Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Musings I
We must all help each other along our individual paths, they are only single lanes on the same super highway of life.
Remember the good and bad in everything and reflect on the good, it enhances our present.
Remember the good and bad in everything and reflect on the good, it enhances our present.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Bodytalk
Aint nobody
Like my body,
She's the somebody
That warms my body,
Anybody can try
To separate our bodies,
But we revert
To the singular.
Like my body,
She's the somebody
That warms my body,
Anybody can try
To separate our bodies,
But we revert
To the singular.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
De-Construction
Whuhpiche: IDEA
Piche-piche-piche: Expand I-D-E-A
Whuhpoui: Toss I-D-E-A…
Into the realm of human consciousness
Stand back and watch it take hold of imagination.
Piche-piche-piche: Expand I-D-E-A
Whuhpoui: Toss I-D-E-A…
Into the realm of human consciousness
Stand back and watch it take hold of imagination.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Random Metaphysical Argument
This is a blank page.
Do you know why this is a blank page?
It has nothing written on it,
You see – it is a blank page.
I could argue the virtues of its virgin state,
Recite a thousand odes
To the singular beauty
Of its matrix of interwoven fibres.
But hey…
This is not Metaphysics.
Do you know why this is a blank page?
It has nothing written on it,
You see – it is a blank page.
I could argue the virtues of its virgin state,
Recite a thousand odes
To the singular beauty
Of its matrix of interwoven fibres.
But hey…
This is not Metaphysics.
Re-collected
Recall the old square?
Where we sat for long hours pontificating on the argument of…
…nature versus nurture
Those were the days my friend.
A quasi-epoch that seemed would have no end.
Oh, how those times have flitted away like the moth at predawn.
I long again to challenge your superior intellect,
On topics far-reaching and varied.
We lived in those days with a feeling unfettered by better judgement;
We supped without regard for lifestyle consequences;
We were hungry for knowledge and the world.
My brother, my comrade, my…
Language fails me now in my greatest need of its most honest foot-soldiers;
You their Rear-Admiral of distinction has departed the pages of the upright,
To lie in the warm folds of history’s papyrus.
Go with grace my friend,
We speak not of your time here in pompous terms.
Where we sat for long hours pontificating on the argument of…
…nature versus nurture
Those were the days my friend.
A quasi-epoch that seemed would have no end.
Oh, how those times have flitted away like the moth at predawn.
I long again to challenge your superior intellect,
On topics far-reaching and varied.
We lived in those days with a feeling unfettered by better judgement;
We supped without regard for lifestyle consequences;
We were hungry for knowledge and the world.
My brother, my comrade, my…
Language fails me now in my greatest need of its most honest foot-soldiers;
You their Rear-Admiral of distinction has departed the pages of the upright,
To lie in the warm folds of history’s papyrus.
Go with grace my friend,
We speak not of your time here in pompous terms.
For the Children of Beslan
a day in late summer opened like any other
for pupils and teachers alike
school-bell ringing, play ceases
into the classroom comes willing young minds
a dark shadows clings to their heels
guerrilla boots stamping
overriding school-shoes skipping
the intruders making their presence known
rounded up like cattle
the innocent bear
the wrongs of their people
children huddled close
their fear apparent
unheeded by captors
bent on death and destruction
the standoff going longer
government position getting no stronger
no food or water allowed onboard
the little ones growing weaker
outlook getting bleaker
gunfire becoming rapid
explosions send smoke signals into the air
the picture becomes clearer
grandmothers demanding answers
of police and special forces
through a sea of torrid reporters
nuclear fission separates tears
in the schoolyard children playing
in the background insurgents approaching
the cow has jumped over the moon
chalk dusters clapping
in the background gunshots licking
all fall down.
for pupils and teachers alike
school-bell ringing, play ceases
into the classroom comes willing young minds
a dark shadows clings to their heels
guerrilla boots stamping
overriding school-shoes skipping
the intruders making their presence known
rounded up like cattle
the innocent bear
the wrongs of their people
children huddled close
their fear apparent
unheeded by captors
bent on death and destruction
the standoff going longer
government position getting no stronger
no food or water allowed onboard
the little ones growing weaker
outlook getting bleaker
gunfire becoming rapid
explosions send smoke signals into the air
the picture becomes clearer
grandmothers demanding answers
of police and special forces
through a sea of torrid reporters
nuclear fission separates tears
in the schoolyard children playing
in the background insurgents approaching
the cow has jumped over the moon
chalk dusters clapping
in the background gunshots licking
all fall down.
