The wind chimes are singing their off kilter song. The coyotes are loud and sound like they are laughing.
I lost two hours and thirty minutes of my life. Erased. A black hole where there was no comprehension of my existence. I have a hard time thinking that there was nothing in my mind, only that cold, quiet darkness. Was there at least one dream?
Leading to the surgery I dreamt in vivid color, exact detail. I was stood up by a ten year old boy in a parking lot, his hands holding a red Swiss Army knife. I can see the locks on the door as the police officer secured him. I purchased baby clothes for a friend, not knowing the sex of the child. Soft green and yellow.
Was this close to cramming for an exam?
I have had a troublesome few weeks. Maybe this not sleeping is a culmination of all these things rattling around in my sleep deprived mind.
A dear friend left his wife recently. A story I may tell more of later. But my own understanding of sacrifice, of destiny, of loss and longing have all been shaken.
And then there is the pain. I wish that old woman would quit gnawing on my body like a chicken bone. Let me free already. Push away and let the wind chimes sing me to sleep.
And I miss you. I miss you. Fragile as I am, it's hard to not. Everything feels more empty. Silent. Or is that the witching hour talking?
Send me peace. Make the laughing dogs rest.
G.
August 27, 2009
July 29, 2009
And here we are...
The heat has pulled me from my slumber. Hardly sweet... my heels have been sticking to the pavement as I move from one air conditioned bliss to another.
I am tempted my my neighbour's pool. They even have the honeysuckle that goes with it.
Sitting here, in the mid dark while sipping a glass that is mostly ice, I am reminded of how dreams cannot be merely pushed away as a used toy. How pervasive they are, whispering to us constantly their lover's lament of being forgotten.
I have such a dream.
The universe sends us signs, a good friend told me. There are guides along the way. If we turn our eyes from them, they too will eventually fade into the background. We see the signs, the path is well lit for us and yet we would rather choose the darkest corridors. The harder path. The one that contravenes our souls song.
It is so easy to muffle that sound. To turn away, resisting the climb.
Life is beautiful. Distracting. These last few weeks have been about the sensation and less about the mechanics of paying attention to the reality. This heat, the gentle desire of my mind, fingers, mouth and teeth. These desires haunt me. Now, is the loudest voice. The greatest music. The dream is lost in the heat of a summer night. (Notice how it sinks into your skin? Can you feel that pressure to lay down and just ... give in?)
But fall will come. She will come and shake the flowers from our hair. And then, and only then it seems... we will focus on the music of our soul.
First, we must dance with the seductress, desire. All 39 degrees of her.
G.
I am tempted my my neighbour's pool. They even have the honeysuckle that goes with it.
Sitting here, in the mid dark while sipping a glass that is mostly ice, I am reminded of how dreams cannot be merely pushed away as a used toy. How pervasive they are, whispering to us constantly their lover's lament of being forgotten.
I have such a dream.
The universe sends us signs, a good friend told me. There are guides along the way. If we turn our eyes from them, they too will eventually fade into the background. We see the signs, the path is well lit for us and yet we would rather choose the darkest corridors. The harder path. The one that contravenes our souls song.
It is so easy to muffle that sound. To turn away, resisting the climb.
Life is beautiful. Distracting. These last few weeks have been about the sensation and less about the mechanics of paying attention to the reality. This heat, the gentle desire of my mind, fingers, mouth and teeth. These desires haunt me. Now, is the loudest voice. The greatest music. The dream is lost in the heat of a summer night. (Notice how it sinks into your skin? Can you feel that pressure to lay down and just ... give in?)
But fall will come. She will come and shake the flowers from our hair. And then, and only then it seems... we will focus on the music of our soul.
First, we must dance with the seductress, desire. All 39 degrees of her.
G.
November 10, 2008
Something Old
(silences)
It is quiet in this place.
Voices only an echo,
the birds
suspended.
The still before the storm.
