painfully beautiful, don't you think?

via artsyspot.com

i guess everyone's willing to bear the fangs of the devil for the sake of beauty.

Posted via web from jeel christine's scrawls and rubbish

Creepy Creatures: The Dark and Quirky Art of Scott Radke

via weburbanist.com

via weburbanist.com

via weburbanist.com

via weburbanist.com

It's almost my birthday and my world's going creepy. i would love it if somebody stumbles through these cute little creatures for my birthday present--that would be awesome! no doubt about that.

Posted via web from jeel christine's scrawls and rubbish

Personal growth over the years

A mandala is a form of Sanskrit and means a magic circle. Sometimes they can be of circular, square or triangular in shapes. In Eastern religions, floor plans in temples were actually based on mandalas. And in the center circle of a mandala is usually a God, or a Goddess. Mandalas are symbol of the self, of health and of being one with nature and with the Gods.

In psychology, a mandala is a symbol of individuation or the process of being whole. In Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, individuals must satisfy certain needs, and first level needs must be first met before proceeding to the next level needs. The highest need an individual could reach is the need to actualize. Actualization per se means realization, and individuation, or becoming whole.

A mandala is just a philosophical symbol of the actualization process, and just like the eastern religions who have created mandalas to guide them to wholeness, I have my own too. Influenced by philosophy, religion, new age, and Jungian psychology, I have chosen the pentacle, which is a Wiccan symbol.

My mandala shows that I am on the process of wholeness in association with Mother Nature, which is represented by the circle around the star, and with the help of the elements in the pentacle like fire, water, air, earth, and spirit.

At the center of the pentacle is David’s Star, or the sign of King Solomon. On one side is a name of my child’s alter ego “meichiu,” and on the other side is meow5209. The numbers are significant to me, but the letters m-e-o-w aren’t anymore important to me because these letter were a child’s play. Below are words “Jesu Christe,” which is Latin for Jesus Christ because I was raised as a Catholic.

My mandala was created a very long time ago. As a child I had so much in me, people think I’m weird but I am not. I had an introvert personality as a child. I call it creative difference between you and me. Besides, everything that I have learned from my solitary studies with new age, religion, philosophy, psychology, and the occult played an important role in my growth as a person.

Progressively over the years, my past learnings were suppressed or kind of placed aside, and I became focused on my field, which is Psychology. With psychology, I was opened to a broader horizon I call reality. The Humanistic approach says that an individual reacts to a certain phenomenal field called “reality.” I became an advocate of human potential from then on. Aside from my learning, my experiences and interactions also helped me in my growth as a person that I am today. From being an introvert, I am now extrovert.

You see, I have seen my development from a child with so many thoughts on mind to an individual who has grown, and is still growing toward self-actualization. I do not use this mandala anymore in the present time but it has been my coping mechanism as a child, so it is still a part of me, a part of my past—a past that I should be leaving behind from now on.

Thanks for the tweets:

@MonsterHP @RobbDrury @RossArntson @innerarchitects @dougnoll @BeingForItself

Wiccans of England

Pentacle

Okay, since I was still young I was so fascinated with witchcraft, I studied witchcraft literature, but I'm no practitioner nor do I belong to a particular Wiccan sect. Wicca is a modern day witchcraft, quite contrary to the notion that witches are minions of the devil.

Wicca is a lifestyle and a way of thinking based upon the reconstruction of pre-Christian traditions originating in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. It is believed to be a harmonious and balanced way of thinking and life which promotes oneness with the divine and with nature. And thereby considered as a form of paganism.

Wicca continued to flourished to existence in England. And now in England a coven of witches is gradually accepted into the community. They call themselves the Raven and the Rose.

The video from the National Geographic Channel below is a testimony of a practitioner of modern day witchcraft oftentimes called a witch

The Fourth Principle

I've been wondering why I'm sad

For no reason, I'm not glad

The days I've spent so dark, so hollow

It's not that I can't dare to swallow

Mesmerizing are the stars above me

Captivating are the diamonds I cannot see

I've been wondering for so long

Hoping to know what's right or wrong

I hope to see one day the l;ight

For which will help me in my fight

Cause I know I can never win the battle

Without it, there's no dazzle

Honestly, life is kinda tough

The road's kinda rough

Sometimes I expect too much

I base my decisions on a hunch

Life's really not that easy

Sometimes people are good, oftentimes unruly

But hey, look at the bright side

There are many things I need not hide

This time there's no stopping

As the fourth principle is stating

Pursuing one's happiness is everybody's right

So lets all stand up and start our fight

(written on January 24, 2007)

Quest For True Peace And Happiness

A disciple once asked his wise master.
"Teacher, where can I find the true peace and happiness?"

