Eldtungors språkande

Påminns idag om att lyssna till eldtungors språkande.
Filmsnutten är från det senaste besöket i Olympos med det eldflämtande berget. Chimärans hemvist i sydvästra Turkiet.

Och jag börjar kunskapa som en hoppande eldstunga med att dansa till "Heaven in this hell" med Orianthi, titeln - en sorts uppdragsbeskrivning på min mission: att tränga undan så mycket värklighet jag kan med Verklighet... FLAME

Låten inleds med ngr rader ur Henry Purcells Älvdrottningen från 1692 och som bygger på Shakespeares "En midsommarnattsdröm".

If love's a Sweet Passion, why does it torment?

If a Bitter, oh tell me, whence comes my content?

Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain,

Or grieve at my Fate, when I know 'tis in vain?

Yet so pleasing the Pain is so soft as the Dart,

That at once it both wounds me and tickles my Heart

I press her Hand gently, look Languishing down,

And by Passionate Silence I make my love known.

But oh! How I'm Blest when so kind she does prove,

By some willing mistake to discover her Love.

When in striving to hide, she reveals her FLAME,

And in our Eyes tell each other what neither dares Name.

Kunskapande hopp till en dikt av Susan Hawthorne:

The language in my tongue

My tongue has blossomed in my mouth

It is filled with language

It spreads like a big red balloon

With language caught inside

A language that can’t distinguish one thing from another

A language that does not care for past or future

A language tense with the present

The language in my tongue dissolves all history

It dissolves all expectation of the future

The language in my tongue is a big red balloon

There’s a language in my body too

A language in the arch of my back

A language in the froth from my mouth

A language in my clenched fist

A language in the cry from my lungs

There’s a language in my bleeding tongue

The language in my body and in my tongue

is the language they spoke in Delphi.

The language of the seizure that dispels time,

that defies death, that returns the orator

to the world of light, that single point that

draws me back from the inertia, the gravity

field of a hole so black, nothing exists

and nothing matters

Hämtar den sprakande språkligheten jag delade ut som välkommande gest till deltagarna i den rituella dansresan till Turkiet 2010, Livsresan - myt, dröm och rituell dans:

And all shall be well
When the tongues of flame
are in-folded
Into the crowned
knot of fire
And the fire and
the rose are one

"...the crowned knot of fire..." - med den ordbilden på tungan börjar jag skissera turerna för årets rituella danshändande på Kvinnohöjden: Baba Yaga och Vasilisa.

Fixbild: Vasilisa som skyndar genom den täta, mörka skogen  med ett kranium i sina händer.
Ur ögonhålorna flammar elden hon fått genom att rätt tjäna hon som bor längst in...