A church after prayers are said.
The space between reality
and my soul.
G.
It is quiet in this place.
Voices only an echo,
the birds
suspended.
The still before the storm.
A church after prayers are said.
The space between reality
and my soul.
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.
August 28, 2008
Take Nothing Serious
Old Barn Doors
(I had this feeling when) He said
“take this and throw it like a stone,
further than the last”,
(trickery)
so I
would stand still long enough
for stars to dissolve the night sky.
Dreams are just forgotten
reality, (fantasy and reality
are too far apart, I lie)
when released, they stretch out
across the thousand light
arcs of heaven, and feel the latch
to the door I keep closed
(just against the cold, I lie)
(just against the loss in the dark,
I truth)
He feels the barn door in me,
the reassuring iron taste
of the old latch tempts me
with a familiar safety;
but this
silent ease with which
we unstring our remembering
is more gentle in the soft
light of the new moon.
The door is open,
letting in the ripe summer sky
and the quiet of emptiness.
(I had this feeling when) He said
“take this and throw it like a stone,
further than the last”,
(trickery)
so I
would stand still long enough
for stars to dissolve the night sky.
Dreams are just forgotten
reality, (fantasy and reality
are too far apart, I lie)
when released, they stretch out
across the thousand light
arcs of heaven, and feel the latch
to the door I keep closed
(just against the cold, I lie)
(just against the loss in the dark,
I truth)
He feels the barn door in me,
the reassuring iron taste
of the old latch tempts me
with a familiar safety;
but this
silent ease with which
we unstring our remembering
is more gentle in the soft
light of the new moon.
The door is open,
letting in the ripe summer sky
and the quiet of emptiness.
August 12, 2008
American Propiganda
Well, I have had more traffic in here than when I blasted the American inaction with the Katrina victims. What does that say about us?
I pulled Christopher's name. Not because Holly emailed me twice this morning (and again from her blackberry, requesting I no longer post her responses.) No. I did this for Christopher's wife. She does not deserve any more heartache than what I have already caused her.
But I do have to ask ... and so do a few others... why on earth was Holly so interested in Christopher that she was googling him? This seems to be the million dollar question.
The purpose of the exercise is complete. Now I feel hungover and worn out. And fuck... I can hear Katydids in my head.
My god. What an amazing, powerful and omnipotent power this has over us.
G.
August 11, 2008
Beauty in the Breakdown
Oh how we, as humble human beings, love drama. It seems my post has received some attention because I posted Christopher's name. Does everyone not see this was intentional?
Holly S. wrote me to tell me the following:
G,
You dont know me but I came across your blog about an affair you had with Chris. You are very detailed in this blog and you even have his first and last name as the title. I think just out of consideration for him and his family it would be best if you remove his name from the title of your blog. I am a freind of Chris's and I know he is a good person and does not deserve to have his personal affairs exposed to all on the internet. I would sincerely appreciate you doing this just so noone one runs across this again. I understand you were just expressing yourself but I noticed you named your current boyfriend J. and did not show his full name but you did not do the same for Chris. You went as far as to his full name and where he lives ****** That is pretty obvious. Not a whole lot of Chris F's reside here in Memphis. That is exposing something very personal and hurtful. I was shocked when I came across it and I am sure his family would be too.
Thank you,
H
Knowing me as you do now, you know that I could not stay still... but had to respond. I am a woman of words.... and I think my response says it all.
I appreciate your writing me to voice your concerns. Part of why I posted his name in this way was to reach out.
I am not sure if you have experienced the kind of loss Christopher and I went through... I hope not. But there is always this lingering question... "Is he ok?" We did a horrible number on ourselves and those that we loved. I am not attempting to hurt anyone further, but instead... this was much easier than calling him at work, correct? I think if you read the post with an open mind, you might understand that this is not a post about Christopher so much as about me.
He and I both know that there is no going back. You would understand, if you have lost someone.