The wise master replied.
"Set forth on a journey and cross over the three mountains.
There you will see a temple.
In that temple is the book of Wisdom.
The answer to your question lies in that book."

Immediately, the disciple set out on a journey.
He crossed through three mountains and found the temple.
He rushed to the temple in the eagerness and saw the Book of Wisdom waiting.
At once, he openned the book.
To his surprise and amazement, the first page was a mirror.
Thinking it was a trick, he turned on the second page.
Again, it was a mirror.
Puzzled, he continued to turned on the third page.
Another mirror.
It was a series of mirrors up to the last page.
Then the wise master appeared,
He pointed to the mirror where the disciple was an image of himself, and said;
"There! There is where you can find the true peace and happiness!"

--adapted from the motion picture,
THE CIRCLE IRON

Some people do so much searching for peace and happiness, believing that they only exist somewhere out there and not somewhere here, not knowing that true peace and happiness always lie on the image you see when look at the mirror. Peace and happiness lie within you, and within me, and within each one of us.

Journal Writing

"We read so that we shall remember the atmosphere and the reality we have known. In times to come, we shall consider the multiple messages that were given to us."

---Ira Pragoff
The Well and the Cathedral

Just a thought. I really find journal writing interesting, Why? These are why!

Journal writing is an activity for self-revelation. Writing about my feelings, thoughts, reactions, comments, criticisms, judgments, dreams, wishes and behaviors can open my eyes to see who I really am. It provides opportunity for me to see myself from the past, the present and the future. It allows me to evaluate how I've been doing for the past days. Through it , I am able to identify how fleeting my emotions are and how transient my impressions were.

Also, journal writing is fun, that's why I always bring a journal with me in school and anywhere I go. It's fun to seek what I do not know about my self. It's fun to see me unfold. It is my personal journey for truth and awareness.

Couch of the Unfathomable

situated at the corner of the darkened room

is the couch of the unfathomable, where the angel sat

she looked at the darkness that is miserly black

the dim light from the sooty sky illuminated her

while the bottomless pit of the abyss made her sober

the nightingales of the night sang their discant songs

and her sluggish, melancholy spirit devoured them all

her lifeless black torn wings is all that she has

never had she realized that she's one beautiful lass

she felt her heart beating for something

through the absence of awareness she knew there was one thing

but that one thing was left unsaid, dormant and forgotten

the words of the angel kept in silence deep within

the violence of the darkness of the earth she loathed

that made her fall on the ground, and she lost it

her life on earth was wasted, she thought

not realizing that she flew into the sky, where she could

to fly as beautiful as she could in the human world

and help others in their search for the Word

as he angel sat on the couch of the unfathomable

her lifeles black torn wings is healing

until she could finally soar up high into the sky

and sing her melodious and harmonious songs

so that the world will hear again

the sweet air of the angel that once have fallen

on the earth's vicious and violent ground

© 2007 | jeelchristine poems

This poem offers hope after pain. I remembered  Daniella and I decided on writing something positive on a papyrus, and this poem was written, as a summary confrontation for all our heartbreaks and painful experiences. It's a time to let go and finally step on the next path our lives.

