I am off.
May the pictures come.
G
September 12, 2008
September 06, 2008
Speaking of...
RASA (sanskrit):
the ‘taste” or essence of any impression;
the aesthetic experience in transcendence;
the emotional fulfillment of the soul;
the essence of Divine Love.
My head is in the stars tonight. Infinite signs of affection. Infinite possibility to feel the sharp prick of loss. Is it better to feel the knife or to avoid the sweet fruit you slice? These are questions we have asked ourselves before.
Love is not new. This too we have discussed. The word too pedestrian. The sentiment used to sell makeup and airline tickets. But if this word no longer fits, what shall we call it?
I said to J. “I adore you” and his response was “... but that does not mean you love me.” And here I thought it did.....
But then again, I foggily remember telling a lover I adored him to avoid saying the L word. How petty.
I have friends who search for love. It is the slipperiest of quarries. It is the man who is smoke. The figment of your night wanderings. Dream and mist. An idealized version of yourself.
Is not the one we love based on a version of ourselves washed clean and made pretty? In my case, I hope not. But that may be the product of hitting the proverbial bottom. When I met J. I had given up finding someone who was real.
The online dating world is another albatross to meander through. Liars and poets alike. How many times did I fall in love with words only to discover that the man behind the fingers was only clever, not beautiful? Perhaps this is why I liked J. He was real. And honest. And smelled good. Or maybe it is the way he does not call me baby.
In my heart of hearts. In the heart of my dark night sky. There is only one constellation that burns a million miles away. I only have the energy for one dying set of stars. How lazy we become as we age. Lazy like an old dog unwilling to get up and chase the stick as it arcs into the blue.
This may be the reason we have not invented a new word for love. Laziness. The old word works just fine.
Now I like the complexity of words strung together. Worry beads of love. Sixty two steps to the doorway of love. Sixty two words. Sixty two sensations. One million ways to share love.
Ten thousand miles couldn't keep you
For you were more like the wind
All my life I will seek you
Deep in the core of my within
If I tried to see you now
You'd be dancing across the sky
And you'd be wearing your gypsy clothes
You'd be wearing one of your smiles
For now, love will be the simple. Deviation is not in the cards.
G.
the ‘taste” or essence of any impression;
the aesthetic experience in transcendence;
the emotional fulfillment of the soul;
the essence of Divine Love.
My head is in the stars tonight. Infinite signs of affection. Infinite possibility to feel the sharp prick of loss. Is it better to feel the knife or to avoid the sweet fruit you slice? These are questions we have asked ourselves before.
Love is not new. This too we have discussed. The word too pedestrian. The sentiment used to sell makeup and airline tickets. But if this word no longer fits, what shall we call it?
I said to J. “I adore you” and his response was “... but that does not mean you love me.” And here I thought it did.....
But then again, I foggily remember telling a lover I adored him to avoid saying the L word. How petty.
I have friends who search for love. It is the slipperiest of quarries. It is the man who is smoke. The figment of your night wanderings. Dream and mist. An idealized version of yourself.
Is not the one we love based on a version of ourselves washed clean and made pretty? In my case, I hope not. But that may be the product of hitting the proverbial bottom. When I met J. I had given up finding someone who was real.
The online dating world is another albatross to meander through. Liars and poets alike. How many times did I fall in love with words only to discover that the man behind the fingers was only clever, not beautiful? Perhaps this is why I liked J. He was real. And honest. And smelled good. Or maybe it is the way he does not call me baby.
In my heart of hearts. In the heart of my dark night sky. There is only one constellation that burns a million miles away. I only have the energy for one dying set of stars. How lazy we become as we age. Lazy like an old dog unwilling to get up and chase the stick as it arcs into the blue.
This may be the reason we have not invented a new word for love. Laziness. The old word works just fine.
Now I like the complexity of words strung together. Worry beads of love. Sixty two steps to the doorway of love. Sixty two words. Sixty two sensations. One million ways to share love.
