15 Must Check Out Websites

I get lost on websites, depends on the content, what is being stated, written, spoken, reported. Sometimes, you find free books, audio, meditations, music, workshops, and writing.

This is not why I share these websites. 

I share them because the content is fantastic, enlightening, diverse, humorous and uplifting.

I advise signing up to the newsletter/page, then share what you find with others. I linked the sites for this week below because these people inspire, empower and bring me happiness.

Keep learning, growing, sharing, educating and shining! 


1. The Soul Artist Journal - L.R.Heartsong  

2.  Freedom with Writing 

3. Long Walks and Rose Gardens - Haneen Khalid 

4.  Rebelle Society

5. Authors Publish

6. Soul Support For Changemakers - Amy Garner    

7.  drunkmall 

8. For Reading Addicts 

9. The Empathy Library 

10. Long Distance Love Bombs - Jeremy Goldberg 

11. Quiet Revolution 

12. Sacred Activism - Andrew Harvey   

13. S.R. Atchley 

14. DesignWars 

15. Sacred Ecology Films 

  
Enjoy! 

Peace, 

Sue

The Color Spectrum Theory [Black vs. White]

First published on MOGUL

© Kaish

Newton’s Color Spectrum Theory on black and white loosely states: 

Black is the color of objects that do not reflect light in any part of the visible spectrum. 

Scientifically, a black object absorbs all colors of the visible spectrum and reflects none of them. This is sometimes confused with black being “a mixture of all colors”, but that is not the case. In fact, an object emitting or reflecting all colors is perceived as white. Sometimes black is described as an "achromatic color"; in practice, black can be considered a color, e.g., the black cat or black paint. Black is the lack of all colors of light. 

Think about this for a moment:  Black is not a mixture of all colors yet absorbs all colors, reflecting no colors.  If black absorbs all colors then black invites all colors into itself. 

How is it possible that black lacks all colors when all colors are absorbed into black? 

Let us take a look at white: 

White is the combination of all colors of the visible light spectrum. It is an achromatic color, like black. White is technically achromatic, and not a color, since it has no hue. 

The impression of white light occurs by mixing appropriate intensities of the primary colors of light: red, green, blue. An object emitting or reflecting all colors is white. White is not a color since it has no hue. White is only a color with other colors added. White can emit or reflect colors but cannot absorb them. Thus, white does not invite colors into it, rather sends colors outward. 

Scientifically speaking, black absorbs all colors, inviting them in. White reflects all colors sending them out. 

A spectrum defined is a distribution. A common list identifies six main bands: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet. Newton's conception included a seventh color, indigo, between blue and violet. 

Thus, a spectrum is a distribution of colors. Black is a color, white is not a color. Black absorbs all colors, white emits them. 

Black being a color that absorbs all colors can be a part of a spectrum where white cannot because white needs a spectrum in order to be a color. White depends upon black in order to become a color because black absorbs all colors. White can never be a spectrum. 

White is white without black. Black is black without white.

Think then, how is black a color and white not a color when you need white to lighten black? 

White added to black allows black to be a color because it lightens black. Red cannot lighten black, only white. Black takes in all colors, colors added to white creates other colors. White is devoid of color, black has all color. 

One cannot exist without the other because if only white existed, there would be no color and if only black existed, there would be no color. 

What then happens to the colors themselves? 

Do they have a say in this theory? 

Red, yellow and blue can mix all colors. 

So then, why does this theory focus intently on black and white when in reality, without the primary colors: red, yellow and blue, there would be no color, rather one specific color? 


According to theory: 

ROYGBIV equals Black.
ROYGBIV cannot equal white because white needs ROYGBIV to become a color. 

Black is a spectrum unto itself. White cannot exist without other colors. White cannot be a spectrum because it has no color, while black is a spectrum. 

The irony is that one color cannot exist without the other. 


If colors had to survive as living organisms according to this theory, white cannot survive without all of the colors, yet black can thrive. Black holds all colors, yet not all colors can be seen in the presence of black.

Thus, white needs black to survive and black needs white to survive. 


Why then is black a color while white is not and black is considered a lack of all colors? 

Why is it that these two colors dominate all colors? 

Why are theories so focused on black and white when in between there are spectrums of beauty? 

"Left Ajar" {poetry} by Arshia Qasim, Aisha Sharif and Susan Marie

First published on MOGUL  

On The Poet Community

 © Arshia Qasim

A door half shut
a door half open,
Mysteries to unfold
promises to hold.

A heart that thunders
a mind that ponders,
One-step travel bound
one-step firmly ground.

In-between go, stop and if,
Life shapes, bit by bit.