Slumber Hours

painting taken from Yessy Art Gallery

as i entered the house of the haunted
i knew that my hours have ended
to woe the promise he has hated
towards the gossamer that he has painted
on the canvas he spilled his blood
to summon the dead through its cup
and i stood there as he looked at me
i smiled at him but he dared not to see
the vows we've made, he has forgotten
the memories we've shared he has abandoned
i felt like crying but tears didnt fall
i might as well go and leave it all
my time on earth has passed
but before my slumber, he asked
whether promises are really meant
or our last time together cannot be spent
i love him and he loves me too
but there are things that neither of us can do
we cannot bear destiny's cruelty towards us
but even so, nobody can separate us
not death of life itself
because in this slumber hours
his heart and mine only crave for one another
as he will bring me back to life
from the world of the others
together we'll wake ones again
holding hands, we'll live our vows together ones again
the fulfillment of our dreams is at hand
nothing and no one will bind us from this band
because of the power i have vested in it
it will never separate us, forever
yet, he has lost all his strenght to fight it..
the foul smell of the creosote
is penetrating into my pale skin
this is indeed the end of our time
this is what's left in me, my slumber hours,
our forever broken vows..

© 2007 | jeelchristine poems

The Gate

the putrid breathe of the dead she smells
upon the rock where rested her lover's grave
she stood still as she reads his epitaph
but she's trying to be tough
fighting the lies from her tears
forgetting her frightful childhood fears
to be left behind by the love of her life
she knows that he was a sacrifice
that she cant afford to leave behind
destiny's cruelty she ought to mind
but she never did so
she failed to fight and find the foe
the weakness in her heart makes her strong
but not enough for revenge to tag along
she believes not in death but in everlasting life
the life that was promised by the light
just before her wings turned black
and thrown in the earth's withered ground
they were so madly deeply in love
but they were trapped in the illusions of luck
a mortal and an immortal lovers can never end up together
but still they struggled to fight forever
and they traveled the dimness of the night
amidst the darkness they knew that they weren't alone
the eyes of the enemy were fixed on them
yet they fought every snare the enemy makes
surrounded by the remains of the temple
they prayed that someday they will surpass them all
and finally reach the gates of the immortal call
never did they fear that they may go on separate ways
because of their strong love that always lays
firmly they walked through the gate
so that they will not miss the sacrosanct date
and there his lover was taken away
among the others who lost their way..

© 2007 | jeelchristine poem

Inspired by  "AH MY GODDESS: The Movie"

Divergence

There is more to me than what you see.

Scarred with the pain that inflicts me

Devouring my wandering soul,

Underneath the shadows I call my own.

Despite all I've been through, I never quit

I have fought hard enough for me to sit

I suddenly see my self standing in the new world

I doubt if I belong.

I've wondered if I have a place here

A place I can call my own.

I've searched hard enough to find my home

But for now, I don't know where I belong

Do I belong?

Most of you don't really understand

What I'm going trough now is tough

Perhaps you know nothing of me at all

I've still yet to find what I'm capable of

My sense of purpose is confusing me

What am I destined for tomorrow?

Clueless, is this my direction?

Quite a diverged road I'm walking into now.

This divergence will take me there,

Hopefully to the place I shall call my home

© 2007 | jeelchristine poems

Art is Beauty

photo from Angelspit

Find the beauty in all things. If it's not there, look closer. If you still cannot find it, broaden your definition of "Beauty". Indeed, It is the quest of the artist to seek out new forms of beauty and bring it to public--even though they may be grotesque.

So I don't wanna be criticized or judged on my arts and on the arts that I like because my taste of arts is different, just as my taste of music deviates from the mainstream music. Because music for me is an art no matter how weird and how noisy they can be in other's opinion, but its not for me.

Art is an expression of beauty and of self.

mood: annoyed
music: Syncron City

[blog entry taken from my previous blogsite, posted Aug. 25, 2008]

Gloomy Sunday

A friend of mine introduced me to this very mysterious name in Hungary, born on 1932, Reszo Seress dreamed of becoming a popular song writer, and at the same time writing songs was his only form of living. Unfortunately, he failed to empress the public. His fiancee, on the other hand forced him to get a full time job, but he was uncompromising and continued his passion in writing songs, which ended their relationship.

Depressed and sad of what happened, he sat on his piano in his apartment and played a very mysterious piece of which he titled "GLOOMY SUNDAY" it was a sunday evening, playing the song while the rain was falling heavily. thirty minutes later, he finshed the song and sent it to publishers and was rejected until it was finally acceted by another publisher. He was overwhelmed with happeness then.

