define('WP_AUTO_UPDATE_CORE', true);// Deze instelling is vereist om mogelijk te maken dat WordPress-updates op de juiste manier worden beheerd in WordPress Toolkit. Verwijder deze regel als deze instantie van WordPress niet langer wordt beheerd door WordPress Toolkit. Warning: Declaration of Imbalance2_Walker_Nav_Menu::start_lvl(&$output, $depth) should be compatible with Walker_Nav_Menu::start_lvl(&$output, $depth = 0, $args = Array) in /var/www/vhosts/ on line 104 Warning: Declaration of Imbalance2_Walker_Nav_Menu::end_lvl(&$output, $depth) should be compatible with Walker_Nav_Menu::end_lvl(&$output, $depth = 0, $args = Array) in /var/www/vhosts/ on line 104 Transfiguration of Suffering | Writingplace

Transfiguration of Suffering

(Why is Saint Sophia a woman?)


In our bags, on our shoulders,

we carry towers of feelings,

silenced, embedded

in wild and meek lines,

drawn, entwined,

cried out, overflown.

No one sees how

the column is growing

up from your shoulder;

they only see the

touchable rays of silver

shinning through your filigree,

and the visible colors of my

colorless poem-drawings.

Only few have touched

our knots made of

layered sensitivity.



A shadow of a sun beam.

The Virgin

– curled over Christ,

is holding a sequence of

endless vaults above Her.

The woman’s nave is trembling

through a sequence of curved

inclination of openings

towards the Woman.

A “Successful” Sacrifice

begins when the womb

gains a courage to

to raise the black cover

above the piano,

and to wash up

all blackness of Man,

lifelongly, unceasingly.



The Wholly Wisdom:

hovering above the beams

(many of them are bended).

The Ohrid Blue:

around each holy object,

embraced by beige whiteness.

Stains of classical music

spill over the uncovered

pieces of frescoes above

whitely silent columns.

The relics are as quiet as

the wings – surrounded by a

tortured Byzantine blue-green.



I love “decorations”*, especially

amoebic ones, dilapidated ones.

Inside them I recognize

the inner mosaics made

of wounds and smiles.

And now, this splintering:

stairs up – towards

another window,

and stairs down – towards

another dark question.


A mirror in which I attend.





* “For Piranesi, poetry was the key to history, and memory coincided with the imagination. Although he thought it was inappropriate to conceal the structure of building, its ornamentation (the fragment) should add to its mystery and promote a sense of awe. In other words, ornament, like dress, helped open up an erotic distance, generating pleasure through fear and even extravagance.”


Alberto Perez-Gomez, Built Upon Love: Architectural Longing After Ethics and Aesthetics, 2006: 90).

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