perception

Title: Canadian Fall
Artist: Scott Christensen


Sanai (1118-1152) (Abû'l-Majd Majdûd b. Adam Sanâ'î) is revered as one of the first great mystical poets of Persia. He produced many lyrical poems and a religious epic, The Walled Garden of Truth or the Enclosed Garden of Truth (The HADîQATU' L-HAQîQAT).


Don't speak of your suffering -- He is speaking.
Don't look for Him everywhere -- He's looking for you.

An ant's foot touches a leaf, He senses it;
A pebble shifts in a streambed, He knows it.

If there's a worm hidden deep in a rock,
He'll know its body, tinier than an atom,

The sound of its praise, its secret ecstasy --
All this He knows by divine knowing.

He has given the tiniest worm its food;
He has opened to you the Way of the Holy Ones.

Sanai

lost years

Title: In the Mountains Artist: Albert Bierstadt
VLADIMIR VYSOTSKY(1938-1980)
Where are they now, your 17 years?You lost seventeen good yearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Went through seventeen great fearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Your black hand gun- anywhere?At Bolshoy Karetnyi.What's the place without you there?At Bolshoy Karetnyi. Need I remind you of that house once more?Naw, you still remember, that's for sure.Yes, anybody's life is only half complete,If you haven't walked Koretnyi Street.I'll bet you yesYou lost seventeen good yearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Went through seventeen great fearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Your black hand gun- anywhere?At Bolshoy Karetnyi.What's the place without you there?At Bolshoy Karetnyi. Well, a while ago they changed it's name,Things are turning into a whole new game.No matter where you go to find what must be found:I betcha that Koretnyi Street is all around,I betcha yeah You lost seventeen good yearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Went through seventeen great fearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Your black hand gun- anywhere?At Bolshoy Karetnyi.What's the place without you there?At Bolshoy Karetnyi. Translated by Hans SleurinkГде твои семнадцать лет...Где твои семнадцать лет?На Большом Каретном.Где твои семнадцать бед?На Большом Каретном.Где твой черный пистолет?На Большом Каретном.А где тебя сегодня нет?На Большом Каретном. Помнишь ли, товарищ, этот дом?Нет, не забываешь ты о нем.Я скажу, что тот полжизни потерял,Кто в Большом Каретном не бывал.Еще бы, ведьГде твои семнадцать лет?На Большом Каретном.Где твои семнадцать бед?На Большом Каретном.Где твой черный пистолет?На Большом Каретном.А где тебя сегодня нет?На Большом Каретном.Переименован он теперь,Стало все по новой там, верь не верь.И все же, где б ты ни был, где ты ни бредешь,Нет-нет да по Каретному пройдешь.Еще бы, ведьГде твои семнадцать лет?На Большом Каретном.Где твои семнадцать бед?На Большом Каретном.Где твой черный пистолет?На Большом Каретном.А где тебя сегодня нет?На Большом Каретном.1962

breath of life

Title: Half Dome, Yosemite Valley Artist: Albert Bierstadt
And the weaver said, "Speak to us of Clothes." And he answered: Your clothes conceal much of your beauty, yet they hide not the unbeautiful. And though you seek in garments the freedom of privacy you may find in them a harness and a chain. Would that you could meet the sun and the wind with more of your skin and less of your raiment, For the breath of life is in the sunlight and the hand of life is in the wind. Some of you say, "It is the north wind who has woven the clothes to wear." But shame was his loom, and the softening of the sinews was his thread. And when his work was done he laughed in the forest. Forget not that modesty is for a shield against the eye of the unclean. And when the unclean shall be no more, what were modesty but a fetter and a fouling of the mind? And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair. Khalil Gibran

