Circe’s Madness


“There is in every one of us, even those who seem to be most moderate, a type of desire that is terrible, wild, and lawless.”
— Plato


I didn’t know who she was but she released the animal inside of me. Not in the way that you might think tho my memories are hazy. Since I’ve met her tho every single dark thought I have expresses itself. I have discovered a wildness in me and have become almost feral. I can reign in my actions but the desires are there. Never have I felt so out of control. Never have I felt so free. I have greater knowledge of myself than ever before. At times I am almost grateful for this. Few people have had this upfront a view of the beast that they contain. I accept this wild man this beast so that one day I can transcend it or so I hope. Until then I tread on a narrow edge. The jury is still out on which way I’ll fall off.
— Part of a note found in an alley


Blessings, G

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Circe's MadnessCirce’s Madness by G A Rosenberg


Turquoise NetTurquoise Net by G A Rosenberg


Linking Real

“So books are real to me, too; they link me not just with other minds but with the vision of other minds, what those minds understand and see. I see their worlds as well as I see my own.”
― Philip K. Dick


Feeling my heart open
feeling my wounds bleed
My blood spilling out
of view and precious need
to reveal what’s inside
That spark of truth
that separates bifurcates
my age from my youth
I lied to myself
so easily when young
seeing myself in the lyrics I sung
or the books that i read
heroic tales
grandiose successes
dramatic fails
the passage of time
did honesty bring
those old half truths
no longer would fling
so now I can bleed
confessions and truth
I no longer need
the protections of youth


Wow, where did that come from…Partly the wish to be more open and then realizing that its easier to be honest with time… There is both less reason and less desire to hide… Not that it was ever necessary. Hiding sent me on some amazing adventures as did eventually facing myself…
Blessings, G


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Sacrifice and RenewalSacrifice and Renewal by G A Rosenberg


Mandala with Flame threadsMandala with Flame Threads by G A Rosenberg

Real Characters

“If you will practice being fictional for awhile, you will understand that fictional characters are sometimes more real than people with bodies and heartbeats”
— Richard Bach


There are times when I lie awake at night and have conversations in my head with characters from books. Malachi in Edgar Pangborn’s Still I Persist in Wondering, never bored and asking the question Why do we love when we know it will end up hurting us. Sometimes in my mind I find myself trading bad puns with the denizens of the Callahan stories by Spider Robinson and sometimes I find myself sharing some of the rougher problems I’ve had with them and thereby lessening the pain. When my mother passed away I found myself receiving solace from the personification of Death as written by Neil Gaiman. THere are so many characters I’ve read over the years that they have taken on a life of their own at least in my mind.
Does that seem far fetched? Do you have friends who you’ve only spoken to on the internet? How about casual acquaintances and distant relatives who most of what you know about each other is myth that you’ve used to fill in the blanks. How real are they to you? How real is the clerk at your local grocery store whom you smile and joke with? Do you even know their name?
At best, the amount of matter we give to a person or thing in our lives whether fictional or corporeal varies based on our mindfulness and our interest. Yes I have loved fictional characters and given them more life than I have the casual strangers I meet each day. Doing this has allowed me to have more appreciation for other beings in general and a keener appreciation for the real.
Blessings, G


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Dream Journey MandalaDream Journey Mandala by G A Rosenberg


Exploding MazeExploding Maze by G A Rosenberg

Quote of the Day – August 9 2012

‎”Biographies bore me. I don’t care how insightful a biographer is, no one knows what’s going on inside someone else’s head. Autobiographies bore me, too, because we lie to ourselves even more than a biographer does. Here’s what I think the bottom line is: if you’re looking for truth, try fiction…. I’ve always believed that the lies we use to make our fictions reveal the truth with far more honesty than any history or herstory or life story. ”
— Charles deLint

Tell me a story.

What kind of story?

How about one where we can believe that heroism exists and that love survives and thrives. How about a story about life in a kingdom who’s rulers are just and care about the land and the people. One where in the end people grow and change and noone goes to bed hungry and alone and no one has to worry that their neighbours will hurt them because they can and they take everything. How about a story where happiness exists and can be realized, recognized and honoured?

