Maat

Sitting in a courtroom filled with golden sunlight that angles in from floor to ceiling windows on my left side. I face the center of the Bench. I look down at my arm to see a gold charm bracelet around my wrist. I’m seeing it in close-up against the brown skin of my arm. There’s a tiny magnifying glass and there’s a sword, dangling with the point downward. I look up again. Behind the Bench in the judge’s seat, sits Maat. She is very tall and slender and dressed in the garb of the Gods depicted in the hieroglyphics. Her head keeps morphing into other Gods: I see Anubis, then Bast, then Thoth. I see a giant snake head on her shoulders too. They begin flipping faster and faster until I can’t make out whose head it is. They are all blurred together, like the landscape outside the windows of a speeding car. On either side of the Bench, two sets of gold scales sit. They are both offset, as if something heavy sits on one side of them. Huge white feathers begin to fall from the ceiling. They drift and coast down to the floor, taking their time. I watch them in fascination as they brush my face. There are so many of them…

3d Golden Scales of Justice Arkivvideomateriale (100 % royaltyfritt ...

The Whale of New Bedford, CT.

An old style sailing ship on the ocean during a massive storm. The bow dips on the downward side of a huge wave, pitching men and supplies forward, sliding helplessly along the deck. A sailor clings to the bottom of a mast desperately. He has blonde hair drenched with sea water. Wave after wave slams the side of the deck, slapping him full in the face over and over again. He wears a heavy coat with long sleeves and a wide collar. It’s dark grey or navy blue, hard to tell. All around him men scream and flail as the boat gets tossed like a toy on the raging ocean. Ahead of them, a wave swells, at least 10 stories tall. The water is black and dotted all over with small foamy crests of white. The sailor stares at it, his face a mask of terror. Another sailor slides past him on the left as the boat dips again, dropping straight down into the dark valley below. Up above them the sky is a relentless iron gray, covered in boiling cloud cover. The ship pitches sharply to the left suddenly, about to capsize. It’s a gigantic ship with many masts and huge cream-colored sails, so full with wind they stretch taut, like full bellies about to burst. The sailor begins to lose his grip, even though his rough hands are big and strong. He clutches at the wooden mast, trying to dig his fingernails in. He can’t hold on. The forces shattering the ship are too violent. Splinters of wood pierce his palms as the mast is wrenched free from his grasp. He flies through the air, weightless and for a long, long terrible moment, peaceful as a leaf floating on a summer breeze. He passes over the side of the deck, barely glimpsing the other men being swamped by gallons of water. His back hits the surface of the wild ocean and he sinks fast, aided by the heavy boots he wears and the sodden clothes full of absorbed moisture. As he goes down, an enormous blue whale swims past him. It’s easily as large as the doomed ship above, if not larger. A small eye swivels briefly to catch the tiny figure of the sailor as it travels to the bottom, arms and legs outstretched. The sailor is already gone. His blank eyes are empty and hollow. His fingertips graze the whale’s side as he goes by with a feathery goodbye touch. The whale continues on its path, it’s gargantuan tail steering it like a rudder. It makes its way into the murky black of the deep ocean, becoming smaller and smaller as it gains distance. Soon, only the diminishing fan of its tail can be seen, glimmering faintly. And then all is still far below the waves, once again.

 

The Sea Will Get a Lot Quieter Without the Navy's Whale-Killing ...

