Regaining Lost Aspects: Mind and Soul
Through book events, poetry, and creativity, we dive a little deeper into humanity.
I have a secret if you want it.
It may sound nice to have a soul that is filled with vanity. To love yourself the most of all.
Sounds like a happy existence.
Maybe.
But there are no awards for these selfish hearts in the afterlife.
Just emptiness.
Be a better ghost.
Thousands of windows
Beat white in the golden sun
Thrumming against the quakes
That erupted the city like clockwork
There, the colossal poleaxe
Threatening in the giant’s hand
Swung an arc 20 floors deep.
The city’s cries were silent in the giant’s ears
For all he heard was his rage
Only let yourself settle when you know you are for sure alone. You never know what is hidden in the dark and the in-between spaces. Yes, there are some things only a witch can see, but you can always trust your own shuddering breath.
Pieces of her writing and and words shove me through the page until I am there and have to blink away the vision, shocked that words could grab me so. Not talent, no. But the ability to craft a reader to a writer’s soul.
I actually wrote this about an author whose book I am currently reading. I am not done reading the book yet, but I hope the ending is as beautiful and as grasping as her writing. Let’s give a shoutout to the artists who inspire other artists and keep the magickal flow of passion dancing in us all.
Book I am reading: The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab
The random thoughts she felt flitting through her mind, when she was watching the disaster unfold, didn’t relay to her how gaping the hole between herself and reality was becoming, what she was becoming, and how in a few years she wouldn’t remember herself at all.
She had herself dart into the endless bushes of roses feeling each bite of their thorns tear across her skin and tug on her clothes. There was no choice. She had been stuck in the maze of roses for days now. The only thing left for her to do was to try to break through the rose petaled walls.
Parade me books so that I may understand all the pain that the world can hold and all the struggles that suffocate a human life. Don’t let me die naive to the agonies of existence. Don’t let me pass without living each and every way in between the black ink of every story.
My body decides to collaborate with my mind only when it is to achieve my downfall. People say the mind is a powerful thing, but forget the spirit. My spirit will never fail or fall no matter how far stress takes me under. Eat my mind, destroy my body, but I will soar a broken angel.
The ink circulates words like magick making them visible from my hand. The notebook now full, I lift the tome heavy with ink flowing through it word for word like blood flows through me. The volume recognizes a piece of myself transfered letter by letter. I smile at the magick as I tuck it away.
Illusionary love is the most powerful, not the strongest, but the one that makes you feel the most. There is something about the lies of passion that hits you deep and opens you raw. Leaving you lost and always remembering those days that you felt everything. The stain of a barmecide.
Regaining Lost Aspects: Mind and Soul 