Marina Resende

“If you are not a myth
Whose reality are you?
And if you are not reality
Whose myth are you?”
― Sun Ra Arkestra

“I am not a Goddess. I am the face of them All, the embodiment of many. I will burn your village to the ground wearing pants. Nourish your soil and scatter new seeds in a skirt that lifts in the breeze. Strike like lightening and change everything you thought you knew. Scorch you and replenish your reservoir. Sing until you weep with joy. I will leave you poetry on your pillow beside a bottle of hemlock. Feed you til' your belly is full. Devour your ego and spit out your falsities in front of you. Steal your favourite things. I will lead you into temptation. Be the ugliest hag you ever did see. Awaken you from your slumber. Hand you a poisoned apple. Light a candle in your darkness. Weave you a dream. Bow at your feet and kiss the ground you walk upon. I will love you like you've never felt love before. Take your breath away with my beauty. Call your demons into the Light and watch them bury you. Make you tremble in ecstasy. I'll answer your prayers. Shake you til' you scream. Retrieve you from the deep. Carry your manifestations inside of me and birth them into Being. Be the wind in your sails. The blood on your sheets. The wish granted from the wild dandelion wheel. The snake in the grass. Tufts of idle time. I will disappear suddenly, wait until you ache for me, and reemerge as if I had never gone.
I am not a Goddess.
I am the face of them All, the embodiment of many.”
― Cheray Crown Woman

“The Impossible attracts me, because everything possible has been done and the world didn't change.”
― Sun Ra Arkestra

“Os ideias são desejados e pensados segundo sua natureza na medida em que são, mas também só na medida em que são. Contudo, não se pode negar seu ser atuante. Quem acha que vive seus ideais, ou que possa vivê-los, tem mania de grandeza e se comporta como louco, ao representar para si um ideal elevado: o herói, porém, está morto. Os ideais são mortais, portanto é preciso preparar-se para seu fim: pode custar-lhe talvez o pescoço. Mas não vês que foste tu que deste sentido, valor e força atuante a teu ideal? Quando te tornaste vítima do ideal, então o ideal enlouquece, brinca de carnaval contigo e conduz a quarta-feira de cinzas ao inferno. O ideal é instrumento que se pode descartar a qualquer momento, uma tocha em caminhos escuros. Quem anda por aí de dia com uma tocha é louco. Quando desceram meus ideias, com que frescor reverdejou minha árvore!”
― C. G. Jung