Monthly Archives: May 2012

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…ten days later…

She was feeling a little more like herself now, a bit more like
she was pulling her molecules together to become a whole,
after the presence of someone’s strong and compelling aura.
Like moving out of the influence of another planetary pull.
A month was a long long time….

Still fighting the bladder infection that had attacked her in
Brasil, her skin was hived and the body did its best to rid itself
of toxins by sweats and exhaustion.
Medications were in order…

Meanwhile, the questions just compounded themselves, one
upon another, and the more they stacked up, the more confusing
her future looked.  How could she even make plans for anything?

Every Two Days he changed his thoughts of how
this should proceed:
First… she was going back, as soon as her life was processed
and in order … and the house in Ibicui beckoned sweetly…

Then …he decided he would just get the hell out of Brasil,
and come to her and the States.  She loved that idea.

It was obvious he needed to leave that prison he resided in,
the place of his birth, with the presence of parents and all the
hated and hateful memories the place embodied…
…and all the negative habits and connections that were
so easy for him to fall back to…

He had loved it here… she could easily set up a life in her little
seaport of that NorCal coastal town… she was well established
there, lots of friends and contacts, and moving back was a dream
of hers anyway.   He could get back into diving, get his boat…

But then!… Now…. he has decided he needs to get a boat, and
sail here …and it will take time… two years maybe, he says!
What ?  Some sort of odyssey that he now must fulfill?
This was getting crazy making, and her head spun.

What his motivations were, how sound his thinking was, how
clear his mind…or unclear… was out of reach and unknowable.
She wondered if legalities, the wars, the extreme way the US
was behaving, what with Little Bush and the Terrorism Fiasco.
Maybe he was thinking he wouldn’t be able to get into the
US, with his past history in the Legion, and his
Revolutionary actions as a youth…

It seemed like he was loosing faith in all of it, and once she
was gone, it was like he slipped back into confused whirlpools
of old ghost shadows.
Of course he needed to do whatever he needed to do, and she
was quite willing to wait for his own personal resolutions…
But… things had become so unclear…

Journal, March 22…
“Two Years?  What the heck does that mean?  I feel he’s leaving
it all up to me, I feel like he’s not really done anything he said
he’d do… I don’t know how I feel about marriage anymore, as
now, from what he has said, I think he has been married several
times, and never divorced!

I have no idea what the truth is.  I feel manipulated again, and
I cannot allow that to happen.
I need to write clearly what I need to ask and say,  as my life
hangs in the balance… I literally cannot move left or right
until we have some sort of a plan. ”

She had been in a temporary situation when she’d found him, and
now that she was back, it was time to make a move of some sort.
But how could she decide, when all this hung in the balance?

She made a giant list of all the questions raging in her mind …
Basically she wanted the Plan… if he had one.  Something tangible.
When she’d left, he had told her his plans…

*We’d each find out information about marriages such as theirs.
*He’d stop drinking, swim everyday, and loose weight.
*He’d start to create a new way of thinking…

She spoke to him in her mind…
“I don’t see anything of this from you…. I feel like it’s now
all up to me…
You are thinking in the old way, stuck in a defeatist place,
in the toxic environment that you’re used to…
Has anything changed at all…?

I feel like You’re thinking like a LONER, and like,
I can come along if I want…
But you set no timeline, nor make any real commitment…
What has changed for you, since I left…?

I still feel you need to get out of there, to clear your mind…
I need you to meet me halfway, and think in new ways …

We could make money here, convert to Twice that in Brasilian
Reis, and buy our fantasy place, boat, whatever we want…

Three months is my limit to float and wait… beyond that I will
have to set up my own place here, and my income will go for that,
and not our future….

My entire life is on hold, in limbo, and completely confusing…

What do you want?  How do you want that to happen…and
Can you make a plan and hold to it?”

She waited for his answer… in whatever form it might come.

 

 

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…what is love?…

Ah the eternal question… n’est pas?

What is it that turns stable and sane people, who are
quite able to function and breeze over most of the big
bumps in life…
…into creatures who suddenly find themselves on a
rollercoaster of internal chemicals, unable to
think of much else, and behave like mindless
blubbering idiots?

“Love…an intense feeling of deep affection, a deep romantic
or sexual attachment to someone;
fondness, darling, passion,
to fancy, be fond of, or adore.”

Well!  that certainly covers a bit of territory.
Me thinks we need about 18 words for love, like the
Eskimo/Inuit with their many words for Snow…
(although Google tells me this is another myth, and that
the European Sami People are the ones with all the words)

No wonder we’re confused. Let’s try going deeper…

“1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as
for a parent, child, or friend.”

or how bout…

“1. A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude
toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition
of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.
2. A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person
with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion
of sex and romance.
3. a. Sexual passion.
b. Sexual intercourse.
c. A love affair.”

And it goes on…and on…

My Favorite is ….
“a Zero score in tennis.”

