It was clouds illusions...

Remember the song Send In The Clowns? Classic. This evening I sat on my balcony watching the clouds float by, serenaded by Miles Davis. Different shapes, evoking memory or inspiration. I thought of how Mada and I loved to watch the clouds and name shapes out of them; sometimes silly things. On the journey back from her funeral I watched the clouds. On our kayaking day Terri told me that we had a Simpson's Sky, as the clouds dotted the sky as in the cartoon. I can't help but look up every day and every night to watch the stories written there.
The line from the song came into my brain, almost like an epiphamy as it made me think of how througout my life I didn't really know love at all. To explain it further only reeks of ego as there were and are different stages that gave different facets of love.

Nature is a mutable cloud which is always and never the same.” Emerson

The call of the wilde

Was it just that? I celebrate and embrace the lack of dysfunctional emotional strings. Do I want something more? Yes, but not at least from this venue.
I excitedly told a couple of friends and one said "I hope this works out for you". The question being, what is the perception of "work's out"? A marriage? A good time? A committment? A one night stand?
I know it "worked out" to what it was/is supposed to be....at least for me.

Grief

It takes a tragedy to reflect divine forgiveness. In the news regarding the families of the Amish girls killed by a milk truck driver, it was noted how the Amish leaders have set up a fund for the killer's widow and three children.

The Amish were not the only victims.

I cannot, nor do I ever want, to imagine the phases of grief those parents face. My grief is a creature of a different nature.
My forgiveness is to no one by myself. For others it is a path upon which angels and I fear to tread. Eventually thought it comes down to it. It being forgiveness. If one doesn't forgive eventually the anger, depression, and darkness eats the soul like an acid. Getting to that point is a journey all on its own.

Dive into one's soul
Where the still waters fun deep
Past the broken dreams
Where soul and stars meet
Where time is but a shadow
An you your self meet (seek)
Through the promises
Even those we didn't keep
Past the rich landscape
That made us today
Deeper into the unknown
Where the soul still weeps
Through out life and death
Our tapestry we weave
Till we chance upon the place
To where all souls meet

Soul Mates

Well what an eye opening reality. Just like patience when one prays for it they get the lesson. No different then those who have come into our lives. I can look back and wow those 2X4's were at it again!
So when you look back at those who have loved, left, and loved again, what was the lesson they taught? Do you realize they were a 'soul mate'? There to teach you that lesson? What did they reflect that YOU needed to know? Did they treat you as badly as the person in your head did? Do you or I for that matter expect someone else to treat you or me any better then you or I treat ourselves? Words, actions, deeds, thoughts all of those are included. What a concept.

The Vortex

forward note; this is a story I've created.