After the song was published and exposed in the public, many strange occurencess occured. A boy in Berlin requested for the song to be played, and after listening to the song, he went home and shot himself dead. The relatives complained that the boy became depressed since he listened to the song. After a week, in the same city, a saleswoman was found hanging herself with a rope and found a copy of the song. Two days after a young secretary in New York killed herself  and found her suicide note requesting that the songs should be played during her funeral. Weeks later another New yorker jumped from his window of his seven-story apartment after playing the song. Another teenager in Rome also jumped of a bridge after the first time she heard the song. A woman overdosed herself with barbiturates, while the song was still palying.

Because of the deaths, the song was banned from being played in the public.What's even shocking was that after Seress wrote to his fiancee a letter of reconcillation, she poisoned herself and by her side was a copy of the song "Gloomy Sunday."

His song, however, was forgotten during Hitler's time.

After a long period time of oblivion, many versions of the song suddenly burst out to the public, such as Billy Holiday's version. Sarah Brigthman also sang the song, and another version of the song is included in the original sound track of the movie Blair Witch.

Personally, when i heard Billy Holiday's version, I can say that it is really sad beacuse of its lyrics, but it is also a very beautiful song. Reports say that the original version was way too sad, melancholy, death-wish-driven song, and extremely different to the several versions that burst today.

Lyrics:

Gloomy Sunday

by: Reszo Serres

"Sunday is gloomy

My hours are slumberless

Dearest the shadows I live with

Are numberless

Little white flower

Will never awaken you

Not where the black coach

Or sorrow has taken you

Angels have no thought

Of ever returning you

Would they be angry

If I thought of joining you

Gloomy Sunday

Sunday is gloomy

With shadows I spend it all

My heart and I have decided

To end it all

Soon there'll be flowers and prayers

That are said I know

But let them not weep

Let them know

That I'm glad to go

Death is no dream

For death I'm caressing you

With the last breath of my soul

I'll be blessing you

Gloomy Sunday!"

My purpose of posting this paranormal phenomenon is not to scare the readers but only to expose such forgotten story of the man that sould have been part of history. This man is a legend to me even though he lived a simple life, armed with the desire to stand up for his passion and pursue his dreams.

Gloomy Sunday - Billie Holiday version

Freezing Hell

dark forest

When I was cleaning my room, I bumped into pieces of yellow papers where I wrote some of my works that I must have forgotten ever existed.

*****************************************************************************************************
Freezing Hell

It was snowing, the night was quiet, the moon was showing her spotless features. It was December in nobody-knows-where, nobody-cares-where land of the hopeless and disembodied spirits, where they shivered in cold, moan in pain, squall for life; died with frostbite in their souls eating them slowly---piercing them from their filthy and unforgivable sins. It was hell only without the flames of eternal fire.

She sat there watching the others who are like her; hungry, thirsty, and suffering for the love and the life that were taken away by her enemies who devoured her happiness; who drowned her in the cold and freezing black waters of nobody-knows where foul oceans of lie and lust. Unfortunately, a sudden immerse cognition came to her---that her enemy is no other than the young lass she sees on her mirror. She's a hazard to herself, she always thought.

She sobbed.

The night was cold, stale and frigid. The foul smell of the dead like burned ashes of bones, tissues and organs, the aroma like fragrance of the morning for those who have been there all there lives. The irony is that they never wanted the place to their home ground, but never can they change what they believe to be destined-----to suffer and die. to endure the pain is the only goal left for existence. Hunger and thirst were no longer enemies, because both were no longer a novelty to them. Apathy was no longer a crime. It was life.

The darkness that enveloped the sky was their only food. The only safe place to be with was to gather around with the rest of the others who are like them living in the shadows of shame, despair and helplessness but she wasn't. She chose to be distant from the others as a form of atonement for all her lies. It was the life they've created for themselves. A life in freezing hell.

Everytime she picked up that razor, she felt life beforehand. And everytime she penetrated it on her slender pale flesh, she felt alive. The blood that dripped from her flesh to the filthy ground reminds her of the dammed life that she's living. Everytime she took in the pills, she began breathing and smelling the perfume-like ocean, touching the thorns, and grasping tightly the thorny wires. Blood spilled again to the same ground where she fell on her knees.

