El cielo es una injuria perpetua e insoportable. Las estrellas no me conocen y yo no podré nunca hacer nada de ellas ni contra ellas. Cuando he sabido a cuántos millares de años de luz distan de mí, y cuántos siglos emplea su claridad para llegar a la Tierra, no he hecho más que dar forma aritmética a mi rabia.Yo siento el cielo como algo extraño, remoto, esto es, enemigo. Los cometas que, sin un objeto razonable, arrastran su cola por el infinito, no me dicen nada que me consuele. Las nebulosas, amontonamientos confusos de polvo cósmico, me exasperan como todas las cosas informes no terminadas. En lo que se refiere a los planetas y a los satélites, aduladores extintos que dan vueltas para obtener la limosna de un poco de luz, me causan repugnancia y despecho.

Dabei zwinkert sie mit dem nicht geschwollenen Auge Sky zu, der anerkennend einen Daumen hoch hält. Auch Slash gratuliert ihr zum Sieg und klopft ihr auf die Schulter. Sie muss die Zähne zusammenbeißen, um nicht vor Schmerzen aufzuschreien. Das ist nämlich genau die Stelle, die er vorhin mit der harten Faust getroffen hatte und die morgen aussehen wird wie zerquetschtes Pflaumenmus. »Gut gemacht, Loreen. Das war’s für heute. Du kannst mit Sky gehen. Er wird dir bei den theoretischen Sachen helfen.«Slash wendet sich bereits zu den Waffen, als Sky wieder von seinem Zuschauerplatz hüpft. »Hey Kumpel, du hast gesagt, ich darf ihr auch alles über Pfeil und Bogen beibringen.«»Klar kannst du das. Aber ich bezweifle, dass sie heute noch trainieren kann, geschweige denn einen Bogen oder von mir aus ein Besteck halten. Aber versuch dein Glück.«(Loreen)

My thoughts of you are a rainbow in splashing ocean waves...appearing...disappearing in sacred depths of skies the grasps of mine reach to the highest... Will you, ah, long for kissing me tonight? so I could feel the sweetest pleasure of your lips on mine... As we embrace in our dream, I'll dance your quiet loving tune deeply within. The softness of your gentle touch so ever fine..the painting fingertips caress my dewy glowing skin...and feel my heated inner flesh pulsate...they make my body sing like strings of violin...again.. The warmth of body yours so close... so real is the feeling of your beating heart against my chest...inhaling you is easy... I crave the safety of your soul arms around me. Joint passions together fully blooming, so wild, so intense..it makes time stand still... So kiss me, want tonight with golden, silver light of stars in darkest royal blue of velvet summer skies... To love you ~ I'm yours... I spread this crystal spring-like bliss under your feet...tread softly for you tread upon my dreams...

I keep my kindness in my eyes Gently folded around my iris Like a velvety, brown blanket That warms my vision I keep my shyness in my hair Tucked away into a ponytail Looking for a chance to escape On a few loose strands in the air I keep my anger on my lips Just waiting to unleash into the world But trust me; it’s never in my heart It evaporates into words I keep my dignity upon my chin Like a torch held up high For those who have betrayed me Radiating a silent, strong message I keep my gratitude in my smileA glistening waterfall in the sun Gently splashing at that personWho made me happy for some reason I keep my sensitivity in my hands Reaching out for your wet cheek Holding you, with all the love The love I want to share, and feel I keep my passion in my writing My words breathing like fire Screeching against an endless road As I continue to be inspired I keep my simplicity in my soul Spread over me like a clear sky Reflecting all that I am And all that’s ever passed me by And I hope you will look Beyond my ordinary faceMy simple, tied hairMy ordinary tastes And I hope you will see me From everyone...apart As I keep my beauty in my heart.