As a memory, each room is numbered 13. Though the rooms are different, they’ve been numbered so there wouldn’t be a descending or offending order. Clothed in their thin veils, spiders touch up the silk threaded duvets; woven tightly to cocoon the occupant when reserved. Black, white and red candles blaze with blue flames casting a thousand year old glimpse off timeliness throughout the quiet halls.
The fountain in the stone foyer slips the memories of exotic nights; tell tale within the rhythm of the cascading water to those sequestered on the couch; listening. The stories told in a monotone lullaby; weaving a mist through the eyes of those waiting; and they thought they were taking a break from the heat outside. Waiting.
Quietness moves as a shadow; a breath moving as would an echo. A ripple. Left behind in it’s continuing wake is Noise. As Quiet goes through the hotel, lingering every now and again in certain places replenishing it’s energies; Noise insinuates the rush of air that closes a door, the dance of the paper floating in the wind captured in graceful swirls and arches. Nerveless, there are hours; Oh! That feels like days, where Quiet has gone out on the back of a carriage for a tour of the town. Sometimes to remind itself or converse with the others of that Time. Leaving Noise to knock around dust motes, as it’s momentous wake fades to but a restless whisper.
That Time, what should be contrived to be but a stale wind; Time. Then and again, but now. Within its breath, whispered a hush capturing attention of few; only those that know or believe. After all this is the New World’s oldest city. Where things past exist in the back of peoples minds are welcome to be; what some call ghosts, ectoplasms, witches and anything belonging to the mysteries of the metaphysical.
Occasionally laughing with the rustle of the leaves as it sees a play. As surreal as the multitude of ghosts that walk, lay, laugh, cry and play in the crowded streets. Except mid day when the sun bets it’s fury unwittingly in the sands or black top. Burning. Summer. In essence a winter of it’s own where when one steps outside the calidity is so biting it sends chills crawling up the arms as the sweat pores expand. Even the heat is forgiven as the ghosts play during the nights when the moon is full; three days before and three days after.
There once was a moment that Time stood still and Quiet screamed. Her hollow voice shrilled so loud even the living shivered and quickly moved to what was an attempt to safety. Noise hitched on the echoing vibrations of Quiet’s scream swept through on what could only be described as a preliminary cold-front; the kind that poses as a natural warning to those of an impending storm. No one living or dead could imagine the storm-front that came in. In that brief moment a gaping hole appeared. One that lies between planes of time. An open door for Shadow to creep forth its darkness; bringing on his tale the unwanted cousins, uncles, aunts, nephews from the Other side. The dregs. Lost souls and unknown entities that buoy hate, harm and anger. The vortex has been opened!
“Order!” the ancient judge roared from his misty dais. “Order in the court” his gavel struck the mist clanging across time. So there, they gathered as a fog. The ghosts in the once used courthouse; they layered. Some standing on the beds, some through them. The old room slowly taking upon itself its ghostly appearances of what was between Times folds.
“Wouldn’t the ball room have been better?” one was heard muttering.
“It’s an emergency meeting” the bailiff spoke. A hole through his forehead reflecting what was beyond; “and it’s currently in use for the temporary vestigages of today’s youths”. As he spoke the crescendo of music seeped through the walls and doors like oozing blood.
“It appears” the dusty judge quieted the room before him shaking the cobwebs from his pale face, “that the vortex has been opened. I want an investigation as to how it was done and how to close it. Most importantly the latter, at least for the moment. Any former psychics present?” His piercing eyes scanned the crowded room. A cold mist was forming from the presence of so many ghosts.
“Here”, spoke a quiet woman veiled from head to foot in white, the wooden stake rotting from her chest as the blacked blood stained the front of her Victorian lace gown. “It’s only because I know the dangers Shadow presents that I’ll help you, my former torturers” her blue eyes blazed a fire long remembered from a time that slipped past as she spotted her rivals amongst the crowd. “In order for the vortex to have been opened”, she rose above the crowded room capturing everyone’s attention, “someone of some supernatural abilities must have moved the seals, the Lions, the globe and, God help us, the doorway” The ghostly apparitions stood still; only the scurrying of the minute spiders that had crawled into their caskets and died with them scattered amongst the rustles of their period clothing.
“We know what it means if we cannot send them back into their own time and space.” The judge knowingly looked around the room.
“Yes,” the psychic began, “they will break the rules of our polite dead society we have created. First with possession of those that walk topside with malevolence:” slowly she proceeded to float towards the dais to stand below the judge, “then they will start to manipulate the weak with a vengeance; dead or alive. As I see it,” she then turned to the judge, “we have two choices to start with; to close the gate so there would be no more entries and to gather those that are here and attempt to get them sequestered in a spot to hold them till we can send them back to the other-side. Keep in mind the longer the gate stays open the more there will be on this plane; and herding the Shadow and Others will be a continuous battle. I propose”, the Lady turned back to fan the growing crowd of misty apparitions, “that we close the gate, then meet again to determine what can be down with the existing problems as they occur.”
“Humph”, the judge nodded in reluctant acquiescence, his dislike for her clearly written on his face; “unless there are other ideas presented?” he turned to the crowded room “anyone? Then so be it!” his gavel sounded on the misty dais, “Lets get the Stone back in place, meet back here two o’clock am sharp! The hours are precious so please entities lets not dawdle!”
The chill on the third floor hallway slowly ebbed from the rooms as the ghosts fled to the position of the stone; the chill still palpable to any person within their path. Out side, they followed the trail of darkness, before them, a void of all light swirled and flapped about in the air. Maniacal laughter echoed from the void as though it echoed through a stone chamber entreating those in front of the open doorway a wavering ripple in their own ghostly apparitions.
The modern day building itself stood in quiet desolation. The tools of the local tradesmen left to lie; as though waiting to be picked up and start working again as though nothing had happened. But it did. And the workers were gone. To where no one knew. The old stonewall; which had been covered throughout the generations with succeedant walls, was possibly to ensure that no one breach the gate. That would never be known; for now it was an attempt to create a wine cellar for a local restaurateur. In the name of money, he ignored the carved warning:
When the marker set at the North end rolls
The Lyons leave their post
Te wall torn down
Opens the gates as the darkness calls
And demons swarm
Written with sagacity; perhaps from the Lady’s ancestor who priorly entreated to this new land before she, for they couldn’t have known the large round mile marker set at the North end of town was to have been rolled to safety for construction as had the stone lions which sat at the base of the bridge. All tucked safely inside a warehouse the roars of the lions were silenced by the stone edifice surrounding them: echoing beneath the silence where they sat as they heard the wall fall and Darkness escape.
For now the building took on misty appearance as the apparitions floated as close to the opening as they dared all wanting to watch as though it was a modern day automobile accident. The Lady in White fearlessly moved into the building to inspect what appeared to be candles in a circle; the sage added to the atmosphere with it’s white smoke as a young man diligently worked with herbs and verbal chants completing his circle’s cast.