Ahh?
I cry out!
Do your hear me?
I scream and laugh
And shout for joy!
Do you hear me now?
What if I whooped
And hollered
And yodel-leigh-hee-hooed.
Would you hear me then?
Yet you hear a pin drop
In a crowded room
Of ruminating cattle;
Your indifference abhors me.
Do your hear me?
I scream and laugh
And shout for joy!
Do you hear me now?
What if I whooped
And hollered
And yodel-leigh-hee-hooed.
Would you hear me then?
Yet you hear a pin drop
In a crowded room
Of ruminating cattle;
Your indifference abhors me.
Enigma
I am a carpenter
Sawing to shape
Planing to smoothness
Hammering into place
Nailing to secure
Pieces of wood
Placed strategically.
I am a potter
My wheel re-evolving
As I shape and caress
Mother Earth’s bounty
Into forms I desire
Or maybe vice-versa
I am moulded by the energies
Of hillside excavated harsh.
I am a painter
My canvas stretched taut
Flashing strokes hither and thither
Vision taking shape
Imagination beckoning reality
My brush birthing masterpiece
Repeatedly.
I am a dancer
Holding my form
Through flights of fancy
Across gilded stage
A thousand flashing fireflies illuminating
Propelled by unseen force
For almost an eternity,
I almost become an Angel.
I am a songbird
Singing sweetsongs
“Of melodies pure and true”
Transfigured and transformed
By voice and musical direction
Produced and packaged
For the masses.
I am a scribe
Dip – scratch, scratch, scratch
My pen glides across dead trees
Constructing realities not yet conceived
But like trace elements
Hinting at a bounty undiscovered.
I?
I am the Uni Verse!
But you call me a poet?
Sawing to shape
Planing to smoothness
Hammering into place
Nailing to secure
Pieces of wood
Placed strategically.
I am a potter
My wheel re-evolving
As I shape and caress
Mother Earth’s bounty
Into forms I desire
Or maybe vice-versa
I am moulded by the energies
Of hillside excavated harsh.
I am a painter
My canvas stretched taut
Flashing strokes hither and thither
Vision taking shape
Imagination beckoning reality
My brush birthing masterpiece
Repeatedly.
I am a dancer
Holding my form
Through flights of fancy
Across gilded stage
A thousand flashing fireflies illuminating
Propelled by unseen force
For almost an eternity,
I almost become an Angel.
I am a songbird
Singing sweetsongs
“Of melodies pure and true”
Transfigured and transformed
By voice and musical direction
Produced and packaged
For the masses.
I am a scribe
Dip – scratch, scratch, scratch
My pen glides across dead trees
Constructing realities not yet conceived
But like trace elements
Hinting at a bounty undiscovered.
I?
I am the Uni Verse!
But you call me a poet?
Linkages
The ties that bind,
The ties that blind,
The ties that wind,
Up from navel sting to
Heart, hands and mind:
Stretch out long ---
To far off lands,
Under foreign suns,
Washed by unfamiliar rains,
They come full circle.
Like life ended a
And began again fresh;
At the same point in creation.
The ties that blind,
The ties that wind,
Up from navel sting to
Heart, hands and mind:
Stretch out long ---
To far off lands,
Under foreign suns,
Washed by unfamiliar rains,
They come full circle.
Like life ended a
And began again fresh;
At the same point in creation.
Tribute to Milton
The pen and paper are the height of innovation. The value of subsequent technologies has been negated by the effect that control and exploitation of our planet’s resources have on the environment and subsequently on us. We are all damned by our own greed. We are a derailed, rudderless, wingless, quadriplegic, un-piloted mixed (up) metaphor hurtling towards oblivion on just the rims.
Soundtrack: Bohemian Rhapsody – Queen
Starring: Michael Jackson, R. Kelly, Britney Spears, OJ Simpson and Pamela Anderson Lee
Directed by: Quentin Tarantino
Co-Producers: Worldcom, Enron and the George W. Bush Administration
Special Mention: WTO, World Bank, OECD and those good folks at the Vatican
In the Beginning…
The word made flesh;
Word given form.