The guilt feelings that she hid inside her are consuming her, eating her soul, gradually inflicting self hate. The more she suffered the pain, the more the anger intensified. It's cut too deep----too deep that the wound would never heal until the day of reckoning, until the day she will be ripped apart into teensy-weensy pieces; burned into frozen ashes until all particles of her will be dispersed in the world that she hated.

(end)

Cat Lore

Egyptian Goddess Bast

When and where exactly the cats were first domesticated is unknown; its because various breeds of cats were originated and tamed in different parts of the globe. There are some evidences  showing  that cats were perhaps first domesticated in Pre-Columbian Florida. Some believed that the Lake Dwellers kept house cats about 2000 B.C. Sanskrit writings 3,000 years old speak of cats as pets in India. Nonetheless, it was in Egypt that cats first came to the attention of what was then the civilized world.

The Egyptian household cats appear to have been closely related to the African wild cats, Felis ocreata, and Felis lybica. The Egyptian Mau cats looked like the Abyssinian, yet a little larger. They guard the field near the Nile from rodents. The Egyptian cats sanctified  the cat goddess Bast, sometimes Pasht, Ubasted, or Bubatis. She is depicted by a cat’s head and a woman’s body. She is also the goddess of  moonlight, fertility, wisdom, and hunting. Thus, one of the six major cities of Lower Egypt, Bubastis, was dedicate to her. The Bible also mentions the city by the name Pisbeseth, in Ezekiel 30; 13, 17.

Moreover, according to Herodotus, the murder of cats could be punishable to death in Egypt. When a cat dies, the owner mourns and the cat’s body would be mummified. During the embalming of cats, an embalmed mouse is placed next to the cat. Over 300,000 cat mummies were uncovered in 1890 in Tel Basta while a few of them can be seen in some American and Egyptian museums. They were still enclosed in their cases of engraved wood or wrapped in colored, intertwined straw, and wrapped in rich bandages of different colors. Faces were covered with masks of which the nose, eyes, ears, and whiskers can be seen. But, these sacred corpses were later used as fertilizers, most particularly the belief fade out. The worship of the Bast gradually began to decline after 350 A.D., and completely forgotten after the imperial decree to decline after 390 A.D.

However, during the Dark Ages and until the past two centuries, gave way to spread hatred and killing, because cats were associated with the old religion, that’s during the Pre-Christian Polytheism and Animism, and Witchcraft. Demonologists suggest that cats were the favorite familiars of witches. Thus, cats were put on trial before their owners. Some were burned alive. Such cruelty remained for long. Likewise, a man who has committed a crime would be punished through drowning him in a sack filled with irritated and hungry cats. Thus, a criminal dies not because it looses breathing but because of the scratches of the cats claws. Cats were also used for good lucks. They were fastened alive in the foundations of the buildings. Furthermore, the Western World has always considered cats a high value of the household and  the theft and murderers of the felines would be punished.

Cats were used as exchanged material for pure silk between Asia and Europe. They used cats because they are believed to be symbol of peace, fortune, and family serenity because of the beauty they possess. Before and even today, divine powers are attributed to the cats. It is also believed that from that time on, its soul speaks to the Buddha in favor of the owner that lives on earth. Remains of ceramic statues of Asiatic cats served as evidences to how the cats were highly regarded. Behind the statues’ hollow eyes are small oil lamps that would remind the mice that their enemies were awake and ready to catch them anytime. Since cats were active during nights, many Asiatic houses placed images of cats outside their houses. This ability to see clearly in the dark  made them useful to hold spirits at bay. According to legend, the more hairless the household cats, the more fortune the owner would gain. Buddhists prized the cats ability for meditation.

It has been a Hindu tradition to feed a cat who is at the present state of hunger. According to legend, the first Japanese cat appeared in 999 in Kyoto’s imperial palace. From that moment, cats were cherished, honored, and were given the attention as much as the lapdogs were. The felines were loved, pleased, and treasured for their beauty. Because cats were not allowed to hunt, the unhunted rodents grew in number. However, it was on the17th century when cats were already permitted to hunt prey. It was also foretold that Mohammed owned a female feline named Mnezza. This legend speaks of  how Mohammed tore his gellata to where his cat was stretching, so as not to disturb it from a sleep

Aesop was the Greek fabulist of the sixteenth century B.C., who discoursed novels about animals, especially cat tales with regards to their relationship with man. Many centuries later the Latin writer Fedro improved Aesop’s style in writing. Great personalities like the Greek historian Herodotus (480 B.C.), the Roman orator Cicero(106 B.C.), and the chronicler Pliny the Elder (23 B.C.) also wrote about cats.