October

October approaches. The doorway to the holidays as I like to think of it as. After the sluggishness of summer it feels good to breathe. People become a little bit nicer for the most part, and it turns just a little cooler; even if it is only in the evening. Remember I'm in the South. So here's a reflection of the seasons that began this blog but worthy of repeating:

Indiana sun
Tractors in the fields
Smell the rich loamy dirt
Soon the smell of dust
As the heat beats down
The corn waves As we drive by
Our hands out the windows
Creating rainbows
Ditch flowers growing wild
Ornamental dusty lanes
Lean into summer nights
Lit by fireflies
Stars all around
Wake up to fall
The smell of burnt carrots
Smells just like burning leaves
The frost on pumpkins
Like a sprinkle of sugar
Till the snow falls peaceful
God saying "shhhhh"
As the world is tucked in
To bed.

Is that what artist are supposed to do?

Inspired by Frank Gehry, sculptor in architect. Artist take risks. Architecture as sculpture, instinctual, not educated or traditional; how do we know that instinct isn't even more ancient in tradition the what is known? What am I doing here? What have I always known that even now seems to elude but shimmer before me as an unknown shadow? Find that small space where you can make a difference. The reason for art is that moment when it touches a soul. Saturation into inspiration. Chain link has become the chain mail for a building useful in it's interpretation along with its protective nature. Nurture. Why do I cry? It's the same as standing before that one piece, the one that touched my soul...Nagging. What is the first move? There you are with that canvas on your easel, and colors on your palette, where do you go from there? Anithitical? Juxtaposition? Where'd that come from? Is that the purpose of the artist? To change the world?

Rembrant's Sky

I walk beneath a Rembrant's sky
Timeless
The wind and I
Nary a sound as we both fly
Lost in the hues of his painted sky
Heaven sighed
In glorious delight
To be caught in a moments flight
Sometimes described as a reflection of light
A memory captured for generations sights

More Celebrations

I was fortunate to have the pleasure of a fabulous luncheon with several of my favorite friends of a different kind. Zak, Arnaud, Phil, Ettienne, and Arnaud's LaVonne. It was another celebration as we celebrated Arnaud's birthday and Etienne played any and every ploy to have us commit to a visit to Maine. Tempting.

Celebrations

Any time we friends get together we turn it into a celebration just through our energies. People feel the vibrations in the air; they then run away or stick close as it's revitalizing.
All of us got up early to go to the Jax Farmers Market, very few of us are early risers and one never sleeps. Good prices on great produce which was the same as each others. Found a couple of un knowns and asked the girl who was working there what it was she said:
"a vegetable" NO DUH!
Good spot for blueberry bushes and fig trees too. We went to another flea market, didn't find any fleas we wanted then went to lunch at Sticky Fingers before venturing into the new health food store Nature's Sun. Notice we had to do unhealthy before healthy. Smart girl who seated us told us we're trouble and seated us in the back. The service was good and it was nice to have that comradarie to talk, laugh and just be. It was great having Savannah there with us too; (thanks for the ride). Though it was disarming to have both her and her mother so chipper before the sun comes up. They usually complain about me! Jeez!
Ended up taking a 2 hour nap after I came home. Man that felt good. Thank you girls for another great time together. Have a beautiful weekend.

Food for thought

"Our higher power can only talk to us in a language we understand. Therefore most of us can be reached through the language of fear."
Spiritual Fitness pg 2.

"There can be no such thing as failure if you haven't formed a preconceived idea (assumption of how it'll turn out), of what success should look like. Failure is comparative" Same book, page 7-8

Well back to the drawing board.

Funny vignettes

A bar from a song..."you and I collide" metaphorically has become the summary of what this week has been as I have collided with myself in various forms.
The throb and/or ache in my left foot reminds me of feeling. Healing? I hope so. Strange vignettes 'collided' last night, made up of snippets through out the week. From men on the phone at work that sounded like the beaver character from the old Pooh cartoons with the whistling s's, a vase at the front desk at work contained what was obviously snips of shrubbery (Monty Python) and last night I caught on the Comedy Channel the comedian who does Jose Jalepeno on a Steeek, MJ, Terri and I saw him in Boston in 1998. I laughed just as hard as I did then, and I felt my friends beside me as we were then even though I was alone in my apartment.
Man a lot of time has passed between then and now and it seems like yesterday. Marriages, births and deaths have all occured in our close knit group and yesterday our 'mystery weekend' escape consisted of cooking school at the Blue Bamboo. It was GREAT. I wonder if that will become part of the future flow of funny vignettes, who know's maybe Paula's Dean's is next...

