Tag Archives: ecosophy

The ego of mankind by Gordana Mudri

On the day I was born, The War began. Or, better to say – The War began when I was born.

Oh, how sweet was ignorance, which has let my poisoned seed to grow in the infected womb.

gordi01_400_01At the beginning, I gave them the small conflicts, caused by my impatient crying, spread with my false sweet smiles. I knew so well how to win in this game.

I’ve had the knowledge imprinted in my genes. It was written in my existence. Everyone forgot but I knew…

Oh, how sweet was oblivion, which allowed me to walk unharmed on the unchanged paths of the history, carrying the toxic legacy of my predecessors.

I was growing, seducing miserable souls, trampling over their ashes, rising to the level of the Creator himself.

Each step brought more victims, each movement was a new devastating battle. And I was walking, breathing the scent of my own victory, conquering the world.

Fear and distrust captured the flushed brains in their caves. It was so easy to lure them with worthless images and empty words. It was so easy to divide them.

And then nothing left to them, except bare life they’ve tried to protect, thinking of nothing, wishing for nothing, seeing nothing.

They followed the rhythm of the war, hoping for peace. But the war followed my rhythm, pushing them deeper in their burrows.

And I knew, it won’t stop as long as I breathe.

And I didn’t want to die. I couldn’t have died. I will never die.

I will disappear when the wind comes out of the depths, whirling stagnant air. I will hide from the storm. And the heavy rain will fill drained cracks. The ashes of my victories will cover my seed. The timid creatures will crawl out of their holes, blinded with new light, hungry for new fruits. Licking their wounds, they will build a new illusion of unity.

They will forget…

And then I will come back, with the toxic legacy of my predecessors.

Oh, how sweet is ignorance…

Oh, how sweet is oblivion…

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There Are No Leaders by David Sparenberg

tree01_400_03I can talk of myself and speak of various activities I engage in, giving myself partial identity through these engagements.  Some of what I do I might even excel at.

Before the values of Big Money, I am next to nothing.  Before the suits and masks of the powerful and those who hold the strings of puppet-politics, I am nobody, a socially invisible speck, a mere murmur passing unheard into the obscenity of silence.

I recognize that I walk differently, am moving in a different direction to rhythms of a different drum.  My heart might even be echoing heartbeats from the fiery core of the ancient Earth.   My Earth-walk is in the DreamMaker way.  Now I turn to people.

Underneath the tedious disguises of society, in the forever ever-ripening dream of freedom, we are identical.  I come to you—to you and to others reachable at near-distance: I look into your eyes this moment and lift my hands in the gesture of exchanging gifts.

The world is serious—a serious, ambiguous, threatening and threatened place—on threshold tipping lives and species into uncertain futures.  There are no leaders.  Those who pretend to be have no real answers.  Here we are.

This is you, this me—words like harvest fruit in our mouths: the danger, the extravagance, the ordinary, and the possible.

One act of beauty might become the universal increase of giving.  One prayer together might save from extinction the archangel of the Earth, or reconnect us to the sacredness of life.


Check David Sparenberg’s NEW BOOK
THE GREEN TROUBADOUR A Source Book of Performance Ecosophy
is online now and you can download for FREE HERE!



David Sparenberg has also 2 more Books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
“Life in the Age of Extinctions volume 2 – Threshold”
Download for FREE HERE!


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Odyssey by David Sparenberg

ovicover_17_02_17.gifMy mind is full of images and rider of the rainbow-wind  Perhaps I am a king or one who sits at the king’s elbow and has his ear  My heart is full to overflowing: a goblet of the blood of suffering or a chalice of the wine of never ending love

Who or what I am I cannot say but this: If you see me in twilight I might carry a torch or the lantern of the sun or silver candles of eternal moonlight

I have lived in the spirit house of my own dreaming and been dreamed into breath out of nothingness by the mystery of near-distant and evolving divinity  First roots of my shadow-stirring are deep down like forked lightning in the dark fertility of this passionate Earth

Possibly I am a bridge or the points of contact from which bridges aspire into arches and traverse time and space – I cannot be accurate

I am full of the tales of monstrous outrage and punishment – a Yes a No – Who and whatever I am I become but a stitch in the tapestry of unknowing I merely go from here to here – through episodes of mists and islands

Images pass over me like a stone battered and bathed at the edge of the seductive sea  And I am carving out at the interface of stone and water moth-like words   Consider   No matter how much I am aware now or in the beads of now hereafter—how much vaster are echoes of my unknowing!

Read the whole article in Ovi Magazine, HERE!

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Frankestein by David Sparenberg

ovicover_02_02_17Once more the monster’s hulking shadow descends heavily across the nations, reaching out, clutching at the beating heart of the world.  That visage—the terrible face of the reanimated!

Cold sweat!  As millions are dismayed; millions tremble in fear, eviscerated, confused.  Others bear within mirrors of the monster’s agenda and hasten to join the dread cult of madness, and the fiend.

Read the whole article in Ovi Magazine, HERE!

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Filed under ovi magazine, politics

We are among one another by David Sparenberg

davy01_400_02At center of my heart is a thinking head.  At center of my head is a feeling heart.  In the core of my body is somebody.

I am a circle following unique rotations.  Seasons within follow seasons.  I am a circle of completing season.

Time of transitions from childhood to personhood is a long time. Consideration arrives late, a slow traveler of diverse journeys.

Memory stops on a horizon, smiling at the sun. Phases of the moon look down, then fade away. While desire of life becomes lips, tears fall among raindrops; in silent drifts of snow.

Read the whole article in Ovi Magazine, HERE!

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