The ocean and water has held a lot of the terror beauty for me lately. 🌳🌊🔥
🌊 🩵 that powerful Neptunian maker and unmaker of worlds
I'm constantly amazed by the depth of your writing and so happy that I found it! I feel like I'm constantly living on a tightrope between beauty and terror. In my experience it's something that most people don't see or don't admit too seeing. The most poignant example for me is when someone close to me was brutally killed, in viewing him afterwards I wrote a lot about the contrast of the beautiful orchids filling the room matching the color of his bruising, and the warm summer sun streaming into the window making the dust dance in the air. How so much beauty and pain can coexist is forever on my mind, also with recent climate apocalypse. I think all we can do is cling to the beauty to survive the pain, knowing that something healthy and strong is built from the ashes eventually. I deeply appreciate your vulnerability in writing.
Your prose is such a perfect and astonishing example of what you describe. I bow to your horrific and breathtakingly beautiful honesty (no pun intended). Thank you for sending your truth out to the universe's hungry hearts.
This brings on memories and sensations of the devastating fires in Australia a couple of years ago. The scene was one of death and carnage cloaked in otherworldly sunsets, eerily quiet landscapes and poetically charred remains. There is an awe inspired by terrible angels that is paradoxical in nature and experientially very humbling.
beautiful and terrible. This is good; it's not a binary 💚🍄
Exquisite. Is this full selection as it says it’s free edition and I’m a subscriber. Rilke is a portal.
Thank you! Yes the piece is completely public