Strange infatuation seems to grace the evening tide. I want you to be free, but it is your sorrow that has made a slave of me... I wish to know how to keep you... You rise like a tide in my oceans, shine bright like the moon over them, and darken the sky when you mysteriously leave... Forgive me, my Amphitrite, but you are all I know. The day is breaking now, the earth is dry and torn. I know you're tired from the violent storms. I do love you, and you are all I know. The look in your eyes has made a slave of me for eternity. Without you I seem to lose the power of speech. Without you, I am nothing at all. I once again feel you slipping from my reach. You grow me like an evergreen. You've never seen the lonely me at all. Let the wind and ocean water wash away a thousand memories, like sand. Gazing at this all you look back, turn around and continue to run... Run from the love that is chasing after... Exhausted and breathless you sit down on the diamond shore at last. Glance at the ocean - who could that be? Someone is coming. Worried, yet scared found, brought back to the one in search, you are truly happily thrilled to be in the arms of the one who loves...

My locker seems to have become the hub for sticky notes and nasty letters, none of which I ever see actually being placed on or in my locker. I really don’t get what people gain out of doing things like this if they don’t even own up to it.Like the note that was stuck to my locker this morning. All it said was, “Whore.”Really? Where’s the creativity in that? They couldn’t back it up with an interesting story? Maybe a few details of my indiscretion? If I have to read this shit every day, the least they could do is make it interesting. If I was going to stoop so low as to leave an unfounded note on someone’s locker,I’d at least have the courtesy of entertaining whoever reads it in the process. I’d write something interesting like, “I saw you in bed with my boyfriend last night. I really don’t appreciate you getting massage oil on my cucumbers. Whore.” I laugh and it feels odd, laughing out loud at my own thoughts. I look around and no one is left in the hallway but me. Rather than rip the sticky notes off of my locker like I probably should, I take out my pen and make them a little more creative. You’re welcome, passersby.

Breath (from the book Blue Bridge)Whispering to myselfWith every step I take,Trying out names, for I knowThere is something yet to be called …..I know it, something up aheadJust around the bendOr over the rise –A bird taking to the skyFrom the edge of a jagged cliff – A bird floating outwardsIn silence ……. A silenceWaiting for a footstepTo crunch on stones,For a voice to fling upwardThrough sharp sunlightWith a name…… callingBefore the bird could callBefore the bird called.Oh the bird was there alrightAnd sure it took flightWhen it heard me approachBut it broke my heartWith a mighty croak!So I’m sitting here playingWith a purple flowerSlender stem, no leavesPurple fizz –And it’s quiet again.I am stillI am nothingAnd the hillIs a long, long slopeDown, down, down to the seaFar below.I could rollI could runI could screamBut I am nothing.A cool wind blowsAnd the light is naked and namelessAnd the rocks are faces of angelsAnd the bird in the sky wheelsAnd cries to forget the earthAnd its ancient bones –Oh, sensual pain –Wings…. Wings…. Wings,Singing wings.If only I could begin To describe the emptinessWhich fills me to the brimWith new breathI might almost lose my nameAnd take instead a feather for my soul.

My Floating Sea""Pastel colors reflect in my opening eyes and draw my gaze to a horizon where the waters both begin and end. This early in the day I can easily stare without blinking. The pale sea appears calm, but it is stormy just as often. I awe at the grandeur, how it expands beyond my sight to immeasurable depths. In every direction that I twist my neck, a beauteous blue is there to console me. Flowing, floating ribbons of mist form on these pale waters. In harmony they pirouette, creating a stretch of attractive, soft swirls. Swoosh! The wind, its strength in eddies and twisters, smears the art of dancing clouds, and the white disperses like startled fairies fleeing into the forest. Suddenly all is brilliant blue.The waters calm and clear. It warms me. Pleases me. Forces my eyes to close at such vast radiance. My day is spent surrounded by this ethereal sea, but soon enough the light in its belly subsides. Rich colors draw my gaze to the opposite horizon where the waters both begin and end. I watch the colors bleed and deepen. They fade into black. Yawning, I cast my eyes at tiny gleams of life that drift within the darkened waters. I extend my reach as if I could will my arm to stretch the expanse between me and eons. How I would love to brush a finger over a ray of living light; but I know I cannot. Distance deceives me. These little breathing lights floating in blackness would truly reduce me to the tiniest size, like a mountain stands majestic over a single wild flower. I am overwhelmed by it all and stare up, in love with the floating sea above my head.