Left ajar,
my heart.
Much like keys that fit,
perfect,
like hips and curves
of notes and clefts,
and question marks and apostrophes,
hanging midair
in breath,
caught and held,
as sentences
never spoken,
yet felt.

The door left ajar
what does it mean to the air,
It can push it either way
as it goes from here to there.

Love waits on both sides
unhurried, calm and patient;
There is no room for despair
hope lies in what is vacant.

There is choice,
freewill,
like flight.

Hurry love!
Do not make haste,
the door is open,
this is now,
the ever fleeting moment,
glimpses
into past, present, future,
the making of lives and losses
the jump, the fall,
climbing vines into aether.

My dear, my love,
how shall you choose?

Skeleton keys that fit
like skullbones,
crying the most holy tears
to heaven.

So enchanted are we with the lock
so enamored our hearts to the door,
That oft our eyes cannot see
there’s more, and so much more.

The soul does not knock three times
the heart does not ring the bell,
The space does nothing to choose
who in there will come and dwell.

When it permeates through the walls
all locks and keys go astray,
It is said and known all along
that love will find a way.

Left ajar,
my heart.

Much like keys that fit,

perfect.

* * * 

By Arshia Qasim, Aisha Sharif and Susan Marie

One Hour With Celia White

Published on Medium 

What a beautiful conversation with Celia White, poet, writer, librarian, educator and she read "Kali Yuga" and I start crying. This is one hour of history about life, writing, art, music and writing. She reads from her book "Letter" and speaks about the artistic scene as a whole. www.celiathepoet.blogspot.com/

You Make Me Beautiful [For Sir Muhammad Iqbal in response to “I Desire”

© sayyidali.com

First published on Jaggerty 

[South Asian Lit Journal]

 
Your voice is that of millions
wandering, lost,
bedraggled and confused,
seeking peace and enlightenment
everywhere,
but from within.

Yet you seamlessly describe
the pure beat of thunder in your veins,
indigenous drums,
ancestral circles,
of smoke
rising.

Your breath is my own.

Thoughts that scatter
inside my skull,
you have written of them,
reaching into my heart
with open palm
behind my sternum,
gently,
you take one tip of finger
and tell me
what my own soul
already knows.

Dear Sir, you make me beautiful.

I am lost in your words,
unable to do anything
but melt
within the beauty
of the divine.


– For Sir Muhammad Iqbal  
[Shair-e-Mushriq, Poet of the East]
in response to “I Desire”

The Nature of Things

                                      First published on Rebelle Society

The great eye of heaven

hides behind clouds

not on purpose.

This is the nature of things,

change.

Like leaves

kamikaze

brave,

helpless to their fate.

They adorn

the mighty oak

unconditional

with beauteous wonder

tresses of hair

every hue imaginable

an Autumnal bridal gown

only to one day

be let loose

without warning,

arms outstretched,

wailing for one last embrace,

before flailing through the sky

relentless,

tumbling within the fierce wind,

once recognizable,

once friendly,

once home

landing upon pastures

foreign to them

left in the wild of this world

to converse among blades of grass

and finding nothing

but incessant

chatter.

And the morning dew

once refreshing

turned to frost

unannounced,

unplanned for,

and breath

turned to smoke

in the crisp cool dawn

once warm,

inviting,

safe,

once loving.

And words

now fall flat

upon lips

that no longer yearn

for a kiss,

so utterly precious

and eyes

no longer view beauty

once divinely adored

by sight

and the heart hardens

to ego

and begins to close

when one ceases

adoring

the sun rising

everyday

just for them.

And it makes one wonder

if the mighty oak

feels any emotion at all.

For actions are louder than words,

silence shows disinterest,

and apology —

after repeated apology —

now means nearly

nothing.

I told you this would happen.

You smiled and laughed

said “There’s no possible way”

as you stared at me,

staring at you,

lovingly

and you liked that

and I smiled back

knowing the truth

yet to pass

my chest

full

my heart

pounding

trying not to

cry

I smiled

because you needed me to be strong

and I was a pillar

like now

spitting out bits of blood and bone meal marrow

seeping from the tips of fingers

that write words

beautiful,

like you

but you threw me away

like some secondhand

thrift shop

used shoes

human

being

with

a

heart

and it has taken me a long time

to accept this absurd existence

I have chosen for myself

but you threw me away

and I kneel under this dank, grey skyline

hovering upon the Eastern shore

palms raised

lined, in supplication.

These weary hands of mine

writing words such as this

to deaf ears,

to blind eyes,

to uncaring hearts,

to the bleeding mouths of those who suffer.

