Thursday, April 17, 2008





Occult symbolism . . . or just a latte?

More pictures here.
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8 comments:

Anonymous said...

Both. And neither. Or other. Depends on how you would prefer to look at it.

7:32 AM
Unknown said...

Who says its either/or?
Andyman, The Shaman

1:21 PM
Anonymous said...

Mac -- It's not just occult symbolism. You keep getting the SAME occult symbol -- to wit, versions of the Tree of Life, which is the center of Kabbalistic study. The Universe is layin' it down, and it's time for you to pick it up....

10:31 PM
Anonymous said...

So I would (if I were you) seek out a teacher of Kabbala and show him or her these latte photos. Although who knows? A good Kabbalist might tell you it's much ado about nothing. (They tend to do that.)

10:38 PM
Mac said...

"Tree of Life" ... or "Toxic Flower of All-Encompassing Doom"?

3:35 AM
Anonymous said...

Electro magnetic interference from a cellphone! If it does that to your coffee just think what its doing to your brain...

7:19 AM
Anonymous said...

Mac -- There actually are two trees in Kabbala. One is the Tree of Life, the other is the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil (aka quite possibly your "Toxic Flower") It all depends on which tree you prefer to climb (or descend...)

10:01 PM
Anonymous said...

THE TWO TREES

BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with merry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There the Loves a circle go,
The flaming circle of our days,
Gyring, spiring to and fro
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
Remembering all that shaken hair
And how the wingèd sandals dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile,
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
For all things turn to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Made when God slept in times of old.
There, through the broken branches, go
The ravens of unresting thought;
Flying, crying, to and fro,
Cruel claw and hungry throat,
Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
And shake their ragged wings; alas!
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.

by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
(Who was a Kabbalist)

11:24 PM

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