fiery hoop of the sun

Title: Autumn Landscape Artist: Jervis Mcentee Belarusian Iby Valzhyna Morttranslated by Franz Wright and Elizabeth Oehlkers Wrighteven our mothers have no idea how we were born how we parted their legs and crawled out into the world the way you crawl from the ruins after a bombing we couldn't tell which of us was a girl or a boy we gorged on dirt thinking it was bread and our future a gymnast on a thin thread of the horizon was performing there at the highest pitch bitch we grew up in a country where first your door is stroked with chalk then at dark a chariot arrives and no one sees you anymore but riding in those cars were neither armed men nor a wanderer with a scythe this is how love loved to visit us and snatch us veiled completely free only in public toilets where for a little change nobody cared what we were doing we fought the summer heat the winter snow when we discovered we ourselves were the language and our tongues were removed we started talking with our eyes when our eyes were poked out we talked with our hands when our hands were cut off we conversed with our toes when we were shot in the legs we nodded our heads for yes and shook our heads for no and when they ate our heads alive we crawled back into the bellies of our sleeping mothers as if into bomb shelters to be born again and there on the horizon the gymnast of our future was leaping through the fiery hoop of the sun

juda

Title: FrostfireArtist: Dorthy Fagan

robe of splendor

Title: Winter Scene, Gloversville
How could I ever thank my Friend?No thanks could ever begin to be worthy.Every hair of my body is a gift from Him;How could I thank Him for each hair?Praise that lavish Lord foreverWho from nothing conjures all living beings!Who could ever describe His goodness?His infinite glory lays all praise waste.Look, He has graced you a robe of splendor>From childhood's first cries to old age!He made you pure in His own image; stay pure.It is horrible to die blackened by sin.Never let dust settle on your mirror's shining;Let it once grow dull and it will never polish.When you work in the world to earn your livingDo not, for one moment, rely on your own strength.Self-worshiper, don't you understand anything yet?It is God alone that gives your arms their power.If, by your striving, you achieve something good,Don't claim the credit all for yourself;It is fate that decides who wins and who losesAnd all success streams only from the grace of God.In this world you never stand by your own strength;It is the Invisible that sustains you every moment.
Saadi, translation by Andrew Harvey and Eryk Hanut - 'Perfume of the Desert'

lalla ruk

Peasant in a Festive Dress Lalla Ruk Dearest dream, my soul's enchantment Lovely guest from heav'n above, Most benevolent attender To the earthly realm below, You gave me blissful satisfaction Momentary but complete: Bringing with you happy tidings - Like a herald from the skies. I dreamed dreams of life eternal In that Promised Land of peace; I dreamed dreams of fragrant regions, Of a tranquil, sweet Kashmir; I could witness celebrations, Festivals of roses vernal Honoring that lovely maiden From lands strange and far away. And, with glistening enchantment Like an angel from above, - This untainted, youthful vision Came before my dreaming eyes; Like a veil, a shining shroud Screened her lovely face from view, Tenderly she did incline Her shy gazes toward the earth. All her traits - her timid shyness Underneath her shining crown, Childlike her animation, And her face's noble beauty - Glowing with a depth of feeling, Sweet serenity and peace - All of these completely artless Indescribably sublime! As I watched, the apparition (Captivating me in passing) Never to return, flew by; I pursued - but it had gone! T'was a vision merely fleeting, Transient illumination Leaving nothing but a legend Of its passing through my life! T'is not ours to harbor Beauty's spirit - Ah, so pure! It comes nigh but for a moment From its heavenly abode; Like a dream, it slips away, Like an airy dream of morning: But in sacred reminiscence It is married with the heart! Only in the purest instants Of our life does it appear Bringing with it revelations Beneficial to our hearts; That our hearts may know of heaven In this earthly shadow realm, It allows us momentary Glimpses through the earthly veil. And through all that here is lovely, All that animates our lives, To our souls it speaks a language Reassuring and distinct; When it quits our earthly region It bestows a gift of love Glowing in our evening heaven: "Tis a farewell star for all to see.
VASILY ZHUKOVSKY© A. Wachtel, I. Kutik and M. Denner www.russianpoetry.net Лалла Рук Милый сон, души пленитель, Гость прекрасный с вышины, Благодатный посетитель Поднебесной стороны, Я тобою насладился На минуту, но вполне: Добрым вестником явился Здесь небесного ты мне. Мнил я быть в обетованной Той земле, где вечный мир; Мнил я зреть благоуханный Безмятежный Кашемир; Видел я: торжествовали Праздник розы и весны И пришелицу встречали Из далекой стороны. И блистая и пленяя - Словно ангел неземной - Непорочность молодая Появилась предо мной; Светлый завес покрывала Отенял ее черты, И застенчиво склоняла Взор умильный с высот. Все - и робкая стыдливость Под сиянием венца, И младенческая живость, И величие лица, И в чертах глубокость чувства С безмятежной тишиной - Все в ней было без искусства Неописанной красой! Я смотрел - а призрак мимо (Увлекая душу вслед) Пролетал невозвратимо; Я за ним - его уж нет! Посетил, как упованье; Жизнь минуту озарил; И оставил лишь преданье, Что когда-то в жизни был! Ах! не с нами обитает Гений чистой красоты; Лишь порой он навещает Нас с небесной высоты; Он поспешен, как мечтанье, Как воздушный утра сон; Но в святом воспоминанье Неразлучен с сердцем он! Он лишь в чистые мгновенья Бытия бывает к нам И приносит откровенья, Благотворные сердцам; Чтоб о небе сердце знало В темной области земной, Нам туда сквозь покрывало Он дает взглянуть порой; И во всем, что здесь прекрасно, Что наш мир животворит, Убедительно и ясно Он с душою говорит; А когда нас покидает, В дар любви у нас в виду В нашем небе зажигает Он прощальную звезду. 1821

