the mural maps from Lost Lemuria 2

alas Lost Lemuria, that continent at the edge of memory’s ocean – fancies of youth sailing towards adventures unimagined, monsters to be vanquished & knowledge to be earned, tears to be gathered, shadows to be dispersed, yet greenmantle-cloud daisies dance & chant-sing of things lost along the way to certainty – old men pine for what was dropped along the path to independence & weary wisdom’s wandering gaze – see how the maps on these walls are now covered in indecipherable glyphs, the pieces of ideated engraved equations calculating the space between dream & memory, full of implied meaning, echoed in melodious voices rising up from that continent sitting in the depths of those long ago breezes that once brushed a boyish brow – alas Lost Lemuria……

 

Pan-Pacifica –

ever Mu-Zealandia,

dragon ships flying

towards ancient white mountains,

does the sun’s eye shine there still ?

 

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the mural maps from Lost Lemuria

looking at the pieces of rice paper, the fibres twist, turn through threads of memories & dreams, drifting clouds caress sun’s rays & ocean’s sprays, turquoise green spirals up-downward pale confused awakening knowledge seeping through roots of time-generation’s call; emerging from mist memory – Lost Lemuria, some call Mu, Pan-Pacifica Zealandia, it calls out of fable reveries like childhood fancies fabricated in endless summer’s haze of greenflowerfragrancefolds-tornleafthornbarktears; kitten string play paws tangle-unwind mural maps from Lost Lemuria’s walls that sing-weeping for place-things now uncharted – spheres of knowledge etched woven to connect dream, sky, surf impassioned shores with the latitude & longitude of the pieces of ideated engraved equations.

 

lost continent’s lore

leaves holes in certainty’s stance-

fancy laps at feet

 

For more fancies see: Atlantean Wall Murals

The Ugly Umbrella of Indifference

Once there was a ruler of a huge country, who carried with him a large black umbrella. Now this was not any umbrella, for it was made of indifference, and it blocked the rays of empathy and understanding. So everywhere the ruler went, he cast a shadow of indifference that scarred the land with black empty cracks that separated the people from one another.

 

Terrible things happened, some brought on by the Fury of Nature, and others created by the poison of ignorance and hate. The People shouted at each other in shadows, and the blood of children wept, crying for comfort that sickened as it trickled in the gutters of false accusations.

Slowly, all those that stood closest to the ruler, family, friends and advisers were stained by the ugly ooze dripping from this ugliest of umbrellas. They could not clean themselves, and unable to speak truthfully about their appearance, they fled the loud whispers pointing fingers at them.

A huge wind, made from the breaths of dying children, rose up and gathered strength. So strong was this wind, that it began to tatter and fray the edges of the Ugly Umbrella. Even so the ruler hung on tightly, trying to protect himself from criticism and opinions he did not wish to hear. There were those in the land who shouted support to him, for they too feared being faced with uncomfortable truths.

And so the shouting and the wind both grew louder, and the very fibre of the land twisted and knotted onto itself. They say a sharp blade will one day arrive to cut the darkness, and let the light heal the land; others say all that will remain as it is, a bloody mess.

Still others say this is a tale too terrible to tell, while those that mock claim this a poor fable that belongs in a comic-book. Perhaps, both these opinions are true.