Tag Archive: love

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                                     i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

~E.E. Cummings~


AT THE EDGE of the park was a hole and above this hole was always a cloud spectrum of vibrant curing colours. This hole looked like a big rabbit hole but it was not a rabbit hole. Everyone thought it was a rabbit hole but you see, Sam knew all about the rabbit hole secret. It was not for rabbits. “Listen carefully,” he whispered to me, “for I can only tell this story about the mystery of the sea to you once.” So, I listened carefully. In fact, I grew into an excellent and eloquent listener because of my great gentle friend and storyteller, Sam. The angel of the park.

“Underneath this secret hole dwell the powers of the purple and golden waters,” Sam told me with an urgent violet look in his eyes. Sam was always wearing something blue and something purple. I learned from him that a colour has an essence and a vibration and that purple has the highest vibration in the visible spectrum.  But back to the sea story of Sam. “The purple waters lead to the golden sea where one will find the deepest part of the earth’s ocean, the place of the powers,” he said. He also explained that this was surprising because the deepest part of the world’s ocean had been charted as the Challenger Deep located in the western Pacific Ocean with measurements placed at 11.03 kilometers. “But you see, my dear Elizabeth, nobody knows that there is a seafloor with a greater depth than the Challenger Deep: the Golden Deep, my dear, the Golden Deep,” he repeated. “The deepest portion of the Golden Deep has been placed at 30.03 kilometers. But nobody knows. These waters are uncharted!”

Sam told me that the powers in these waters were extraordinary and that they were only known to those who lived inside the waters and to a very special select few who lived outside of them. “Who live inside these waters, Sam?” I asked as I clung to him imploringly. “Oh, very extraordinary spirit people, Elizabeth. The lights of love live inside these magical waters,” said he.

The lights of love! Oh, my big full eyes beaming now with curiosity. “I will reveal it to you, my dear Elizabeth, the lights of love who live inside the waters do not come from ordinary spheres of reality but from higher ones. They have special powers that extend beyond themselves and rise into the spirits of others because the depth of their love comes from this other vibrant higher water world.”

From that day forward Sam anointed my life with some of the greatest love stories known to earth: Tristan and Isolde, Romeo and Juliet, Orpheus and Eurydice, Paris and Helena, Héloïse d’Argenteuil and Peter Abelard and so many more. Fiction or non-fiction, it did not matter, to him the spirit of unending love could be found in all rivers that run to the same sea. And all these great lovers even after death were still living as light colours inside the Golden Deep.


SAM also explained that I could access the powers of the waters when I would be older and all grown up. “There will come a time when you will have a need to rekindle your childhood dreams, like you would need to rekindle an inner fire,” he told me. But I was only seven years old so I did not fully understand what he meant by ‘a need.’ I had no need to rekindle my dreams then, I was always dreaming, dreaming with my eyes open and dreaming with my eyes closed. Dreams were my higher reality, my golden appearance. “But someday you might not dream. Someday you will live in ordinary spheres of reality and no longer in the higher spheres and that might cause you to suffer and make your eyes loose their shine. You will be you but you might wish you were not. You must come then to these waters,” said he.

“You must sit here by this rabbit hole for three hours but only in the spring. After three hours, the waters will wake and out of this space will rise a force so vibrant so bright that all the cells in your body will illuminate with light. And then you will never be the same again.” “Why, what will happen to me?” I asked hesitantly yet urgently. “The law of nature will touch you. You will change! Your need will change into the face of love that will make you weep with love, and then Elizabeth, you will acquire a new visual perception of life and of love. Your spirit will be filled with a vibrant spectrum of curing colours and you will perceive your life in entirely new ways! And this extra power, which was waiting all your life in life after life for a chance to live will rise and shine.”


AFTER 30 years, I went back to visit the rabbit hole with my daughter who is now seven years old. We found it underneath a bunch of branches and leaves. It was the very spot where Sam’s body was found when he died from his drinking problem during the same spring when he gave me the knowledge of the great golden waters. As I was reaching for the rabbit hole, I was deeply reminded how Sam loved me like his own daughter whom he never saw after he started living in the park as an alcoholic. It was my own daughter who said that day that I had an obligation to write down this story in the hope that Sam’s daughter will read it and see the face of love in the face of her father. “And perhaps, mommy,” my daughter said, “she is in need of the purple powers because she is suffering, and her eyes have lost their colours and their shine.”