Oh I see. You want fiction, a fairy tale

No I want a real story about the life that I live in my heart…

Blessings, G

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Opal Infinitude by G A Rosenberg/h5>

Quote of the Day – March 24 2012

“Fiction is like a spider’s web, attached ever so slightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible.”
— Virginia Woolf

Possibly the imperceptibility of these attachments is why we allow fiction to reflect our lives more accurately sometimes than the ‘true’ stories that we tell…
Tonight I’ve been reading some of the mythological stories about Anansi, the spider, a trickster deity from West African and American folklore. Not terribly surprising, I found that a rather famous story that I’ve recounted here before, one that Uncle Remus told about Br’er Rabbit, was originally about Anansi

Anansi and the Tar-Baby

Once Mrs. Anansi had a large feed. She planted it with peas. Anansi was so lazy he would never do any work. He was afraid that they would give him none of the peas, so he pretended to be sick. After about nine days, he called his wife an’ children an’ bid them farewell, tell them that he was about to die, an’ he ask them this last request, that they bury him in the mids’ of the peas-walk, but firs’ they mus’ make a hole thru the head of the coffin an’ also in the grave so that he could watch the peas for them while he was lying there. An’ one thing more, he said, he would like them to put a pot and a little water there at the head of the grave to scare the thieves away. So he died and was buried.

All this time he was only pretending to be dead, an’ every night at twelve o’clock he creep out of the grave, pick a bundle of peas, boil it, and after having a good meal, go back in the grave to rest. Mistress Anansi was surprised to see all her peas being stolen. She could catch the thief no-how. One day her eldest son said to her, “Mother, I bet you it’s my father stealing those peas!” At that Mrs. Anansi got into a temper, said, “How could you expect your dead father to rob the peas!” Said, “Well, mother, I soon prove it to you.” He got some tar an’ he painted a stump at the head of the grave an’ he put a hat on it.

When Anansi came out to have his feast as usual, he saw this thing standing in the groun’. He said, “Good-evening, sir!” got no reply. Again he said, “Good-evening, sir!” an’ still no reply. “If you don’ speak to me I’ll kick you!” He raise his foot an’ kick the stump an’ the tar held it there like glue. “Let me go, let me go

sir, or I’ll knock you down with my right hand!” That hand stuck fast all the same. I’ll you don’ let me go, I’ll hit you with my lef’ hand!” That hand stick fas’ all the same. An’ he raise his lef’ foot an’ gave the stump a terrible blow. That foot stuck. Anansi was suspended in air an’ had to remain there till morning. Anansi was so ashamed that he climb up beneath the rafters an’ there he is to this day.
Stanly Jones, Claremont South Ann from  Jamaican Anansi Stories collected by Martha Warren Beckwith

I’ve always loved this story and for me it provides a great metaphor for what happens when we dislike something, the more we strike out at it, the harder we stick Blessings, G

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Cosmic Web Mandala by G A Rosenberg

Quote of the Day – December 30 2011

“All the works of man have their origin in creative fantasy. What right have we then to depreciate imagination.”
— Carl Jung

“If you will practice being fictional for a while, you will understand that fictional characters are sometimes more real than people with bodies and heartbeats. ”
— Richard Bach

“And if you ever hear me calling out
And if you’ve been by paupers crowned
Between the worlds of men and
I can be found.”
— Dan Fogelberg

Some nights I feel more real than others. Are those the nights that I actualize myself more or the opposite? I dance among the fictions, the things I’ve experienced and the things that people may believe about me. I realize that any autobiography becomes to the witness that resides at the back of our consciousness at least partly a work of fiction. Namaste, G

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Eye in the Lotus by G A Rosenberg

Quote of the Day – November 27 2011

“Surely the job of fiction is to actually tell the truth. It’s a paradox that’s at the heart of any kind of storytelling.”

–Jeremy Northam

Thinking about storytelling tonight, our stories as well as the ones we read, watch, hear from others. It stopped surprising me a long time ago, the truth and insight that can come from a fictional story, a myth or a legend. The mask of fantasy becomes an armour that even the most vulnerable of truths can wear at least until midnight when the masques come off and the truth becomes revealed. How many of us run off Cinderella like before that can happen? Or is that mixing metaphors? Perhaps tho, someone has found the clues we left behind (and every fiction as well as every truth leaves clues behind) and cares enough to follow us home…Sometimes it may be part of ourselves that hasn’t seen the light of day in way too long…

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Intersecting Planes by G A Rosenberg