bountiful abundance

Title: Maples and Birches Artist: Joseph Holmes
And a merchant said, "Speak to us of Buying and Selling." And he answered and said: To you the earth yields her fruit, and you shall not want if you but know how to fill your hands. It is in exchanging the gifts of the earth that you shall find abundance and be satisfied. Yet unless the exchange be in love and kindly justice, it will but lead some to greed and others to hunger. When in the market place you toilers of the sea and fields and vineyards meet the weavers and the potters and the gatherers of spices, - Invoke then the master spirit of the earth, to come into your midst and sanctify the scales and the reckoning that weighs value against value. And suffer not the barren-handed to take part in your transactions, who would sell their words for your labour. To such men you should say, "Come with us to the field, or go with our brothers to the sea and cast your net; For the land and the sea shall be bountiful to you even as to us." And if there come the singers and the dancers and the flute players, - buy of their gifts also. For they too are gatherers of fruit and frankincense, and that which they bring, though fashioned of dreams, is raiment and food for your soul. And before you leave the marketplace, see that no one has gone his way with empty hands. For the master spirit of the earth shall not sleep peacefully upon the wind till the needs of the least of you are satisfied. Khalil Gibran

swift moon

Title: Sierra Nevada in California Artist: Albert Bierstadt Terzanelle: Manzanar Riotby Claire Kageyama-RamakrishnanThis is a poem with missing details,of ground gouging each barrack's windowpane,sand crystals falling with powder and shale,where silence and shame make adults insane.This is about a midnight of searchlights,of ground gouging each barrack's windowpane,of syrup on rice and a cook's big fight.This is the night of Manzanar's riot.This is about a midnight of searchlights,a swift moon and a voice shouting, Quiet!where the revolving searchlight is the moon.This is the night of Manzanar's riot,windstorm of people, rifle powder fumes,children wiping their eyes clean of debris,where the revolving searchlight is the moon,and children line still to use the latrines.This is a poem with missing details,children wiping their eyes clean of debris—sand crystals falling with powder and shale.

deedaar

Title: Red Sunset IIArtist: Baogui Zhang

in search

“Faith is a knowledge within the heart, beyond the reach of proof.”--Kahlil Gibran

Title: Edge of Autumn Artist: William HooO bird of the morning, learn love from the mothBecause it burnt, lost its life, and found no voice.These pretenders are ignorantly in search of Him,Because he who obtained knowledge has not returned.Sheikh Muslih-uddin Sa'di Shirazi - The Gulistan of Sa'di