Mandala

This is a mandala. Any of various ritualistic geometric designs symbolic of the universe, used in Hinduism and Buddhism as an aid to meditation.

Can you smell the ocean? Can you feel the breeze? Does the water refresh you as your feet cool in the soft sifting sand?

I took SeaFoam (the latest window) into the gallery and she wasn't quite accepting the view until I told her as I see it I'm part of it, looking down at my feet as a wave washes into the beach. That is the beauty of that piece is it makes the person looking at it a part of it. To see SeaFoam go to August

Men in Trees

MJ just HAD to call me to see if I was watching this new tv show on Friday's. Hmmm I foresee a ticket to Alaska some how, probably one way. haha.
All in all, it's a cute show. Not sure whether it's as good as Northern Exposure but the scenery is great. I can imagine this is only going to help the tourism of Alaska get a whole lot better...yes MJ I hear you...that's just up my ally...tourism.

Das Shoe

Well it's definately broken, splintery like. Went to the ortho doc today. He gave me an ortho shoe (yeah no cast!) and told me to keep it on and raised as often as possible for 3 weeks. He told me it'll probably swell for up to a year, and if he did surgery for up to two. Fore warmed fore armed. Now I can shower again. Soon back in heels!

Winn Dixie

A funny bit of reality happened this morning at the store. I had my cart ready to go, was actually waiting for the manager to get done assisting a young lady to acknowledge my presence to purchase a roll of quarters. Mind you the young lady was very pretty in a natural down to earth manner and was getting 2 large bags of kitty litter. He kept smiling and asking her if she was sure he couldn't assist her.
"Sweet" I thought.
She let out a breath, picked up the bags and said
"no thank you" with a smile.
He then turned to me, smiled and walked away. The nice cashier helped me. And no, no one asked if I needed help out, bandaged foot or not.
I didn't need it, and that's the joy.

Lucky left foot

Ok Terry, you said it. Now I've joined it. Severely hurt my left foot. Will let you know more as I know.

**LEFT FOOT NOTE*** (pun intended)
It's officially broke. Not sure of the name of the bone, MJ knows it, too well. She's shared that, so much so she was the voice in my head. So 2 hours on a Friday night with a full moon to boot, (can we see the foot pandamodium going on here?!), in the local emergency room went surprisingly well. I'm on a splint until I see an ortho doc. Expertise aka the VOICE of experience recommends a walking cast. Get your pens out girls, I plan on drawing a cute spiked high heeled shoe on it.
As for how I did it, I'm using the excuse of kick boxing...lol

Life imitating art, or is it art imitating life?

Sometimes it seems as though I've been floating outside of reality. I'm sure I know why deep down but I don't know to see it for my own nose. I've been reading a lot, especially to escape reality, or even, (gads!) watching tv. That's something I don't really like. Except when it comes to grey's anatomy. MJ told me it's nice to watch someone else's drama I told her that's what the books and blogs have been for. There have been moments whispered that I have the 'perfect' life. Dare I put it out there? Dare I reveal that I miss having the drama of someone being involved in my life? Is that why I escape into those places to avoid my own? In the metaphor how life imitates art is my infatuation with windows really picking up my own slivered thrown away pieces, or me just gluing myself to a window to watch life because that is what I am; the thrown away slivers of color? If my opportunities are so open why do I not see the many doors open? How come I still feel so damned invisble? I find it easier to question spirituality and the life questions we all seem to face. There are times I feel like a child in the sense of wisdom as to not having any and being around those ancient trees that tell the world the wisdom in their breeze. Do I claim this 'artistic temperment' as a veil to keep from seeing reality? The Florida winter is almost over, it's time to come out from the hibernation. How come I'm fighting so hard to keep from waking up?!

Seattle Sights

About a year ago my brother sent me a ticket to go see him when he lived in Washington state. We took several day trips, one to Seattle, and to Mt. Ranier just to name a few. There some great photos that reminded me of my children especially my son Alex. He would love it out there. He's always loved Jack London's stories and I know he would just love it out there. There were a couple of things that had his name on them, the rest are just, I thought good photos.

Gypsy wind

Like the Bob Segar (sic?) song the gypsy wind blows through my soul. Vignettes of memories, words and places run through my mind as I cross through out the day. Small frustrations of fragments having to be fixed tomorrow due to holiday closing today was in all probability spirits way of telling me to just stop and relax. Let the flow go.
Change is almost tangible in the atmosphere, well it is at least constant. Though there are times I feel the ripples which I don't think amount to anything until it explodes ferociously, sometimes precociously, hinting at the change that is wrought.
Why am I so restless?