This is a fragment of a full-length sculpture portraying the ferocious
Hindu goddess Kali in the form of Chamunda, an epithet derived from her
act of decapitating the demons Chanda and Munda. Chamunda embodies
bareness and decay. Her hair is piled up into a chignon decorated with a
tiara of skulls and a crescent moon. She scowls, baring her teeth, and
enormous eyeballs protrude menacingly from sunken sockets in her
skeletal face. As a necklace, she wears a snake whose coils echo the
rings of decaying flesh that sag beneath her collarbone. Just above her
navel on her emaciated torso is a scorpion, a symbol of sickness and
death. She presumably once held lethal objects in the hands of her
twelve missing arms.
Poems by Mikhail Kuzmin, Illustrated by Vladimir Milashevsky 1920
Sun, sun, divine Ra-Helios, you delight the hearts of kings and heroes, sacred horses neigh to you, in Heliopolis they sing hymns to you; when you shine, lizards crawl out onto rocks and boys go laughing to swim in the Nile. Sun, sun, I am a pale scribbler, a library recluse, but I love you, sun, no less than a tanned sailor smelling of fish and salt water, and no less than his accustomed heart rejoices at your royal rising from the ocean, my heart trembles, when your dusty, but flaming ray slips through the narrow window by the ceiling onto my filled page and my thin, yellowish hand, writing out in vermilion the first letter of a hymn to you, O Ra-Helios sun!
Agathias (c. 536-582 AD) translated by Richard Garnett
Satyr, whose listening ear so low is bent Breathes with spontaneous strain thine instrument? Smiling and silent thou remainest bound In silvery fetters of delightful sound; For sure that lifelong figure here doth dwell Fixed not by Painting's, but by Music's spell.
As an Individual I resent this cant re "self -expression." a catch phrase to hide every form of delinquency -- the excuse to perpetuate the worst whithin us at other's expense.
"Looking within, to the depths of one's Soul" is another inverse cliche: personally, my experience of "looking within" has been exactly like looking into an empty bucket!
As an inveterate believer in the Soul, I have experienced the "Touch"... and all stimuli of inspiration at any level are an effulgent refraction from something we have glimpsed from without and excreated from the machine within. So far
we have made a sorry mess of the Anatomy of the Mind. The Soul is apart--becoming
tactual of sincerity when our level of values is near equity -- its language is a baffling symbolism to all untruth: human nature being the most unstable thing known -- correspondance is rare