the mysterious visitor

Title: Autumn Maples Artist: Kim Parker The Mysterious VisitorSpirit, lovely guest, who are you?Whence have you flown down to us?Taciturn and without a soundWhy have you abandoned us?Where are you? Where is your dwelling?What are you, where did you go?Why did you appear,Heavenly, upon the Earth?Mayhap you are youthful Hope,Who arrives from time to time Cloaked in magic From a land unknown?Merciless as Hope,Sweetest joy you show usFor a moment, then Take it back and fly away.Was it Love that you enactedFor us all in mystery? . . .Days of love, when one belovedRendered this world beautifulAh! then, sighted through the veilEarth did seem unearthly...Now the veil has lifted; Love is gone;Life is empty, joy - a dream.Was it Thought, enchantingYou embodied for us here?Far removed from every worry,With a dreamy finger pointingTo her lips, she sallies forthJust like you, from time to time,Ushers us without a soundBack to bygone days.Or within you dwells the sacred spiritOf Dame Poetry? . . .Just like you, she came from HeavenVeiling us twofold:Using azure for the skies,And clear white for earth;What lies near is lovely through her;All that's distant - known.Or perhaps 'twas premonitionThat descended in your guiseAnd to us with clarity describedAll that's sacred and divine?Thus it often happens in this life:Something brilliant flies to meet us,Raises up the veilAnd then beckons us beyond.© A. Wachtel, I. Kutik and M. Dennerwww.russianpoetry.net
Таинственный ПосетительКто ты, призрак, гость прекрасный?К нам откуда прилетал?Безответно и безгласноДля чего от нас пропал?Где ты? Где твое селенье?Что с тобой? Куда исчез?И зачем твое явленьеВ поднебесную с небес?Не Надежда ль ты младая,Приходящая поройИз неведомого краяПод волшебной пеленой?Как она, неумолимоРадость милую на часПоказал ты, с нею мимоПролетел и бросил нас.Не Любовь ли нам собоюТайно ты изобразил?..Дни любви, когда одноюМир для нас прекрасен был,Ах! тогда сквозь покрывалоНеземным казался он...Снят покров; любви не стало;Жизнь пуста, и счастье - сон.Не волшебница ли ДумаЗдесь в тебе явилась нам?Удаленная от шумаИ мечтательно к устамПриложивши перст, приходитК нам, как ты, она поройИ в минувшее уводитНас безмолвно за собой.Иль в тебе сама святаяЗдесь Поэзия была?..К нам, как ты, она из раяДва покрова принесла:Для небес лазурно-ясный,Чистый, белый для земли:С ней все близкое прекрасно;Все знакомо, что вдали.Иль Предчувствие сходилоК нам во образе твоемИ понятно говорилоО небесном, о святом?Часто в жизни так бывало:Кто-то светлый к нам летит,Подымает покрывалоИ в далекое манит.1824

giving

giving
Title: Autumn Landscape Artist: Jervis Mcentee Beauty is a terrible power!" And she retorted, "Human beings fear all things, even yourselves. You fear heaven, the source of spiritual peace; you fear nature, the haven of rest and tranquility; you fear the God of goodness and accuse him of anger, while he is full of love and mercy." After a deep silence, mingled with sweet dreams, I asked, "Speak to me of that beauty which the people interpret and define, each one according to his own conception; I have seen her honored and worshipped in different ways and manners." She answered, "Beauty is that which attracts your soul, and that which loves to give and not to receive. When you meet Beauty, you feel that the hands deep within your inner self are stretched forth to bring her into the domain of your heart. It is the magnificence combined of sorrow and joy; it is the Unseen which you see, and the Vague which you understand, and the Mute which you hear - it is the Holy of Holies that begins in yourself and ends vastly beyond your earthly imagination." Then the Nymph of the Jungle approached me and laid her scented hands upon my eyes. And as she withdrew, I found me alone in the valley. When I returned to the city, whose turbulence no longer vexed me, I repeated her words: "Beauty is that which attracts your soul, and that which loves to give and not to receive." Khalil Gibran

maqam

“Your daily life is your temple and your religion. When you enter into it take with you your all.”
Kahlil Gibran