The word became picture.
And picture was equated
To a thousand words;
Each word in itself
A picture form.
A mosaic made
From perspective afar.
Clear becomes
The vision concealed
When closely examined.
Block on block -
The structure is built,
A skyscraper risen
From a collection of ideas.
The Creation
A few words found,
An idea lost
Fix, shape, shake
Structure; form
Lyrics wait in stone
‘Til artist’s toil,
Imaginative eye,
Calloused hands,
And unforgiving tools
Collude.
Free the beauty;
Release desire;
Marble shape me…
Make me whole.
Paradise Lost
I
Cold mechanical sexual relations,
Politicians jacking off in the faces of their nations.
Cum shots posted on my internet blog,
A dominatrix giving a ‘bad boy’ a flog.
Mind spaces filled
With dangerous ideals of self-image,
Reflected in belonging
To a larger entity of others
That define the individual
In terms of reverence.
Time Warner cartoons
The dehumanization of man.
Incorporation of incomplete senses
Of something not quite…
I can’t identify the thing that is,
Or is it not?
Zombies dancing in the streets,
The un-dead moving to the beat.
Citizens laughing at the scene,
Eaten from brain down to spleen.
Waiting matter to be moulded,
Crisp white sheets to be folded.
Truth readily concealed;
Soiled and discarded.
Water flow, water ebb!
Time slows, blue on red.
The uncovered face is unveiled:
I saw that ghost
Walking by the seaside -
Pre-dawn.
Paradise Lost
II
Cute little puppies – neutered!
Whiskers shaved off kittens.
Tarnished copper kettles,
Missing buttons,
Pre-emptive strikes
And searches from WMDs.
Brown paper packages
Tied up with string,
Concealing the hatred of subjugation
Hegemony and neo-imperialism
Summed up in extremism
Returned to the source
Of xenophobia, racism.
Control of the image
Defines the wor(l)d
For those subjected
To the soap-box antics of the self-righteous.
Yet unbelieving
In the worst of contradictions
About alternate realities,
We settle for the primordial soup
Because evolution involves pain/change.
Paradise Regained
Innocence regained
Re-virginated hymen
Descending slowly
Into you
Into me
Twinning loving
And leaving being
(Listening)
Tightening yet…
E x p a n d i n g
Infinitely!
Limited experience
Is feeling
Inner/outer
Inflections
Inverse realisation
Of the futility
Of expression
The divide is complete.
Myopic views
Of the familiar
Supercede the embrace
Of a common humanity
Inherited materials,
Original thought,
One mould.
Triumvirate
I – The Good
Routes to self realisation
Sprout from roots of alienation,
The self finds form in isolation
Essentialist constructs are deprogrammed.
Pitter-patter. . .
The foetus of my self re-birthed.
Thanks Derek.
The spiritual midwife delivers
From a previously barren intellect,
Consciousness,
Bereft of comprehension
Of supremacy and resistance.
II- The Bad
Do we discuss the lingering stench
Of rotting guavas overlapping
The fetid odour of fallen breadfruit?
Is differentiation possible
Of the me in you and
The you in I?
Can a formula be established
To extract pi from the cosmos?
And thereafter reduce it to
A thick gravy-like consistency?
A collision of form and context
Ignites a glimmer of elucidation.
III - The Ugly
Internalize – assimilate – replicate
You sad parody of a sackman
Eat, drink, fuck.
The pleasures we take
Only borrowed from the next recipient.
I cannot touch, feel, taste
I banish re-images of psychosis
And portraits of un-being
To a land beyond imagination.
Evolution
I
In
Intern
Internal
Internalize
Internalization
Of reheated, cooled down
Freeze dried, repackaged
Recycled, reused
Reduced to ashes ideologies.
That precede, post-date
Idea, matter
Consciousness of body,
God
Intertwined precepts/concepts
Input = output
Except where
We don’t put in
And expect to get out.
Much of what was
Cannot translate
Across the void
The circle – the kumbla
Protection – Imprisonment
Bubble – o – fantastic
Introduce the pin prick of awareness.
Green in green
Is green on green
Is green with…
Chlorophyll
Refracted
With the distillation
Of the meaning of life
‘Till crystal clear.
There’s no pin in that
Just prick.
