Thunder

I don't need sleep when the night is so magnificent.

OK, that's not true. What I mean is, I couldn't sleep last night due to the phenomenal storm and right now I don't feel the lack. Doubtless it will catch up with me later, when it's time to work or something.

The first peal of thunder sounded like a bomb going off overhead. I have never heard anything like it, and neither had every dog in the neighbourhood, all of whom chose to voice their astonishment at the same moment. You could hear voices from houses and little tinny roars from frightened cars. Then sheet lightning broke across the sky, and the rain fell and the storm drew nearer until it pinned itself to the roof of the house and danced into oblivion.

A storm for Lughnassad!

Thunder Perfect Mind

Still inspired by the storm, I'm doing something different for Lammas.

I'm copying this famous ancient poem translated from the Nag Hammadi Library. I have chopped loads out because TPM is very long with huge chunks made incomprehensible by lost/damaged text.

Many consider this to be a poem written about Sophia, the Gnostic personification of wisdom seeking enlightenment. Many, including the authoress Asphodel P Long ('In A Chariot Drawn By Lions') consider it a testimony to intellect given divine and female shape. There has got to be a place for this view in a world where Logos was so long subdued by Credo and where, even now, women are encouraged to find identity through their genitalia rather than their brains.

Now I need to find an example of the beautiful irrational male intuitive in release, Dionysus rather than Apollo. I know he's out there somewhere, probably drunk. In the meantime:

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