Title: Springtime Artist: Peter Motz

heaven"s garden

Title: Between Seasons Artist: Nancy Lund I speak frankly and that makes me happy:I am the slave of love, I am free of both worlds.I am a bird from heaven's garden. How do I describe that separation,my fall into this snare of accidents?I was an angel and highest paradise was my place.Adam brought me to this monastery in the city of ruin.The hours' caress, the pool and shade trees of paradisewere forgotten in the breeze from your alleyway.There is nothing on the tablet of my heart but my love's tall alif.What can I do? My master taught me no other letter.No astrologer knew the constellations of my fate.O lord, when I was born of mother earth which stars were rising?Ever since I became a slave at the door of love's tavernsorrows come to me each moment with congratulations.The pupil of my eye drains the blood from my heart.I deserve it. Why did I give my heart to the darling of others?Wipe the tears from Hafiz's face with soft curlsor else this endless torrent will uproot me.Hafiz - Ghazal 44 - "The Green Sea of Heaven" - Elizabeth T. Gray Jr

look again

Title: Summer ShadowsArtist: Michael Schofield

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight." Kahlil Gibran quote

incomparable

I was an angel and highest paradise was my place. Adam brought me to this monastery in the city of ruin--Hafiz - Ghazal 44 - "The Green Sea of Heaven" - Elizabeth T. Gray Jr
Title: Swift River with Aspen and Maple Trees in the White Mountains, New Hampshire, USA Artist: Darrell Gulin Intoxicated by the Wine of Love.From each a mystic silence Love demands.What do all seek so earnestly? 'Tis Love.What do they whisper to each other? Love.Love is the subject of their inmost thoughts.In Love no longer 'thou' and 'I' exist,For Self has passed away in the Beloved.Now will I draw aside the veil from Love,And in the temple of mine inmost soul,Behold the Friend; Incomparable Love.He who would know the secret of both worlds,Will find the secret of them both, is Love.Farid ud Din Attar - translation Margaret Smith -The Jawhar Al-Dhat

harmony

Title: Winter HarmonyArtist: John Henry Twachtman The zeal which begins with hypocrisy must conclude in treachery; at first it deceives, at last it betrays. - Francis Bacon

shukr

shukr
Care, admitted as guest, quickly turns to be master.- Christian Nestell Bovee Title: Autumn Leaves Artist: FogStock Alpha Zuluby Gary LilleyI know more people dead than people alive, my insomniac answer to self-addressed prayers is that in the small hours even God drinks alone. My self-portrait; gray locks in the beard, red eyes burning back in the mirror, the truths of grooves and nicks on my face, one missing tooth. I'm a man who's gathered too many addresses, too many goodbyes. There's not much money or time left to keep on subtracting from my life. Except for needs I can pack everything I have into my old black sea-bag. To all the bloods I'll raise a bourbon, plant my elbow on the bar and drink to the odds that one more shot won't have me wearing a suit of blues. I'm so exposed, with you all of me is at risk, and if that's only one side of being in love that's the one deep down that proves it. Here you are sleeping with me, narcotic as night, naked as an open hand, and the skinny of it is, what makes you think I am afraid of this when I once lived in a cave, moss on the cold wall, all my bones scattered across the floor.

sitam

It is far better to be deceived than undeceived by those whom we tenderly love.- Francois Duc de la Rochefoucauld Title: Distant Hills Artist: Mary Silverwood Gnosisby Theodore WorozbytTurns out the radiologist didn't know thing one about radios. I stood there in my stocking feet and waited for the music to begin again. Being generally good with small motors I would mow and mow the lawn stoically with a white hand towel draped around my neck. I was stimulated by the reports of the optical scienteers. Because of the particular reflective and refractive qualities inherent in the molecular structure of the chlorophyll molecule, the wavelength perceived by the human eye as green is in fact repulsed by grass. Thus grass is all other colors. Impossible, impossible! was the catarrh violently discharging itself in the chambers of my thoughts. Grass and vert are green. Reading is black surrounded by white. If not, what? A barely perceptible hum underfoot that turns out to be electricity or some other invisible fluid? A basket heaped with unadjusted watches? The forests filled with white tigers. Fire came from god's beard. The sun rolled, a chariot wheel flaring its treads across the clouds. Starlight: angelic punctuation on the carbon paper of midnight. New York City sewers crawled with titanic alligators before debunkers in rubber boots stepped in. President Somebody was smoking an Egyptian cigarette and several papers didn't get signed before the prognosis began to resemble a trumpet: something gold around a hole.