I am older now and all grown up and it is clear to me now why Sam graced me with this colourful story. He talked a great deal about colours. In fact, he was a colour philosopher who believed that the interplay of true, deep, and unending love was the interplay not of two halves of a whole but an interplay of great spectrums of lights. When he spoke of the lights of love he spoke of the nature and interplay of colours. He explained that if people could truly wake up to their own innate vibrant colour system and embrace both the light and the darkness fearlessly within, then they could acquire a new depth of knowledge, a golden knowledge, of the nature of love in the physical world.

When the all becomes too daunting and too much, I close my eyes now and become a sleeping beauty in the last sunset that fades. My essence falls into the purple powers of the golden sea and I enter into a fifth season where I dream dreams that make me forget I am dreaming, just like when I was a child. These vibrant curing colours, they turn towards me as Sam said, and they spray me with eternal love, unending love, and with spring.

Sam is in a beautiful place, I know this now, he is freedom creating powerful colour spectrums inside the most magical of all golden seas.


I dedicate this story to Stephen Stymiest 

who died on January 20, 2012 in Precita Park.

I know what love is

A letter found me and entered into the pores of my being. This happens, sometimes. In these moments of word illumination, I start to wonder about the nature of words and how words are like living particle beings with unique energies all of their own. How can they not be when they have powers to illuminate. In such moments, I have no words to respond to words but respond I must.

This was the process I experienced when I created this image I know what love is. It was made in response to the words written in a letter by legendary American landscape photographer Ansel Adams to his friend Cedric Wright. I do love rising letters so this one came to me by way of Letters of Notes. Upon reading these beautiful words, I closed my eyes and drifted into the arms of another language. Words now within me. In infinities of space, I know what love is…

June 19, 1937

Dear Cedric,

A strange thing happened to me today. I saw a big thundercloud move down over Half Dome, and it was so big and clear and brilliant that it made me see many things that were drifting around inside of me; things that related to those who are loved and those who are real friends.

For the first time I know what love is; what friends are; and what art should be.

Love is a seeking for a way of life; the way that cannot be followed alone; the resonance of all spiritual and physical things. Children are not only of flesh and blood — children may be ideas, thoughts, emotions. The person of the one who is loved is a form composed of a myriad mirrors reflecting and illuminating the powers and thoughts and the emotions that are within you, and flashing another kind of light from within. No words or deeds may encompass it.

Friendship is another form of love — more passive perhaps, but full of the transmitting and acceptance of things like thunderclouds and grass and the clean granite of reality.

Art is both love and friendship, and understanding; the desire to give. It is not charity, which is the giving of Things, it is more than kindness which is the giving of self. It is both the taking and giving of beauty, the turning out to the light the inner folds of the awareness of the spirit. It is the recreation on another plane of the realities of the world; the tragic and wonderful realities of earth and men, and of all the inter-relations of these.

I wish the thundercloud had moved up over Tahoe and let loose on you; I could wish you nothing finer.




“But since the end of all poetic art

Is the improvement of the reader’s mind

(Or so we’re told), my verses for their part

Shall point the usual moral of their kind:

This life’s a crazy journey, and our heart

May stumble, but two mighty powers, we’ll find,

Can move the world and help us as we go:

To Duty much, to Love far more we owe.

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe [The Diary]

the dance of the soddy circles

I love you.’ In his letters, he never did quite write these words to me, at least, not in that order. Instead, he wrote ‘I place my love in you.’ He had a love for logic. The roots of love were active. They liked to engage, move, and place themselves inside inner circles where they could be activated multiple and multiple times. Yet, love had no logic. We agreed.

When he traveled he wrote long poetic ungraspable lovely letters. He was a mathematician and a poet, a sailor of structures, patterns, precisions, and symmetry of thought. His planet needed mathematics and poetry as much as our planet needs suns, seas, oceans, and moons.

Like the words of the great poets of the world, the force of his words bled into the caves of my soul bodies. His words counted for the echoes of my thoughts. He lived between raindrops so he could count them. I lived between the pages of his books.

He was a penman; there was no doubt about it. The pen was body flesh. Ink, the colours of humanity. He felt through the pen and wrote not to discover what he knew, but what he believed. The difference, I have yet to forget the look in his eyes when he explained it. They pierced into precision.