Nothing is accidental. I was reaching out into the dark looking for information. And look what I found. You. But it's unfortunate that you hold judgement in your heart. Act shocked all you like, it was not a secret then.... and even though we all have pushed what happened into the past, none of us has forgotten. And hurtful is not the intention.
It's the truth. And the truth can be ugly and beautiful. It's all about perspective.
Perhaps you will have the courage to tell him some crazy Canadian posted in an anonymous blog about him. If you do, congratulate him on the birth of his second child for me. And tell him I am ok with things the way they are. That there should be no shame, what does not kill us makes us deeper, richer. That being awake is wondrous. And so is moving on.
Or did you miss that part in the blog? The part where I commend him with rebuilding his marriage. His wife is an amazing and forgiving woman. Oh wait... you judged me without reading past the "affair" part. Did you read that my own marriage ended? Did you go further back in the blog to discover that J. is not just a "boyfriend" but my life partner?
I feel sadness that it's you that will be the one to deliver my message. I had hoped for someone with a deeper sense of understanding. If you aren't going to send it on, that's fine. I will wait for someone to reach out who will.
Again, thank you for the time it took to write the email. I wish instead, I could have thanked you for reading it.
And just for your information, there are many Chris' in Tennessee.
G.
Holly S. wrote me to tell me the following:
G,
You dont know me but I came across your blog about an affair you had with Chris. You are very detailed in this blog and you even have his first and last name as the title. I think just out of consideration for him and his family it would be best if you remove his name from the title of your blog. I am a freind of Chris's and I know he is a good person and does not deserve to have his personal affairs exposed to all on the internet. I would sincerely appreciate you doing this just so noone one runs across this again. I understand you were just expressing yourself but I noticed you named your current boyfriend J. and did not show his full name but you did not do the same for Chris. You went as far as to his full name and where he lives ****** That is pretty obvious. Not a whole lot of Chris F's reside here in Memphis. That is exposing something very personal and hurtful. I was shocked when I came across it and I am sure his family would be too.
Thank you,
H
Knowing me as you do now, you know that I could not stay still... but had to respond. I am a woman of words.... and I think my response says it all.
I appreciate your writing me to voice your concerns. Part of why I posted his name in this way was to reach out.
I am not sure if you have experienced the kind of loss Christopher and I went through... I hope not. But there is always this lingering question... "Is he ok?" We did a horrible number on ourselves and those that we loved. I am not attempting to hurt anyone further, but instead... this was much easier than calling him at work, correct? I think if you read the post with an open mind, you might understand that this is not a post about Christopher so much as about me.
He and I both know that there is no going back. You would understand, if you have lost someone.
Nothing is accidental. I was reaching out into the dark looking for information. And look what I found. You. But it's unfortunate that you hold judgement in your heart. Act shocked all you like, it was not a secret then.... and even though we all have pushed what happened into the past, none of us has forgotten. And hurtful is not the intention.
It's the truth. And the truth can be ugly and beautiful. It's all about perspective.
Perhaps you will have the courage to tell him some crazy Canadian posted in an anonymous blog about him. If you do, congratulate him on the birth of his second child for me. And tell him I am ok with things the way they are. That there should be no shame, what does not kill us makes us deeper, richer. That being awake is wondrous. And so is moving on.
Or did you miss that part in the blog? The part where I commend him with rebuilding his marriage. His wife is an amazing and forgiving woman. Oh wait... you judged me without reading past the "affair" part. Did you read that my own marriage ended? Did you go further back in the blog to discover that J. is not just a "boyfriend" but my life partner?
I feel sadness that it's you that will be the one to deliver my message. I had hoped for someone with a deeper sense of understanding. If you aren't going to send it on, that's fine. I will wait for someone to reach out who will.
Again, thank you for the time it took to write the email. I wish instead, I could have thanked you for reading it.
And just for your information, there are many Chris' in Tennessee.
G.
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