yaad

That which we acquire with the most difficulty we retain the longest; as those who have earned a fortune are usually more careful of it than those who have inherited one.- Charles Caleb Colton Title: Serena Vista Artist: Mary Silverwood Pastoralby Jennifer ChangSomething in the field isworking away. Root-noise.Twig-noise. Plantof weak chlorophyll, noname for it. Somethingin the field has mastereddistance by living too closeto fences. Yellow fruit, has itpit or seeds? Stalk of wither. Grass-noise fighting weed-noise. Dirtand chant. Something in thefield. Coreopsis. I did not meanto say that. Yellow petal, has itwither-gift? Has it gorgeousrash? Leaf-loss and worried sprout, its bursting art. Some-thing in the. Field fallowed andcicada. I did not mean tosay. Has it roar and bloom?Has it road and follow? A thistleprick, fraught burrs, sucheasy attachment. Stem-and stamen-noise. Can I lime-flower? Can I chamomile?Something in the field cannot.

koi khwahish

The true way to gain much, is never to desire to gain too much.- Francis Beaumont
Title: Island in Time Artist: Anthony E. Cook
A Pot of Teaby Richard KenneyLoose leaves in a metal ball Or men in a shark cage steeping, Ideas stain the limpid mind Even while it's sleeping: Ginseng or the scent of lymph Or consequences queasing Into wide awareness, whence, Like an engine seizing Society remits a shudder Showing it has feeling, And the divers all have shaving cuts And the future's in Darjeeling— Blind, the brain stem bumps the bars Of the shark cage, meanwhile, feeding, And the tea ball's cracked, its leaves cast To catastrophic reading: Ideas are too dangerous. My love adjusts an earring. I take her in my arms again And think of Hermann Göring, And all liquidities in which A stain attracts an eating, And of my country's changing heart, And hell, where the blood is sleeting

shokh zuban

Title: Coming HomeArtist: Dorthy Fagan

nitey nite
Justby Alan Shapiroafter the downpour, in the early evening,late sunlight glinting off the raindrops slidingdown the broad backs of the redbud leavesbeside the porch, beyond the railing, each leafbending and springing back and bending againbeneath the dripping,between existences,ecstatic, the souls grow mischievous, they break ranks,swerve from the rigid V's of their migration,their iron destinies, down to the leavesthey flutter in among, rising and settling,bodiless, but pretending to have bodies,their weightlessness more weightless for the ruse,their freedom freer, their as-ifs nearly not,until the night falls like an order andthey rise on one vast wing that darkens downthe endless flyways into other bodies.Nothing will make you less afraid.

khumar
Title: In the Mountains Artist: Albert Bierstadt

a poem

Title: Sierra Nevada in California Artist: Albert Bierstadt
Assault to Abjuryby Raymond McDanielRain commenced, and wind did.A crippled ship slid ashore.Our swimmer's limbs went heavy.The sand had been flattened.The primary dune, the secondary dune, both leveled.The maritime forest, extracted.Every yard of the shore was shocked with jellyfish.The blue pillow of the man o' war empty in the afterlight.The threads of the jellyfish, spent.Disaster weirdly neatened the beach.We cultivated the debris field.Castaway trash, our treasure.Jewel box, spoon ring, sack of rock candy.A bicycle exoskeleton without wheels, grasshopper green.Our dead ten speed.We rested in red mangrove and sheltered in sheets.Our bruises blushed backwards, our blisters did.is it true is it trueGod help us we tried to stay shattered but we just got better.We grew adept, we caught the fish as they fled.We skinned the fish, our knife clicked like an edict.We were harmed, and then we healed.

