[you are the medium] 

It has been happening lately that when I try to find an answer to a subjective question, instead of looking in the outside world (which feels hopelessly insufficient), I start to write about it and tend to find exactly what I’m hunting. Maybe it’s the inner wisdom we can tap into if only we try, if only we listen, if only we pay attention. The process is not without some pain but you’ll find the pain is a tiny price to pay.


A longish while ago i was on a train when out spilled a little poem about killing the king and the queen who live layers & layers below the flesh. I read it often, realising over and over again that sometimes the words for which you’re searching outside, words that you hope will speak to your soul, are patiently simmering within, waiting for you to give them shape.



cummings sept 3

on this day 54 years ago left human existence to illuminate other unlit realms with his distinguished inextinguishable spark E. E. Cummings who lives forever (or “beyond the clock”) in the heart of every person his magical poems touch. who knows how many worlds he has kindled with his words. who knows how many entire universes would not exist without his poems.


i thank goodness
for cold grey wet dreary
days like today
for days like these
do not employ naked sunshine
and golden warmth
to somehow lure
me towards the outdoors
and days like these
let my favourite thing to do
be the ideal thing to do
which somewhat invariably
involves sitting at odd angles
in a large comfortable chair
to my dear heart’s content
without pseudoworrying
that i am missing some little
selfimportant snippet
of weatherglorious or actionrare
i don’t even really care a damn about to begin with.

plank of roses in soho

i shall imagine life
is not worth dying,if
(and when)roses complain
their beauties are in vain

but though mankind persuades
itself that every weed’s
a rose,roses(you feel
certain)will only smile

~ E. E. Cummings