كلما تتركنى فكما تترك روحى جسدى ،فأنا الأن بلا روح وأيضاً بلا جسد لا أشعر ببردٍ أو حر،فكأنى على أشواك ولا أشعر وكأنى نائم على لهب أحر من الجمر ولا أشعر ،يا كل الأقدار تحدى حدثى القادم فأنا متعطش لفرجٌ قريب ،فبجوابها تأخذنى إلى أعلى السماء وأنظر إلى الكون وكأنه طيف منعكسٌ على وجههاالمشرق الذى كم أتمنى أن يراودنى فى حلمٌ عميق لا أود الإستيقاظ منه ، .كم أنا عاشق

There were days so clear and skies so brilliant blue, with white clouds scudding across them like ships under full sail, and she felt she could lift right off the ground. One moment she was ambling down a path, and the next thing she knew, the wind would take hold of her, like a hand pushing against her back. Her feet would start running without her even willing it, even knowing it. And she would run faster and faster across the prairie, until her heart jumped like a rabbit and her breath came in deep gasps and her feet barely skimmed the ground.It felt good to spend herself this way. The air tasted fresh and delicious; it smelled like damp earth, grass, and flowers. And her body felt strong, supple, and hungry for more of everything life could serve up.She ran and felt like one of the animals, as though her feet were growing up out of the earth. And she knew what they knew, that sometimes you ran just because you could, because of the way the rush of air felt on your face and how your legs reached out, eating up longer and longer patches of ground.She ran until the blood pounded in her ears, so loud that she couldn't hear the voices that said, You're not good enough, You're not old enough, You're not beautiful or smart or loveable, and you will always be alone.She ran because there were ghosts chasing her, shadows that pursued her, heartaches she was leaving behind. She was running for her life, and those phantoms couldn't catch her, not here, not anywhere. She would outrun fear and sadness and worry and shame and all those losses that had lined up against her like a column of soldiers with their guns shouldered and ready to fire. If she had to, she would outrun death itself.She would keep on running until she dropped, exhausted. Then she would roll over onto her back and breathe in the endless sky above her, sun glinting off her face.To be an animal, to have a body like this that could taste, see hear, and fly through space, to lie down and smell the earth and feel the heat of the sun on your face was enough for her. She did not need anything else but this: just to be alive, cool air caressing her skin, dreaming of Ivy and what might be ahead.

On a long flight, after periods of crisis and many hours of fatigue, mind and body may become disunited until at times they seem completely different elements, as though the body were only a home with which the mind has been associated but by no means bound. Consciousness grows independent of the ordinary senses. You see without assistance from the eyes, over distances beyond the visual horizon. There are moments when existence appears independent even of the mind. The importance of physical desire and immediate surroundings is submerged in the apprehension of universal values.For unmeasurable periods, I seem divorced from my body, as though I were an awareness spreading out through space, over the earth and into the heavens, unhampered by time or substance, free from the gravitation that binds to heavy human problems of the world. My body requires no attention. It's not hungry. It's neither warm or cold. It's resigned to being left undisturbed. Why have I troubled to bring it here? I might better have left it back at Long Island or St. Louis, while the weightless element that has lived within it flashes through the skies and views the planet. This essential consciousness needs no body for its travels. It needs no plane, no engine, no instruments, only the release from flesh which circumstances I've gone through make possible.Then what am I – the body substance which I can see with my eyes and feel with my hands? Or am I this realization, this greater understanding which dwells within it, yet expands through the universe outside; a part of all existence, powerless but without need for power; immersed in solitude, yet in contact with all creation? There are moments when the two appear inseparable, and others when they could be cut apart by the merest flash of light.While my hand is on the stick, my feet on the rudder, and my eyes on the compass, this consciousness, like a winged messenger, goes out to visit the waves below, testing the warmth of water, the speed of wind, the thickness of intervening clouds. It goes north to the glacial coasts of Greenland, over the horizon to the edge of dawn, ahead to Ireland, England, and the continent of Europe, away through space to the moon and stars, always returning, unwillingly, to the mortal duty of seeing that the limbs and muscles have attended their routine while it was gone.