At the beginning of the Renaissance, when the darkness of the middle ages was coming to an end, the Italian poet Francesco Petrarch publicly proclaimed  his love for cats.  He lived his life together with his cat and died in 1374 resting his head over an open book for the desire to comfort the cat. Furthermore, the remains of the cat were preserved in a museum in Padua in memory of the poet. Torquato Tasso, an Italian poet who wrote adorable sonnet for his cat in 1590. The sonnet was all about the comparison between the cat’s eyes and the stars, invoking the stars in heaven to give light on the page to dedicate his last poem in life. He was old and miserable, almost blind and didn’t even have the money to buy a lamp oil. The “Gattomachia” or “Battle Among Cats” was written by the cat lover 16th century Spanish dramatist Lope de Vega. The poem was an arrogant poem in which the virtues possessed by the felines are praised and the defects of men are snubbed.

The fabulist of 1600, with the leading French school La Fontaine, imitators of Aesop and Fedro, followed by Charles Perrault who was the author of “Puss in Boots” and “Cinderella”. He always treated cats to be characters oh his stories, representing man, depicting man’s defeats as well as their insincerity, their failures, and laziness. His style of writing somewhat criticizing man while he joke with his pen. The French naturalist Geoges Louis Leclere de Buffon, who lived in the mid-1700s, was knowledgeable about animals. In his Histoire Naturelle, he expressed judgments on the cat, describing it as “an unfaithful domestic, that we keep only out of necessity”. However, Ferdinando Galicani, man of letters, economist, and an Italian diplomat at the French court, acknowledged, “I had never found anyone who had profoundly studied the intimate character of cat, and that which was written about it was the fruit of supposition and acrimony.”

French poet Charles Baudelaire of the 1800s was a famous author of the collection of verses “The Flowers of Evil” who discovered the pleasure of the cat. He described how he felt while touching his fingers across its head, the elastic back, especially the body of a female feline resembling the feeling to be in contact with women. He mentioned in hi collection, “Come, my beautiful cat, unto my loving heart---pull back your claws and let me lose myself in your beautiful eyes----medley of sapphire and agate.” The writer of short stories, Guy de Maupassant’s last name starts with “mau” which means “cat” in Egyptian. He treated cats rather like carnal animals. He wrote, “I felt against my check the hollow and vibrant side in a continual hum, and sometimes, a stretched paw rested on my mouth, five out stretched nails pierced me, then immediately drew back in.”

Among  the various literary lovers of the cats was Francois Rene de Chateaubriand (1768-1848). He wrote a literary work entitled “Beyond The Grave”, wherein he mentioned about his contract with a cat as being one of the most important events of his journey life. He also disagreed and doubted Georges Louis Leclerc de Buffon, a cat hater’s theory. Inspired Francois’ work, Pope Leone XII to send him a red marble cat as a gift. He wrote, “I love in the cat the supreme indifference and dignity with which it can carry itself from salons to gutters…” the famous French Cardinal, Richelieu, also loved cats. In fact, he always hosted cats at his table, and after his death, he left a great sum of money so that his cats will be well taken care of even without him.

Other prominent French cat-lovers of the 19th century include Alexander Dumas who was an owner of a private zoo. He was given the title, “Defense Lawyer of the Cats of the World”. Another is George Sand, who eats breakfast with his cat on the same plate. Victor Hugo fashioned an armchair for his cat. Other cat lover are the poet Jean Cocteau and writer Colette who photo-portrait the cat. Shakespeare also mentioned cats in his play, “the Merchant of Venice” and “Henry V”. Nobel-Priced winner, Rudyard Kipling wrote many things about cats. Another Nobel-Price winner was Albert Scheiter, who after being with leapers, and relaxed by playing the organ and going the hospital with cats. Other cat lovers were as follows: Montaigne, Merimee, Sardou, Eliot, and Hemingway.