The most changeable forces of nature, in my mind

Different forces compete, emerge,
interweave into my mind; they stretch
and tighten, they press and pull all my
thoughts, my actions, my speech.
Although easily driven by the different stimuli,
they have a life of their own in my mind.

Like the waves of the ocean – born by
the contact with the shore and died in
my deep sea, away from the world.
Like giant waves rising up so high like walls:
they might come down, one after the other
forever changing my mind and the world.

Mental forces strong like currents. They
drag out my thoughts, following a timeless path
that leads to the world. Where my thoughts meet
my breath, and my mind connects with the world.

Forces like fingers of a hand, they pick up my ideas,
one at a time – or my ideas let themselves
to be picked up by these elegant powers.

Forces that in depth pierce the veil of waters
on which I believe to float. And from that deep rip,
the knowledge of my world can branch out,
unifying, integrating my mind more than before.

And across thousands of such rips
my identity is being shaped.

And my consciousness, like a flame even burning
among the waves of my ocean: a precious heat
that preserves my mind, a blinding light that lights up
memories and thoughts; a tunnel of fire through which
my thoughts one by one, face up to the world.

Consciousness like a fire that burns yet never
consumes my mind, fire that thirsts me and satisfies,
fire that rebuilds and distorts the space,
fire that speeds up or slows down the time: it
continuously draws the borders of this infinite ocean.

But how many ideas, thoughts, memories are
aimlessly floating among the waters no more
warmed by the heat of my consciousness?
How many strong forces – ignored – are now
competing in my mind, in perpetual waiting to ride
the wave and breaking through the world?

Entirely my mind lies upon the dimensions
– spaces and times –
that I almost completely ignore.

Lucia Salvato

February 2012

What is the mind made of?

What is the mind made of?

Of silent musics and voiceless speeches

of liquid words and plastic dreams

of cut off reasonings and unbreathed breaths

keeping together the tiniest bits of me.

 

What is the mind made of?

Of trails of codes

curled up as spirals of love

quiet forests of trees of thoughts

shaken by warm breezes and big storm of

air, tears and blood.

 

What is the mind made of?

Of space-times permanently or reversibly deformed

– An immeasurable Alter-Universe inside a cranial box –

Mind, son of the Universe, which is in turn your son

And here I am, like an hologram sprung from

the temporary embrace of all the natural laws.

 

Lucia Salvato

(23 April 2017)

Matryoshka of dreams

Guilherme_Marconi-Matryoshka

I tie you to my memories,
I weave you into my mind,
– a dream among dreams –
and through a shiver of peace
all the chains become lighter,
a layer of pain evaporates,
the most remote dreams vibrates stronger,
and I free them higher and higher
like birds
who yearned for the purest air.
Time waits for my breaths
– it counts them;
Space unfolds before my eyes
windless and new,
and my mind swallows it,
– reality, a dream –
in one bite.

The time chases the illusions,
the patterns are in my mind.

Image: http://www.jamesmaybe.com/blog/2010/06/matryoshka/

Burn my mind, o my breath

breath

Burn my mind, o my breath;
Empty all the forgotten
channels of my mind: they will
be filled up with new life.

Burn my mind, o my breath;
The void you left behind
is guiding me into
the darkest and most feared
places of my mind, where all
my certainties disintegrate
and my imagination is of no help.

Burn my mind, o my breath;
Your regenerating blows
have the power to move
the dead loads of this
now living channel of my mind;
your new air is bringing
my past times and future hopes
as gifts for a present moment
so hungry for life.

Burn my mind, o my breath;
The vital and deadly dance
of your blows, are reviving
and extinguishing this great fire
that has no light; at your pace
my emotions fade away and arise,
and as soon as a thought is born
it starts to die; along your blows
of death – as words – these thoughts
find another life.

Burn my mind, o my breath;
This complete darkness of my mind
– so discredited by my rationality –
only shows me the pale reflections
of the colours of the world,
while at each your regenerating blow
myself die and again is born.

Burn my mind, o my breath.
Here, among the black flames of
my mind, at each moment, a new search
for light restarts: passing through
my eyes and animating my body,
it never will stop.

Until I point it to home.

April 2012

Image: © Dana Bradford

A wait is my mind

Waiting_For_You_by_jjap

A wait among potent forces that compete in my mind,
and forces flowing into the world, never leaving
my body – completely;
A wait between a force that goes down and a force that rises
as slow as a snail or as fast as the sound;
A wait among forces that are repeated ad perpetuum
fueled by instincts and emotions,
by food, water and air;
A wait among forces that push me to act,
forces that make me fall asleep,
forces that make me wake up
after making me dream;
A wait among forces that make me understand
and make me remind and forget;
A wait among forces that follow a dynamic
from a very little space – inside a neuron –
to the universe
gaining so much strength at each step;

A wait among the occurrence of one
of these forces over another one
is my Mind;
And among these forces and the wait
I live.

Walls of air and blood

roots

Inconsistent more than air,
Resistant more than a diamond,
Transparent as glass,
Impenetrable as a moonless night,
Walls of the mind.
Savage gardens inside,
Tamed jungles,
A cathedral for dreams;
Immaculate everything mixes and remains still.

Until the walls tremble
– a caress –
A deep breach
– a hug –
structural failure
– a kiss –
and pieces of unexplored heaven on my skin.

These are living walls
– pulsing roots in the place of
fundations of stone –
the living walls could easily regrow…

… at the first signs of frost.

Image: Sophia A. Zhou http://www.deviantart.com/art/texture-01-roots-concrete-38016734

An insect striving for that red apple

And thoughts melt into the stream of consciousness
still different they march as one
they take the flow of the unity
in the grip of time.
Everything in the past and future
is perfectly one
– dreams of peace, lost memories –
but just in the present moment – right now –
this process is incompleted,
– it has just started –
and I can feel the gap.

My consciousness has stopped its own streaming
to collect the forbidden fruit
from the tree of the time,
a red apple directly stolen from the timeline,
a bite of “now”.

And the timeline now shakes,
vibrates,
– a small insect on a wet leaf –
The innocence is now lost,
the timeline altered,
the mind emerges,
the timeline rearranges,
the world holds its breath and waits.

And a new unification starts;

Integration.

A change.

– Already past.

Thrown vigorously in the future.

– Imagined.

It has just started.

Another stream to the sea.

Another bite at that apple.

The insect is dying.

Pesticides on that leaf.

IMG-20130504-00912

Image: my camera