i wrote this i believe before his cancer metastasized. i remember he liked this strange incanta, i wonder at if it has something to do with the fact that translating to another language?  i write like colored mobiles from Calder or pop-up cards with scents and they are easy as a second language!  However, looking back?  I fear perhaps I was not a very good healing influence at all. When someone is pressed with cancer? So may of my own feelings are pressing and this is the Chinese puzzle snake box!  The kind that Morticia of  The Adams family always fidgeted with. IT’s so hard not to possess so many fears oneself that I must admire all those whom sing, whistle, cajole and nurse the afflicted.  It is so painful to have an illness and see that the ones you love as more frightened than you of your battle.  The tone of his letters changed until he took on other personaes to cope.  I feel I was so insensitive at times.  How horrifying to be given by the universe of oneself a sentence of death.  I did not know him during his giving of all the worlds could give before his cancer and I admire.  I truthfully did not know of his blog until after he died.  I saw something once written about him and I said will there be nothing left of you?  Since  I cannot read Italian, I can say I know it is written all from much beauty and love to his dear creative collaborators.  I must thank both Luisa’s in his life for keeping him strong and very much loved as well as his many friends.  I know from meeting Luisa in Massa she cared deeply and long suffering with grace and generosity.  What is so strange is I always said, I will send a present for you of my plants to a father in a church closee by and it seemed to amaze and frighten him?  Now,  I know he feared I was a bit psychic.  Now, I wonder IF so much was a bit of ESP!  and a lot was simply unreal. Nevertheless I was a poor sister, I tried by hearts best like a women from the 8th century risking my own life.  In the end look like silly stories and remind me of flowers i pressed into my bible in 1979 when I lived in Israel from Bethlehem to the regions of cabala in Rosh Pina.

Jorg Giorgio 
  • Dear F my little violet japanese cat,
    thanks so much for coming by and saying GOOOOD Morning wink

    I have to run as I must take the car and drive 400 km to Cesena where I’ll see my homeopath and start a new healing cure.

    So many many baci for you :)))

    Your amazing song is always summing in my head, the most precious mantra I received ever smile

    ciao ciao *wink*


The Healing Haute Coutour of Original Nasturniums

Lady Philosopher on Saturday, July 31, 2010 at 3:06pm ·

This morning i awoke caressed with a beautiful longing to become fused with tall grasses, blossoms growing thru me and entwined in the music and fearless mantra of healing. This is my little ditty albeit messy and way too long!   




Twirling Nasturnium Tea


 Please eat my story like an epicurean song! 

The healing music of haute coutour. Scented willow green longing languid incense of blessed nature.


  The trail of bubbling Snail slime and his little house of doubts slithers and slides and disapeers! Leaving an impotent crust of organza tawny scarves. I wear proudly as my magnetic amulets. 


  • The raven with his sizzling whips and accordian of black ethereal obsedian flashing swords. Unleashed is the sutra of wisdom powers! Defiant musings of Sibelius cacaphonic pondering.


She flies the raven above gorges, laquered cliffs with hewn craggy recessed Mongolian fires. A scintellating Magyar symphony of blue black magpies flourish above the gizzards of smoggy ice. Icelandic volcanos with ruby unfurling sweet tendrils and helix of Bjorkian lady licorice blood vessels explode lava confectionary fineries.

  • Violet vapors suffuse dormant cocoons dreaming.

An army of violet butterflies awaken.

 A genesis of delicate fluttering melodies unfurl from their coiled agony.

  Fresh, velvety pristine venusian cream butterfly wings dappled with kisses of sparkling emerald chakra green gems unleash into the sapphire mantra skies.

Be a marionette of the Gods…

They orchestrate a symphony of healing. Fear and terror radiates within the loitering messengers of living death. Nevermore aha and a mincing knashing upon stagnant dreary indigent tarnished hopeless mold. The demonic crepuscle twilight dew drops evaporate into jewels of valor.

Violetta tumeric song follows the crown of shining Ravens as they scorge and singe all doubts with the magical laws of indestructable blessed intuition. 🙂

 A tumourous Rothko wasted canvass of putrified hues….. The cowardly acid storm clouds of toxic rain quivers and begs mercy. Compassionate nirvana extinguishes and renews its realms.

A tall and tan and young and lovely fluid spectre of my opalescing auric body floats into a choir of magnificent rhythms in unison with lush Original sense drenched dorjeling green tea nature. Long Tendrils of green earthy reeds float and sway silvery neon baby green and tender beneath the little row boat of my being. An invisible shield of starry forces. A deep ocean of perfect equilibrium. Imunized like a mauve milk chocolate spiced booping baby. Healing golden Molecules, foot prints peeled from the enchanting red sea, fly of magical creatures….feathered mythical, sugary winged curry rosed, furry blueberry eating spirits. 


Hornet Honey

i wrote this i …The Healing Haute Coutour of Original Nasturniums


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