Mathematical beauty, freedom of inquiry, peaceful galaxies and planets, forces of wisdom in nature, facing the rivers, the sounds of G’d, and the eyes of the soul: he walked these worlds. Poetry was a colour of heart and hope. Poetry was Pessoa, Neruda, Whitman, precise as math, and other quantitative spirit-sciences.

He believed in the powers of handwritten letters and poems, even in the age of computers. In his pocket, he always carried 2 letters + 1 note + 4 poems = a total of 7 pieces of paper. ‘Seven: the number of completion.’ But, his favourite number was 3: ‘Thought, word, deed, complete the sum of human capability.’

The letters

  • 1. Flaubert’s letter to Louise Colet in which he wrote ‘Poetry is as exact a science as geometry.’ 
  • 2. The letter of Samuel Taylor Coleridge to his brother with the words“ I have often been surprised that Mathematics, the quintessence of Truth, should have found admirers so few…”
  • 3. And my words nested in a note ‘Before you do your math could you please clean up your socks! Should you forget, I will not be able to calculate them.’

The poems

  • 1. Pablo Neruda’s An Ode to the Numbers
  • 2. The Kiss Precise by Frederick Soddy
  • 3. Robert Browning’s poem called Rabbi Ben Ezra, inspired by the great Abraham ibn Ezra who lived during the Middle Ages. He was also called Abenezra, or The Wise, The Great, and The Admirable Doctor. He was a great master in multiple subjects including math and poetry. A crater on the moon was called after him, Abenezra. What I also found most interesting, was that the first words in this poem by Browning inspired John Lennon to write his song “Grow Old With Me.” We loved sharing these kind of stories. We loved stories. We loved Lennon. We loved songs.
  • 4. And, last but not least, he carried a poem in his pocket, which I wrote called  ‘A room of my own. You!’ -with no relation to mathematics what so ever.

These letters and poems were, he said, ‘just elegant and beautiful proofs of linking poetry to geometry, divine expression to grace.’

He was gentle. He was wise. His spiral way, he was able  to define it way before I was able to define mine. He loved me for everything I disliked about myself. Yes, it is true. His exact words: ‘Sometimes we need the other to show the one the billions of colours inside the eyes of our own.’’ He was my Soul mirror. I was his, ‘Earthrise. Earthrise.’

It was so sudden and so unexpected. But, when he lost his ability to count, I think he knew. His genius was tortured. His pen turned syringe. On the last night of his life, I curled up beside him. I took his hands in my hands, looked at his fingers and kissed each one of them the way I would kiss his poems. Then, I reached for his eyes with my lips and planted 3 white butterflies on the flesh of each lid. ‘10 + 3 + 3 kisses adds up to 7 kisses, the number of completion and the kissing butterfly circles,’ I whispered. In that moment, he became his last smile.

For the next 300 years, I lay there beside him in a fetish position. Assailed by an inferno of sadness, I lost my life after he lost his. ‘Oh my soul, how to survive this second world of silence? How to exist without existing? Oh, gift of death, why slice my soul and leave one slice behind? Take me. Take me!’ Take me never came.

Stories heal. We become what we believe. I believe in stories.

Why do the winds blow people towards us, only to rip them from our lives after some seasons? I now know I will never know. I will not be here forever, but I am here now. That is all I know. I know that he placed himself in every piece of my human more deeply and intensely than can any other human. Perhaps, he was not human. Perhaps, he was a sun spirit. A moonwalker. A wonder of a great love.

Twelve months later, I found a letter in one of his books. It was he to me. Clearly, it was a letter he wrote during his final days when he could barely write. But, I was able to read him. At night, I keep this letter under to my pillow, by day…between the pages of his book. The letter:

Oh my soul ~ Fanny ~

Promise me, you will not be afraid to create new worlds.

Where I go and where you are,

 I will still see the 3 billion colours in your eyes

And, watch your hands ~ create the dance ~ of the Soddy circles.

Radiate forward!

 I am your Soul mirror. You, my Earthrise. Earthrise.

I place my love in you, Fanny  ~ Jacques


  • His imperfections?
  • Well, he snored. We had our issues.
  • However, if all my body parts now ache to be cradled inside the songs of his snores, does his night music now add up to be the grand total sum of an imperfection?
  • ‘Precisely, Fanny, Precisely.’

Earthrise. Earthrise.