Prometheus

A drawing fills my vision. It looks very old and reminds me of a Leonardo da Vinci drawing. Faint, spidery lines drawn finely on fading sepia-toned parchment. It depicts a Grecian temple with huge columns supporting the front and steps leading up. As I gaze at it, lightning cleaves the sky and thunder cracks like gunfire, making me jump. The drawing is transformed into physical form and the temple looms above me, enormous and foreboding. The interior beyond the massive marble columns is dark and mysterious. In the blink of an eye, I’m standing at the top of the steps looking out at the landscape. Hulking thunderheads crowd the sky, bringing touches of gray and black to the sepia tone saturating the atmosphere. I see brilliant flashes of lightning deep within the clouds and know Zeus is afoot. Prometheus appears to the right of me. His form shifts and morphs as my mind searches for his face. It first solidifies into a tall, solidly built, swarthy man with wild black hair and beard shadowing his cheeks. As I keep watching, his face changes into a smooth-cheeked handsome man with short, sandy brown hair and a formidable physique. A metallic breastplate shields his chest. It is molded to fit his washboard abdomen. I have to chuckle to myself. I ask him if I can touch it. He grins and agrees. I can feel the coldness of the metal under my fingers and the rounded curves where it created the shape of his six pack. I tell him it is a sight to behold. As I look at his face, his myth plays through my mind and I think of him chained to the side of a mountain day after day while his liver is torn out of his side by a ruthless bird of prey. It makes me very sad and I tell him I’m sorry that happened to him. He says “What question do you want to ask me”? I respond, “What do you want me to know”? He reaches out and cups my head in his hands. His expression is very serious.

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The Shrieking Parakeets of Leticia, Colombia

Standing on the edge of the square at dusk. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The sky is overcast, light gray with patches of darker cloud shot through it. I’m an indigenous woman. My skin is a deep nut brown. I look at the lovely burnished color of my arm. The air is humid and tropical. Moisture beads my forehead and upper lip. My hair is long, dark and thick. It lays heavy on my neck, sticking to my skin uncomfortably. I lift it up for a moment, enjoying the brief coolness as air flows beneath it. I’m wearing a white cotton dress with delicate blue flowers and vines embroidered on it and sandals on my feet. I’m holding a basket in my right hand full of fresh fruits and vegetables. I set it down on the ground and  gaze out at the square with the pillars in a semi-circle around the backside. A group of small birds fly in, dark blobs against the cloudy sky. They shriek loudly as they swoop in and settle on top of the pillars. I smell rain in the air, earthy with a hint of metal in it. People walk across the square going about their nightly business. Three men sit at the side of the square wearing white shirts. One stands with his back to me, talking to his friends. A woman passes with her child, skipping and running to keep up with her rapid pace. A man passes her going the other way walking a big Golden Retriever on a leash. The dog looks friendly as he trots leisurely by, his tongue lolling out and his floppy ears swaying. Thunder peals again, closer this time. A fat drop of rain splashes on my cheek and I look up at the darkening sky. Electric lights begin to twinkle on behind the pillars as the village sinks into evening. More people pass by in both directions, going home for dinner, and TV and the winding down conversations around tables and bars. More birds fly in from the east, a whole mess of them moving in a black mass that breaks apart like a scattered puzzle as they choose their roosts. The shrieking is now a cacophony of sound piercing the air and mingling with the chatter and feet against concrete. I watch all of it motionlessly. A group of high school age girls in navy blue uniforms walk by, laughing and gossiping, their voices joyful and excited. They hold their books and tug on the straps of backpacks as they pass me. I pull out a plastic square with strings attached, shake it out and tie it onto my head. Behind me, more lights pop on, bright pools of gold warming the advancing gloom. I pick up my basket and walk straight through the square, fading into the night…

Parakeet Clay Lick | Tambopata, Peru - Rainforest Expeditions

The Astronaut of Casar

He lays face down in foamy surf, his front pressed into the wet sand. Slowly and painfully, he manages to roll onto his back. His face looks strange and misshapen, the skin bulging out in clusters of protrusions. His hair is sparse and sprouts from his scalp in tufts, like random patches of weeds in a field of bare dirt. The heavens above him are periwinkle blue and serene. A crescent moon hangs in the fading evening sky with Venus diamond twinkling beside it. He lifts his head to gaze out at the sea he washed in from. His ship lists in the water 200 feet out as it sinks below the waves. It’s a large silver disc with yellow lights all around the middle beginning to blink out. His head drops back onto the sand, despondent. He is marooned. Suddenly he is surrounded by faces, bearded, wild and bewildered. They stand all around him, staring down at the sodden grey jumpsuit he wears and his oddly configured head. They help him get awkwardly to his feet and escort him up the beach to their village…

humanoide cementerio del casar | Objetos

The Lobby of Galaxies

The Lobby is enormous, hushed and dim. The floor is black and white parquet, in a pattern of neat, orderly, alternating boxes. I walk across it softly, looking at the gleam of light reflecting in the squares. Huge screens line the walls in a 360 degree view of many galaxies. I don’t know what most of them are, but I do recognize Andromeda slightly to my right, spinning slowly in sparkling purple and pink splendor.

