In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
where I kneel.
Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist.
Is there not a region of love where the sovereignty is
illumined nothing,
where ecstasy gets poured into itself
and becomes
lost,
where the wing is fully alive
but has no mind or
body?
In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque,
a church
that dissolve, that
dissolve in
God.
"Whose voice calls me from the furthest reaches of the universe?"
Exploring the vital intersection of healing arts and indigeneity with Egyptian international interdisciplinary sound artist
A poem by Palestinian refugee Nibal Khalid
She, who speaks in climactic seed bursts of inspiration and steady sunrises the color of commitment.
Amid the cacophony of a cicada emergence, Anisa George reflects on her choice to leave the Bahá’í faith and its promise of a new civilization
Plenitude of sound / Infinitude of words / Transform within
But Ukraine is a country of the baroque
No matter how sick I feel, I’m still afire with a need to do something for my living
