Tag: sacred silence

  • Between Dust And Mirrors

    Between Dust And Mirrors

    Between dust and mirrors
    I carried silent letters,
    wrapped in paper made of mist and waiting,
    not filled with confidence—
    but with enchantments.

    I did not know, yet I knew.
    The Sun had greeted me,
    upright, high—
    as in those cards that never lie.

    And I walked,
    through the lower kingdom of the nameless city,
    through the fractures of reality
    none of my sages could explain:
    a black swamp,
    where humanoid larvae and shrieking wraiths
    bared their shadowy teeth
    and brandished blades in the rancid air.

    All was corrupted.
    All was decay.
    Creatures of the underworld
    called me bright star,
    tried to seize me,
    to drain the last whole word from my lips.

    But I walked still,
    even with the Chariot reversed,
    even as the Hanged Man spoke from his unseen cross,
    even as the Moon, askew,
    laughed behind her veil of deception.

    I walked on,
    I proceeded with endurance
    carrying my letters of destiny
    and a name no one can pronounce.
    Unknown among the ruins of grandeur,
    a pilgrim between topaz and filth.

    And then I saw it.
    On the horizon, beyond the bridge of centuries,
    stood an enchanted castle.
    My cherished palace.
    Towers gleaming like guarded dreams,
    mirrored waters whispering of other realms.
    And there, behind an eternal glass veil,
    sat my holy icon,
    keeper of the visions and silence.
    A beacon for those who have lost their path
    but not the flame.

    However, atop those gilded peaks,
    behind windows lit by empty feasts and fools’ champagne,
    The puppets of excess laughed,
    tripping over their own void.
    There, power wears the mask of the jester.

    Nonetheless, between dust and mirrors,
    I carried sorcery and spells.
    Broken enchantments,
    witchcraft writhing in blood-stained claws,
    arcane revelations seeping from the soil like forgotten rites;

    Tarot glyphs ignite beneath cursed fangs,
    a pact inked in shadows and old essence.
    A thread of fate winds unseen,
    binding my name to the arcane roots.

    Thus I crossed
    the border between realms that do not convey,
    with a sharpened awareness
    of one who can no longer close the eyes—
    not even to dream enchanted chimearas.
    Elisabetta

  • Timeless Beauty And Melancholy

    Timeless Beauty And Melancholy

    Timeless beauty and melancholy—as a memento of human frailty and the fleeting passage of time, which devours everything it touches.

    Among tapestries, sculptures, and paintings I wander, without direction and without intent, as if I had lost myself in the labyrinth of my own imagination.

    Solitude no longer belongs to me, for the thousands upon thousands of spirits inhabiting these artworks are my friends and companions, guiding me along their path of beauty and magnificence.

    I sigh and allow myself to be lost in my own unconsciousness and infatuation, as if I were a creature born of my dream world.

    In reality, I live in my imagination all the time, just realising that the world built by mortals does not belong to the way of my mind and spirit. And that my heart can only beat in a realm of silence, beauty, and bliss.

    Though some shadows and anxieties sometimes distract me from my path, I remain ever aware of my steadfastness and of the balance I seek to embody and preserve, to survive within my realm of wonders.

    In the silence of the night, I found myself in a valley of revelations, secrets, and mysteries, and it was there that I perceived and was able to ascertain what my senses had made me perceive.

    And at the same time, it seemed to me that the flame of my heart was kindled ardently with love and delight in the presence of such a revelation, of which I was certain, for the spirits of art had whispered the truth to me.

    Even though my body longed for rest and oblivion, my heart beat fiercely in the presence of such a revelation and in the presence of such sublimity.

    And yet, even if torments, anguish, and dark shadows sought to terrify me and make my path and my existence unbearable, this pure and indissoluble love—so fragile—kept me alive, like a vital sap to a flower surrounded by thorns and predators.

    Timeless beauty and melancholy stood like sentinels around me, watching over my heart.
    And though I was exhausted by a wretched and atrocious existence, I found my centre of gravity.

    And upon the petals of intoxicating beauty,
    as if it were a marvellous flower,
    I found refuge and rest.
    Elisabetta

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