Disillusion
Struggle
Light
Darkness
Growth, stunted.
Good little girls
Preaching to the converted.
Movement – genesis – re-genesis
Darkness.
Despair.
Dissolution
The End.
(And remember, always, always, always remember…appearance is nine-tenths of reality)
Soundtrack: Bohemian Rhapsody – Queen
Starring: Michael Jackson, R. Kelly, Britney Spears, OJ Simpson and Pamela Anderson Lee
Directed by: Quentin Tarantino
Co-Producers: Worldcom, Enron and the George W. Bush Administration
Special Mention: WTO, World Bank, OECD and those good folks at the Vatican
In the Beginning…
The word made flesh;
Word given form.
The word became picture.
And picture was equated
To a thousand words;
Each word in itself
A picture form.
A mosaic made
From perspective afar.
Clear becomes
The vision concealed
When closely examined.
Block on block -
The structure is built,
A skyscraper risen
From a collection of ideas.
The Creation
A few words found,
An idea lost
Fix, shape, shake
Structure; form
Lyrics wait in stone
‘Til artist’s toil,
Imaginative eye,
Calloused hands,
And unforgiving tools
Collude.
Free the beauty;
Release desire;
Marble shape me…
Make me whole.
Paradise Lost
I
Cold mechanical sexual relations,
Politicians jacking off in the faces of their nations.
Cum shots posted on my internet blog,
A dominatrix giving a ‘bad boy’ a flog.
Mind spaces filled
With dangerous ideals of self-image,
Reflected in belonging
To a larger entity of others
That define the individual
In terms of reverence.
Time Warner cartoons
The dehumanization of man.
Incorporation of incomplete senses
Of something not quite…
I can’t identify the thing that is,
Or is it not?
Zombies dancing in the streets,
The un-dead moving to the beat.
Citizens laughing at the scene,
Eaten from brain down to spleen.
Waiting matter to be moulded,
Crisp white sheets to be folded.
Truth readily concealed;
Soiled and discarded.
Water flow, water ebb!
Time slows, blue on red.
The uncovered face is unveiled:
I saw that ghost
Walking by the seaside -
Pre-dawn.
Paradise Lost
II
Cute little puppies – neutered!
Whiskers shaved off kittens.
Tarnished copper kettles,
Missing buttons,
Pre-emptive strikes
And searches from WMDs.
Brown paper packages
Tied up with string,
Concealing the hatred of subjugation
Hegemony and neo-imperialism
Summed up in extremism
Returned to the source
Of xenophobia, racism.
Control of the image
Defines the wor(l)d
For those subjected
To the soap-box antics of the self-righteous.
Yet unbelieving
In the worst of contradictions
About alternate realities,
We settle for the primordial soup
Because evolution involves pain/change.
Paradise Regained
Innocence regained
Re-virginated hymen
Descending slowly
Into you
Into me
Twinning loving
And leaving being
(Listening)
Tightening yet…
E x p a n d i n g
Infinitely!
Limited experience
Is feeling
Inner/outer
Inflections
Inverse realisation
Of the futility
Of expression
The divide is complete.
Myopic views
Of the familiar
Supercede the embrace
Of a common humanity
Inherited materials,
Original thought,
One mould.
Triumvirate
I – The Good
Routes to self realisation
Sprout from roots of alienation,
The self finds form in isolation
Essentialist constructs are deprogrammed.
Pitter-patter. . .
The foetus of my self re-birthed.
Thanks Derek.
The spiritual midwife delivers
From a previously barren intellect,
Consciousness,
Bereft of comprehension
Of supremacy and resistance.
II- The Bad
Do we discuss the lingering stench
Of rotting guavas overlapping
The fetid odour of fallen breadfruit?
Is differentiation possible
Of the me in you and
The you in I?
Can a formula be established
To extract pi from the cosmos?
And thereafter reduce it to
A thick gravy-like consistency?
A collision of form and context
Ignites a glimmer of elucidation.
III - The Ugly
Internalize – assimilate – replicate
You sad parody of a sackman
Eat, drink, fuck.
The pleasures we take
Only borrowed from the next recipient.
I cannot touch, feel, taste
I banish re-images of psychosis
And portraits of un-being
To a land beyond imagination.
