The Fool of April

From the madness of March to the fool of April... we go from looking at our own mental dis eases to truly loving ourselves in our darkest places. Earth's turning brings us deliverance into Spring , the manifestation of hope and faith, the liberation of  heavy thought and deep reflection, the warmth of an active Sun and softening soil under foot brings a sense of freedom... we too are brought up from our underworlds, out of the winter of our souls. April brings rebirth, new hope, new joy... love for self.

What gives you joy? Think on this, look and observe yourself, catch yourself in whatever moment you recognize as happiness. Allow yourself to be LONG in that moment, investigate it, examine every aspect.... open your mind and heart to understanding what creates joyfulness within you. Document it, keep a conscious record of that moment... and allow yourself to yearn for more! That is the beginning of self love! believing that there can be more!!!

The first signs of daffodils in February inspired me to take a picture of it. I realize now that Instagram is a great venue for me to capture and share those moments. Finding these treasures; beautiful, obscure, taken for granted, unrecognized and overlooked moments of simplicity brings me a nice warm happy feeling... Share your pictures with me on Instagram!! indiraravynmoon

and stay plugged in for more foolishness! Happy Fools Day one and all!!!


  1. i can smell you,
    across ten thousand years,
    - in the wind.

    (is it an ancient version of me that i smell ? or an ancient version of you ? it smells like pussy. is that wrong ? it smells like pussy that i really want. does that make me bad ? is it really a smell, or something in the blood ? or is it just madness ?)

    i can smell you,
    across a thousand miles,
    - in the wind

    (i know you are there. i can smell you in the air. maybe with my nose, maybe with my heart, maybe only in my mind. does it matter ? i can smell you. maybe i am blind. maybe you are right in front of me. maybe somewhere else. does it matter ? maybe you are man. maybe you are a woman. maybe you are dying. maybe i am dying. maybe you are sad. and it's your tears i smell. maybe you are happy. and i smell your smiles. across plains and oceans. graveyards. does it matter ?

    meanwhile, i saw them set a dog on fire. i tried to save him. i dragged him to the fountain. i held him in the cool water. i rubbed his burned skin, his blinded face, and wept. and wept. and wept.)

    madness in your blood,
    you know its me,
    - you know what i want

    each of us bearing,
    that precious measure of madness,
    - compelling us

    (compelling you to me, and me to you)

    "It is in the blood !"
    our secret madness, passions,
    - the blood that we share

    all my cleverness,
    my designs and desires,
    - tethering madness

    my humanity,
    naked and stretching,
    - beautiful

    my humanity,
    every act violent,
    - every word, vain

    between my strong thighs,
    slung in a spandex hammock,
    - yawning and yearning

    naked in the rain,
    the woods, a city alley,
    - dripping, waiting

    all out of sorry,
    fuck you punch punch fuck punch you,
    - not you, i mean, me

    every morning,
    staring at the naked man,
    - the bathroom mirror

    lost hearts,
    crowd lonely elevators,
    - going nowhere

    my braided beard gone,
    among the lotus-eaters,
    - i am lost

    * Tennyson in the "Lotos-eaters,"

    "How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream
    With half-shut eyes ever to seem
    Falling asleep in a half-dream!
    To dream and dream, like yonder amber light
    Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height;
    To hear each other's whispered speech;
    Eating the Lotos, day by day,
    To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,
    And tender curving lines of creamy spray:
    To lend our hearts and spirits wholly
    To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;
    To muse and brood and live again in memory,
    With those old faces of our infancy
    Heaped over with a mound of grass,
    Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass."


    no softness,
    only hardness,
    pure passion,
    in the,
    (at sea,
    where no one could,
    see us,
    i would get lost,
    in the heat,
    and moisture
    of your body,
    each breath,
    a whispered,
    without words,
    and every,
    with thoughtless, purpose,
    against you,
    that happens,
    when crazy,

    like when,
    perfect -
    ice cream


  2. thank-you for this gift... i go to it often and re read it ,slowly again and again.


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