stone churches

Title: Autumn Gold Artist: Diane Romanello
Title: Canadian Fall Artist: Scott Christensen
The name of the settlement Kideksha first appears in the Russian historical chronicles in the thirteenth century. From the very beginning, Kideksha was one of the arts and crafts centers of the Suzdal dukedom, which was the richest in Northern Russia. In its history, Kideksha has survived, along with the Suzdal dukedom, destruction by the Tatars, the Poles, and lived through the devastations of fires and plagues. Today the village, with its unique architecture, stands as a representation of Russian history.Kideksha is famous for one of the first stone churches in North-Eastern Russia. The Cathedral of Boris and Gleb was built in the twelfth century and rebuilt in the 1800's. The walls of this splendid white stone cathedral are decorated with frescos by the best icon painters of Suzdal in the twelfth century.
Village of Kideksha

shor--the noise

Title: Mountain Chapel Artist: Klaus Strubel
Title: Merced River in Yosemite Artist: Albert Bierstadt Marya Morevna A long time ago in a Russian kingdom closer than you might think lived a Tsar and his Queen, with their son Ivan and three daughters Maria, Olga, and Anna. The years passed and it was time for the old Tsar to hand over his kingdom to his son on his deathbed. On his deathbed the Tsar instructed young Ivan to see that his sisters be properly married and taken care of while they were still fresh and young. As the years passed, the now, Tsar Ivan found himself walking in a garden on palace grounds with his three sisters. Out of nowhere a black cloud appeared covering the entire sky. As this happened Ivan instructed his sisters to retreat to the inside of the palace before the storm began. As soon as they all stepped inside the palace lighting flashed across the entire sky, thunder rattled the land, and rain covered the entire kingdom. Next thing they knew a flacon flew through a window and as he landed he turned into a handsome prince. He looked at Maria then Ivan and asked for her hand in marriage. Ivan accepted the proposal as did Maria and they were married shortly thereafter and the falcon carried her back to his kingdom.

aram

Title: Mountain Bloom Artist: Larry Carver
Title: Field Poppies Artist: Philip Jamison
Town of Pljos
The name of the settlement Pljos first appears in the Russian history chronicles of 1778. Pljos was formed along a major trade route. The location of the town made the community very prosperous, and even by the end of the nineteenth century when the trade route changed, this small merchant town on a bank of the Volga river was still a symbol of wealth.

zaban na paya

Title: Blue Bonnet Time Artist: Porfirio Jr. Salinas
Title: Texas Spring Artist: Robert Wood
Churilo Plenkovich, perhaps one of the most romantic and defined figures of the cycle of Vladimir, is one round whom more doubts and fanciful etymologies have been woven than on any other hero. Every one of his three names, Churilo, Plenkovich, Sorozhanin gost', requires explanation, and has been overloaded with commentary. i.(a) Churilo. One source of this name is probably the Greek name, Cyril, and in some ballads the name Tsirilo is still found. (b) Churilo is a diminutive of Chur, a root very widely used throughout all the Slav language. The primary meaning seems to be "that which is cut to a clean edge," and in Czech the word Curidlo means a mask designed to scare children. In Polish there is a word Czurylo meaning a certain grass with sharp edges, and also a swindler, evidently one who cuts the price fine (cf. the Crech Curydlo, thapsia). There is also Curadlo in Czech (watering pot), in which again there is the association of cut metal. This root has many cognates in the other Aryan languages. In Old Norse there is a form skier meaning "bright" as applied to cut metal: in Lithuanian skirti, to cut. The English root shear is applied to sheep only, the Dutch scheeren means only to shave, whereas the German schereen meant to cut generally, and this same contrast in shaving and cutting in the cognate Greek shave, and cut, and the Sanskrit Kshuras, razor.
Churilo Plenkovich

life is a test

dil ka thikana
Title:
God's Castles
Artist: Stan Ekman

To see Kizhi and to really understand the place, it is necessary to wake up before sunrise, take a boat from the shore and drift off, trying not to disturb the dawn waters, into the mist... The mist will be all around; you will not even see your own oars, and only a gentle, listless wave will bring back to mind the shoreless lake, which in no time at all will awaken and softly begin to murmur close to the island in white, foamy surf. Then you have to rest on your oars and wait. The sun is up already, but you still cannot see it - the only thing that tells you morning has arrived is the mist, which has now become thin and limpid and is just a narrow strip above the level of the water.
Kizhi
Title: A Full Moon Shines on Winters Leafless Branches Artist: George F. Mobley