There’s a large hotel-style desk far to the left against the wall. A humanoid alien is manning it, talking with someone. He sort of looks like a six foot tall frog wearing a nice uniform. The atmosphere in the lobby is calm and peaceful. I like it a lot. The dim lighting makes the kaleidoscope of galaxies stand out even more. I tilt my head back to look at the ceiling and see there isn’t one. A nebulous fog hangs where it would be, obscuring the view. Tiny lights flicker deep within it, blinking on and off in tranquility. They remind me of little white Christmas tree lights. Straight ahead is a long row of elevators with shiny steel doors. They all go to different places: timelines, planets, parallel realities. I approach them and decide I want to go to the 8th dimension. I’ve been there before. It’s nice.

Andromeda Galaxy Facts - Space Facts

Hypnos

Chilly mist swirls above the ground. The scent of jasmine is in the air. I’m inside a huge circular space with no roof. The night sky arches overhead, full of stars. Many passages lead away from the center, forming a ring. There’s a big, furry, white blob there in the middle, snarling. I can’t see it clearly. It’s hard for me to focus. Then suddenly right in front of me, a large, long head appears. It’s a white rabbit. He’s very tall, and has long ears that are standing straight up.  He’s wearing a fancy suit. His eyes are glowing blue-white. He looks sinister. I know this is Hypnos. He reaches out and tucks my arm beneath his and we walk. He whispers in my ear, telling me secrets. The cold mist returns, covering the ground like a fog machine. The smell of jasmine becomes so strong, it’s overpowering. Hypnos tells me that I’m asleep. I see myself floating in the air as if I’m being held in a tractor beam. I’m bent over backwards with my head lolling to one side. My eyes are glowing blue-white. Soft ambient light floods the scene. Once again, I see Hypnos’ face close up. He whispers, “Wake up.”

Vintage rabbit head man portrait | Surreal collage | Wall art print

The Butterfly Universe

We can create a better reality than the one we’re in. We created this mess, didn’t we? We can transmute the flaming garbage fire raging out here into the Garden of Eden. All we gotta do is decide to do it.

An old-fashioned TV set with knobs and fake wood paneling. A hand reaches out and turns it on. The picture appears: a deep blue sky and trees covered in masses of Monarch butterflies. I move into the picture. I’m standing in the middle of a clump of trees. The sky overhead is deep, deep blue like the ocean. It’s warm and I can smell the toasted smell of grass in heat. Tall skinny trees surround me, reaching their long spindly tops into the sky. Each one is absolutely covered in thick clumps of Monarch butterflies. They hang in strands, extending down almost to the ground. There must be thousands, maybe a million of them. They begin to fly into the air and I can hear their wings flapping, a low, whirring sound like many tiny fans blowing at the same time.

They start flying around me and over me, brushing my skin with their wings. Pollen from their wings and bodies falls onto my face, dusting my brown skin with streaks of yellow and orange. I can feel them on my hair and arms. Some land on my shoulders and head. I stretch my arms out to either side and let my head fall back. I close my eyes and just feel the touch of wings and feet. In a few moments, they’re gone and I’m left alone in the empty trees and yellowing grass, covered from head to toe in butterfly pollen dust. It coats my eyelashes. I lift my head, lower my arms and just breathe in the stillness. Then a single butterfly moves from my back to my shoulder. It’s enormous, bigger than my hand. It leans towards my ear and starts whispering butterfly secrets to me. I listen and smile and talk softly to it in the quiet clearing…

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Lord Shiva

I’m flying through black space, pinpoints of starlight zooming past. All around me are tiny blue Ganesha elephants, floating in space. They look like little cartoons with jewelry and floral leis on. A bright yellow glow appears in the distance ahead of me. I race towards it. Behind me, a huge Garuda bird appears, seeming to chase me. His massive golden-brown wings flap soundlessly and the wind from them pushes me faster. In my mind, I can see his giant beak and his round saucer-like black eyes. There’s a gold jewel encrusted decoration draped over his feathered head, and rubies the size of small cars dangle at the sides of his face. The glow gets steadily more intense and I shoot straight into the center of it.