Yet, I rise

because

I am love,

I rise

because

I am free,

I rise

because I am

different.

And I rise

like the sun,

and rise

like constellations,

and rise

like mountains echoing time

after time,

that the sky

is

crying

thunder,

again.

You see,

you once saw,

like the others.

Yet, you threw me away.

Like seasons,

change,

is the nature of things.

I have been letting you go

for months

and

you

cannot

even

tell

the

difference.

West Seneca Art Society/Charles E. Burchfield Fall Art Exhibit

 
West Seneca Art Society
  Fall Art Exhibit
  Charles E. Burchfield Nature & Art Center
                    2001 Union Rd. West Seneca, NY 14224
                    716-677-4843

                    Directions

October 9th 7-9 pm, show runs to November 5th. 

Artists of all genres, ages, backgrounds will be exhibiting artwork for enjoyment and sale. There will be food, snacks, wine, beverages. This exhibit includes a diverse array of people,  an evening filled with music, positive energy, visual stimulation and creativity in support of the arts in Western New York and Buffalo. 

For more information, contact West Seneca Art Society V.P. -  Virginia Koeppel

*My son William [West Seneca Art Society, WNY Book Arts,  UB Center for the Arts, is displaying two pieces, a glass mosaic and a still life both created with Susan Nowak, Director of Fine Arts at Bishop Timon-St.Jude.

Maureen Burns [Timon Communications] was so kind to start promoting this event below.]

The Sound of Moonlight

A collaboration between Susan Marie & Mari McDade 

First published on Poems & Poetry  

A whisper
the caress of a gentle breeze
on the nape of your neck.

The stillness
of the breath of night,
a lone bird in the distance,
wailing,
calls to me,
this song.

Running along dew-damp grass,
I search for you
singing back a song of oneness,
though not of one.

Feet bare,
emerald blades brush my skin,
gently,
adding to this chorus,
a most glorious union,
a beacon of illumination,
rumbling ground,
thousands come to heed the call.

Our tribe has gathered once again.

The fireside smoke rises,
calling tired warriors back home.
 Autumn permeates the air.

What is above is below,
what is below is beside,
what is beside is beneath,
what is beneath is inside,
what is inside is the sound of the moonlight,
like the caress of a gentle breeze

on the nape
of your neck.

Like This [Urban Blues Remix with Nikki Richard NYC]

Trust in the Divine

First published on Rebelle Society

Collaboration by Susan Marie and Kathy Anderson

© Jean-Paul-Avisse 

Pregnant and solemn,

sentinel against a blue velvet backdrop,

she sheds light upon this dark Earth

in silent keep

over our weary human souls.

I gaze at her in absolute awe and mystery.

This one moment,

the moon,

full.

Her energy draws me up

and I atone in sleepless nights

of dreaming while awake.

She is pure like fresh fallen snow,

serene and stoic.

My heart bursts,

knowing

that I am witnessing

the divine.

She is ageless and old

like the sun inside the shadows,

where I once stood and wept,

for her beauty moved me

to see such perfect grace.

Before my entrance on this plane,

she spoke to me in languages unknown to mankind.

Her silver gown trailed along grasses,

emerald

and I begged her to embrace me

like Mother to child.

Light songs emanated from my soul

and whispered

from the lips I adore her with:

the symphony

of the universal consciousness.

Amen to her children on this earthly continuum.

Like roots and limbs of trees

and leaves that sway in the breath of sweet breeze,

the songs that drift

in this most holy night

heal those attuned to her sacred touch,

stitching golden threads

soul to soul

strung as beads

in the mandala of life.

We are blessed by her woven divinity

and unconditional love.

The electrical lines buzz and hum,

static and alive.

My palms are on fire,

begging to touch her face.

 I reach my hands

upward

towards the heavens

to give back

this gift

of healing,

 receiving new eyes to see

ears to hear,

and the illumination

of body and soul

combine

on this majestic night of nights.

My third eye blind

and chakras blocked,

it was as if a thunderbolt

descended

from the death of day

like phoenix

rising.

The ashes departed,

the clouds parted,

the dream catcher caught her fish

in nets of sea

surging waves

cresting upon our hearts,

washed fresh

as Spring in mid winters slumber.

I lay in wait as lover,

a gentle kiss

awakening clarity and connection.

 An insurmountable freedom

from all human weight,

my chest is light;

my breath comes slower than before.

Dear Mother Earth,

the distance from you to me

to this glorious wonder

is buzzing up and down my spine

from my sacrum to my axis.

The Earth spins

upon the tips of my fingers

and on this night,

this great golden eve,

I am awake.