Evolution
I
In
Intern
Internal
Internalize
Internalization
Of reheated, cooled down
Freeze dried, repackaged
Recycled, reused
Reduced to ashes ideologies.
That precede, post-date
Idea, matter
Consciousness of body,
God
Intertwined precepts/concepts
Input = output
Except where
We don’t put in
And expect to get out.
Much of what was
Cannot translate
Across the void
The circle – the kumbla
Protection – Imprisonment
Bubble – o – fantastic
Introduce the pin prick of awareness.
Green in green
Is green on green
Is green with…
Chlorophyll
Refracted
With the distillation
Of the meaning of life
‘Till crystal clear.
There’s no pin in that
Just prick.
Disillusion
Struggle
Light
Darkness
Growth, stunted.
Good little girls
Preaching to the converted.
Movement – genesis – re-genesis
Darkness.
Despair.
Dissolution
The End.
(And remember, always, always, always remember…appearance is nine-tenths of reality)
A prostrate prostitute is the Protagonist of this Piece
Lying there,
Barely conscious of the act -
Her mind turned to other things:
De two pickney dem,
(Smiles to self)
De big boy learning real well,
And de second one…He coming long too…
Too wuthless doh,
Have to stop him spending time pun dat corner.
Note to self: Go down to dat block and embarrass the
Shit outta him.
Hurried dismount!
Over?
Thank God!
Exchange of crumpled bills without eye-contact,
Clock ticks over to the bewitching hour.
D.W.D
Have to get home before Claryss kick up a fuss.
Last look over the tiny room…
Got everything?
Ok, then.
She heads for the door –
She heard it before she felt it:
The first blow;
The second one she neither heard nor felt.
Barely conscious of the act -
Her mind turned to other things:
De two pickney dem,
(Smiles to self)
De big boy learning real well,
And de second one…He coming long too…
Too wuthless doh,
Have to stop him spending time pun dat corner.
Note to self: Go down to dat block and embarrass the
Shit outta him.
Hurried dismount!
Over?
Thank God!
Exchange of crumpled bills without eye-contact,
Clock ticks over to the bewitching hour.
D.W.D
Have to get home before Claryss kick up a fuss.
Last look over the tiny room…
Got everything?
Ok, then.
She heads for the door –
She heard it before she felt it:
The first blow;
The second one she neither heard nor felt.
Summertime in the Tropics
Shriveled stinkin’ missies and automobile carcasses
Are only secondary players
In this season of distraction.
See little Joe-boy running,
Naked,
Mirrored in shards of hindsight
Gleaming like great barrier nemesis
Besides the gully,
Taunting with its sluggish new rain cargo,
Threatening to engulf him with the big chill
Should nimble-footedness go awry.
Simmering asphalt laid anew,
The playground of indigenous tennis endeavours;
Nay mind of the blisters tomorrow
From barefooted escapades to Wimbledon imagined,
Play on boy, play on.
Politicked road-repaving ritual ceases,
Temporarily.
Nail-hard veterans
And milk-breathed newcomers
Take heed of Herion’s spite.
Brooding evergreen of “Big Tree” fame provides shelter,
Even to proud and prissy sistren pamphleteering
And disregarding construction site connived catcalls.
These daily rituals are interrupted.
Distant clouds darken the tranquil sky-blue canopy
As nearer they draw.
Lightning splits the heavens into equal parts
Not quite down to the last nth
One,
Two,
Three…
Crash, bang, wallop
The sky is falling, the sky is falling,
Take no heed of the miniscule chicken
Sly fox lurks anxiously
Dinnertime approaches.
John-John watches from windowpane restraint,
Ruing nail injustices
And the resultant sanctions.
The deluge breaks,
Sweeping across Waterford Bottom,
Listen –
Feel it Drum,
Drum, drumming across the stadium roof
And galvanized abodes.
Thar’ she blows
Here she comes around the mountain
Ahhhh!!!
It come.
Phewwww!!!
At least its not sun,
‘Cause sun would be hot
And the rain,
It’s not;
Unless,
It’s Summertime in the Tropics.
Are only secondary players
In this season of distraction.
See little Joe-boy running,
Naked,
Mirrored in shards of hindsight
Gleaming like great barrier nemesis
Besides the gully,
Taunting with its sluggish new rain cargo,
Threatening to engulf him with the big chill
Should nimble-footedness go awry.