Ten thousand miles couldn't keep you
For you were more like the wind
All my life I will seek you
Deep in the core of my within
If I tried to see you now
You'd be dancing across the sky
And you'd be wearing your gypsy clothes
You'd be wearing one of your smiles
For now, love will be the simple. Deviation is not in the cards.
G.
September 02, 2008
Lament
Summer is at a close and I find myself suddenly dazed, wondering where it all went.
Walking the serpentine paths of the park down the road, I was aware of the change in the light. The smell of September is already upon us. And now, sixteen days to my birthday, we begin the steady climb to Christmas.
Soon, I will be begging for the heat of summer again.
I leave for Montreal on the 12th. A city of delights. I plan on taking a million photographs. On buying at least one amazing pair of ridiculously impractical heels. I had wanted one night in the city on my own, but as it happens I will have company. Then to Ottawa. The city at the heart of this country. I will spend an entire day wandering the halls of the National Gallery. I love this adventure. I want to resume painting every time I see the brush strokes of Tom Thompson.
I have a thing for graveyards. I have three mapped out. Some of the oldest grave sites in this country. Some of our most sacred dead.
I will be easily distracted on my birthday day. I may even forget that I am growing OLD.
I have thought a great deal about Tennessee lately. The leaves will be turning.
My mind is always drifting these days. I am a leaf it seems, flittering amongst the trees. Perhaps I am ready for fall, so I may land. These next two months are my favourite. So really, I am not bitching too loudly.
We had planned on driving to Oregon this September as a reward for surviving summer. It was meant to be romantic and quiet. A reconnection of sorts. Now with J. back at work after being off since June, we are more focused on retrenching than getting away. Oh, how being an adult is over rated. Perhaps in early October. I would love to photograph the water and dunes. If we don’t head south, there is always Grand Forks. I have such wonderful memories of my first birthday with J. when we drove to Nelson. Although, I am sure there is only so many times I can photograph the ruined green house.
The garden is on its last legs and my lack of planning means the beds are void of any real color. Last year I had the dahlias... which I miss. Where did the time go?
Soon. Soon.
There will be the red maple trees to fall in love with.
G.
Walking the serpentine paths of the park down the road, I was aware of the change in the light. The smell of September is already upon us. And now, sixteen days to my birthday, we begin the steady climb to Christmas.
Soon, I will be begging for the heat of summer again.
I leave for Montreal on the 12th. A city of delights. I plan on taking a million photographs. On buying at least one amazing pair of ridiculously impractical heels. I had wanted one night in the city on my own, but as it happens I will have company. Then to Ottawa. The city at the heart of this country. I will spend an entire day wandering the halls of the National Gallery. I love this adventure. I want to resume painting every time I see the brush strokes of Tom Thompson.
I have a thing for graveyards. I have three mapped out. Some of the oldest grave sites in this country. Some of our most sacred dead.
I will be easily distracted on my birthday day. I may even forget that I am growing OLD.
I have thought a great deal about Tennessee lately. The leaves will be turning.
My mind is always drifting these days. I am a leaf it seems, flittering amongst the trees. Perhaps I am ready for fall, so I may land. These next two months are my favourite. So really, I am not bitching too loudly.
We had planned on driving to Oregon this September as a reward for surviving summer. It was meant to be romantic and quiet. A reconnection of sorts. Now with J. back at work after being off since June, we are more focused on retrenching than getting away. Oh, how being an adult is over rated. Perhaps in early October. I would love to photograph the water and dunes. If we don’t head south, there is always Grand Forks. I have such wonderful memories of my first birthday with J. when we drove to Nelson. Although, I am sure there is only so many times I can photograph the ruined green house.
The garden is on its last legs and my lack of planning means the beds are void of any real color. Last year I had the dahlias... which I miss. Where did the time go?
Soon. Soon.
There will be the red maple trees to fall in love with.
G.
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