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Analysis of Edna St. Vincent Millay's Second Fig

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Second Fig
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

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There has been a little conversation between myself and Edna St. Vincent Millay’s speaker in “Second Fig” for months now. Sometimes I would forget to think or talk to her for days or even weeks, then run into her riding the shades of a slow afternoon or merging with the shadows of an eerie night. Most recently, though, I have been finding her lisping within conversations shared with others and reading her on pages here and there. The thing is, often, in polite society, we speak only of our minor headaches in such ways that arouse neither genuine pity nor concern for our wellbeing but shine a dim light on our shared struggles in the search of infinite satiation. And this is why the lines of “Second Fig” are irritating––they are shamelessly honest. They can even be called coarse in that they seem to mock and brag simultaneously without apology. T…

Postcards From Within: Blue-inked, Pinked-blu

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Blue-inked, Pinked-blu  by Jane A. Odartey

nothing'sold,  yes. dearest dearest, Sir, nothing's new.  yes?
Your heart bLINK  our suffeRING.  our surrendeRING. We loved before eyes stung. love still in  blur. I am not without you true. not you without  me through. 
We breathe sinking We breathe singing
slurping wordlessly what isn't    yet    iz.
cell in cell as hand in hand as  space ≠ space.

thus think-feel-sense  mine, yOURs, same.
--- Listen to my reading below:


Personal Style: Lots of Prints in Lots of Sun

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How is it with you? Noticed I am here just on Mondays now? It's the new blog schedule. I am working on doing less with more presence, pleasure and patience. Count the p's. Lately I've start to catch myself shooting my index fingers in the air and hopping about. Do try it. And is it just me or did this September feel looO_Ooong? Mother had the Dashiki caftan made for me about two years ago on a trip to Ghana. I've altered it. The jacket too was once hers. The thing is, it is a pleasure wearing articles that hold connection to that which I am conscious of loving. The pair of pants is old. The brooch is my handiwork.  Mate, accept this wish: a brilliant Oct-OOO-ber! an OC-to-BE-Rilliance! octOBER-in-Brilli-brilLi!  Xx Jane


Between the Pages of Letters to A Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke V

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“No, there is not more beauty here than in other places, and all these objects, which have been marveled at by generation after generation, mended and restored by the hands of workmen, mean nothing, are nothing, and have no heart and no value;––but there is much beauty here, because everywhere there is much beauty.” (47)

Sleep doesn’t come like she used to. And not only do I know better to not be bitter, I feel no bitterness towards her. I sense I am afraid. Of what I know not of. But I am mocked by my mind of the merry jokes I once made of how well I slept, no less than the really-really dead. And I feel I have a new friend, an imaginary one actually––but what is not imaginary? My new friend is Chaucer’s speaker from the Book of the Duchess. My dear friend begun his tale with such melancholic lines, which I feel a strong urge to perform (to no audience except self) amidst tremendous laughter and tears. Supposing I have truly lost it now? But here are the lines:

I have gret wonder, b…

Experiment: Expecting Everything Conclusion

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How has it been with you? I am trying to live in the moment as best I can. If you have been waiting for the conclusion to the "Expecting Everything Experiment" (see part I, II & III), pardon me for keeping you waiting. But here it is now: what my experience––the result of more  than a year of conscious experiment––has taught me is that one is love, and one is meant for love and to love. Thus the heart sings of love and compels one to love. The question then is what is love? It seems to me that finding the answer to this question––what is love, i.e. what are you––is one’s life purpose. Therefore, one’s life purpose is to learn how one is love and how to be love, effortlessly. And by love I do not mean eros, but more along the line of agape.

Imagine if you could love unconditionally, free of expectations and attachments. Wouldn’t it be the most beautiful and joyous way to live? To give freely of yourself and find the act a reward in of itself. To meet every being in love …