Simmering asphalt laid anew,
The playground of indigenous tennis endeavours;
Nay mind of the blisters tomorrow
From barefooted escapades to Wimbledon imagined,
Play on boy, play on.
Politicked road-repaving ritual ceases,
Temporarily.
Nail-hard veterans
And milk-breathed newcomers
Take heed of Herion’s spite.
Brooding evergreen of “Big Tree” fame provides shelter,
Even to proud and prissy sistren pamphleteering
And disregarding construction site connived catcalls.
These daily rituals are interrupted.
Distant clouds darken the tranquil sky-blue canopy
As nearer they draw.
Lightning splits the heavens into equal parts
Not quite down to the last nth
One,
Two,
Three…
Crash, bang, wallop
The sky is falling, the sky is falling,
Take no heed of the miniscule chicken
Sly fox lurks anxiously
Dinnertime approaches.
John-John watches from windowpane restraint,
Ruing nail injustices
And the resultant sanctions.
The deluge breaks,
Sweeping across Waterford Bottom,
Listen –
Feel it Drum,
Drum, drumming across the stadium roof
And galvanized abodes.
Thar’ she blows
Here she comes around the mountain
Ahhhh!!!
It come.
Phewwww!!!
At least its not sun,
‘Cause sun would be hot
And the rain,
It’s not;
Unless,
It’s Summertime in the Tropics.
Speak to Me
…in tongues unspoken,
Voices unheard,
Emotion unexpressed
With a feeling so layered
And tightly wound
That it shocks the senses,
Dulls the brain,
Cools the passions
Sways even the most
Convincing of arguments.
And not least,
Touches that within me that
Is the life of my spirit
And inspires in me
Things unbeknownst to mortals.
I aspire to the seat of angels
At your inspiration.
I walk amongst the stars
Whispering to Sirius,
“I am your equal.”
Speak to me in soft
Tones of love and comfort;
Rock me to sleep.
Voices unheard,
Emotion unexpressed
With a feeling so layered
And tightly wound
That it shocks the senses,
Dulls the brain,
Cools the passions
Sways even the most
Convincing of arguments.
And not least,
Touches that within me that
Is the life of my spirit
And inspires in me
Things unbeknownst to mortals.
I aspire to the seat of angels
At your inspiration.
I walk amongst the stars
Whispering to Sirius,
“I am your equal.”
Speak to me in soft
Tones of love and comfort;
Rock me to sleep.
E-Go
I enjoy
Textual intercourse
You stroked my ego
And slid your intellect
Up and dowN
My cerebellum
Causing me to
Spout innovation
And bask in
The afterglow of
Intellectual stimulation
I was mentally drained
When you opened
Your mind to me
Nothing like inserting
My ideas
Into your
Consciousness
And planting the seed
Of creation
I drank in our
Discourse tasting
Your reasoning
And lapping up
Your output, you
Provoked my thoughts
And titillated my
Faculties leaving
My pen empty
And my philosophy
Shaking.
Textual intercourse
You stroked my ego
And slid your intellect
Up and dowN
My cerebellum
Causing me to
Spout innovation
And bask in
The afterglow of
Intellectual stimulation
I was mentally drained
When you opened
Your mind to me
Nothing like inserting
My ideas
Into your
Consciousness
And planting the seed
Of creation
I drank in our
Discourse tasting
Your reasoning
And lapping up
Your output, you
Provoked my thoughts
And titillated my
Faculties leaving
My pen empty
And my philosophy
Shaking.
Eye Heart Tu Spirit
My eyes
dance and
My heart
Sings, smiles are
Currency radiating
Joy Beamed
From me
Satellite in your
Orbit,
Magnifying raindrops
In free-fall, a twig
Borne by
Raging waters, a
Tear rolling silently
Down your visage,
Falling to nestle
Between
Kilimanjaro
And
Everest
From eye
To hand
To heart,
To soul: to Divinity
.Infinite.
dance and
My heart
Sings, smiles are
Currency radiating
Joy Beamed
From me
Satellite in your
Orbit,
Magnifying raindrops
In free-fall, a twig
Borne by
Raging waters, a
Tear rolling silently
Down your visage,
Falling to nestle
Between
Kilimanjaro
And
Everest
From eye
To hand
To heart,
To soul: to Divinity
.Infinite.
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