When I open my eyes again, I’m sitting on the ground in the middle of a vast meadow full of tall weeds and wildflowers. Golden afternoon sunlight saturates the scene. The vegetation is dry and brittle and it smells baked by the sun. I stand up. Garuda stands off to one side. He’s about four feet tall now, and he pecks at the ground. My hair is long, braided and grey and I wear a yellow and brown sari. Dots of beige are painted on my  hands and face in a precise pattern.  I begin to walk across the meadow. I’m barefoot. I reach a wide dirt road and start walking down the center of it. I can feel the cool, powdery dirt beneath the soles of my feet. The road winds down a sharply terraced hill and has very defined points and turns. I hear the word “ziggurat” in my mind.

Halfway down I see a man standing by the side of the road with his bare back to me. His skin is smooth and caramel brown and his silky black hair is tied up in a complex knot at the back of his head. He wears wide gold bands around each of his upper arms. The only clothes he wears is a pair of thin white cotton pants that fall loosely from his hips. I approach him and he looks back at me over his shoulder. He is achingly handsome. I fall to the ground prostrate and extend my arms forward. He comes up to me and I feel the palm of his hand touch the top of my head. I rise to my feet. Tingling floods my body, like effervescent bubbles swirling from my toes to the crown of my skull. My body begins to disintegrate from the ground up. As my cells dissolve, and my true essence is set free, the wisps of smoke that are me brush across his lips and drift lazily into the sky…

Lord shiva hindu god Royalty Free Vector Image

Wedding At The Biltmore Hotel

The scene appears as a set of white filmy curtains blow open, like in an old movie.

In a grand room with a double staircase leading to a second level, a wedding reception is taking place. The bride and groom stand near the bottom of a staircase, smiling and chatting with guests. The bride has a short, black bob haircut with bangs a la Louise Brooks. Her lips are painted deep, glossy blood red. Her dress is a floor length straight white satin sheath with very little adornment. The veil is the showstopper: also floor length and voluminous, billowing out around her slender figure like a shroud. It caps the top of her head snugly and is fastened with a satin ribbon tied securely around her temples. She holds a small glass of champagne in her hand. Her husband stands beside her, dressed nattily in a black tuxedo with an immaculate white shirt, black bow tie and tails. His hair is slicked back and he has a pencil-thin mustache. He is quite handsome.

It’s the 1920s. The room is decorated with huge masses of white flowers. They appear to spill from the walls in fantastic cascades of blooms and trailing green vines. More bouquets fill large Grecian urns set atop stone pedestals in every corner. The air is laden with the scent of roses and gardenia. A man sits behind a big golden harp in the front left of the room, coaxing waterfalls of soft notes from the strings. Three male peacocks with gold foil crowns fastened to their heads wander about, trailing their blue and green plumage across the thick Persian carpet that covers the middle of the floor. Women in long, elegant dresses embellished with ornate beadwork and men in black tuxedos fill the space. They lounge on both sides of the staircase, leaning against the railings as they chatter and drink champagne. Through the entrance to the second level, a massive crystal chandelier is visible, radiating warm light.

Down below, a team of silent wait staff circulate amongst the guests with sparkling glasses full of pale, bubbling liquid and silver trays lined with painstakingly created  hors d’oeuvres. They are all African-American. One woman stands patiently holding a tray being scavenged by hungry wedding guests. She wears a neat black dress with a white apron and a small white cap on her head. To the left of the room, through one door and then another, lays the kitchen. Inside another team of African-American cooks prepare a feast. A giant roast sits on a platter, waiting to be sliced. Men move amongst industrial stoves and ovens, stirring, seasoning and tasting. Three men work on an incredible wedding cake, five or six tiers tall and festooned with loops, curlicues and icing flowers. Steam rises into the air from the busy stoves.

Peacocks | Euclid Public Library