OK… now I’m even more confused.
Biologically, they say it’s all about Chemistry.
There are wonderful substances that release when we
‘fall in love’, and these create such pleasure in our brain
centers, it becomes a high very much like cocaine,
and apparently, just as addictive.
But that still doesn’t answer the Why of it…
Why do we ‘fall in love’ with only certain someones…?

For me, I know that I was programmed for it….let’s call it
Romantic Love.
I’m an American, and between the old fairy tales, Disney,
and Hollywood… well, there ya go.

I was also somewhat sheltered, raised on myths, prone to
fantasy, and innocent in the most wholesome way.
I have grown wise to the world, but I am still a fool
when it comes to Love.

But I Do know the difference between “Being in Love”, which
is the Romantic equivalent of idiotic infatuation, and Real Love.
And I don’t think Anyone outgrows the ability to fall in love,
at least for a little while.
Out of mind would be the appropriate phrase.

But as time passes, if you have some genuine aspects there
that hold your interest and continue the attachments, you begin
to have Real Love, which is this deep and abiding feeling of tender
appreciation and attachment,  plus an admiration for parts of
a person, even though you are well aware of their
shortcomings and rotten parts.

This is very different from the first, and much more satisfying.
It is at this phase that you might actually find someone
you can stay with.

Well…?  don’t you honestly in your heart of hearts finally
somewhere believe there is a Someone for you, a someone
that was predestined to find you, or you them,
…someone who will be the mirror to your disposition and the
puzzle piece you’ve been waiting for…
…the perfect fit sexually, of course…..as well as
Someone who will appreciate the little parts of you that
others might find strange and irritating…
…and it really helps if that someone also Real Loves You…

Oh, the Right one will not only Get it, they will Enjoy it…
Relish it, Savor those eccentric, delightful parts of you, that
you Know are wonderful and shareable… and just a little weird.

Come on … admit it.  Even the cynics, the disheartened,
the broken hearted, and the most world weary amongst us…

I am willing to bet that down in the heart of your beaten up little
heart, is that soft little core, that childishly, purely as a child,
sweetly as butterflies, believes there will be someone who will
Understand who we Really are, while also turning us on….

….to the point of mind bending ecstatic transformational
blending of two souls into one magnificent pulsating
glowing being….whilst allowing us to leave our bodies and
become one with the Universe…
…oh wait…am I aiming too high?

Come on…. it’s there, you know it…
otherwise, why would we keep on trying to find it?

I wonder, as I look clearly at it now, if I was up to the task.
I chose not only a Brazilian man, but also a genius…
a Revolutionary, free thinking, well educated wild man,
…who read all the classics while still a child, and dreamed
of being one of those heroes who changed the world.
A man who saw very early that Most of the present world
is basically bullshit, and way off course.
Someone who didn’t fit in, and never wanted to.
And someone who was punished
from day one for being who he was.

And with a primal spirit that chose a physique so enriched and
so blessed, as to be called Special….in the nicest way….

So able and blessed, that he believed on the one hand that
he was able to do Anything, while on the other hand having
been told he was bad, so bad he was not even worth a mother’s love.
Confused, torn, convoluted, lonely, cynical, and hopeful…
…and a complete Romantic.

Do I like challenges….ya think?

So what’s my deal?  And what have I learned from all of this,
this story that is still and yet half-told…?

One…. Sometimes Love is not enough.
Two…. we know not what the goal or outcome is, or might be.
Three… let go and let…(insert the name of whomever you choose
as your source of wisdom, life and trust.)
Oh, and don’t forget
Four…. shit happens, the Universe decides, and shit happens.
Stuff floats into life…and we call it, even if we deny it.

That, and making Art of Life… is my project, my path, and
my choice… deal with it, process it, and enrich Life itself.

And make your wishes known to the Universe, visualize what
you’d like, and then…..choose what comes…

 

 

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…bits and pieces…

Days pass, one after the other, without bookmarks.
Catching up, tuning in, taking care, adjusting and putting
stuff in place…
It’s been Three Days Home, after the two day journey, and
aside from her message to him that she’d arrived, there was
nothing back from him.

The lack of contact, withdrawal from connection, was overtaking
sanity, and she needed the emotional equivalent of methadone…

Knowing him, she thought, he’s likely getting wasted and numbing
out, while she was busy feeling all of it.
In that way they were very different.
But she could Feel his wobblings… his core off center…

She was coming down a rough slope, landing on excruciatingly hard
and itchy terra… and it felt like nothing could fill the void.

She reached into the abyss of time warps, and opposite sign waves,
and found little but empty hands and aching, longing questions.

If he was on the same E Ticket ride, they were both going down,
and no matter what she stuffed into the vacuumous black,
nothing satisfied.
Her way was to reach out, his to pull away.

There wasn’t enough beer or chocolate or cigarettes or mind
bending thoughts to fill it up, this she knew.
There was nothing she could do about his wastoid habits either…
… but keep busy, and keep on dialing.  He never answered…

It was a cruel time, a time that only would pass with time,
until another time took its place.
There were no answers to her questions now.
Her molecules were still collecting, still scattered across
half the planet, still sitting in that room, still lying
next to him, hearing his voice saying her name.

Just now, it felt like all was unknown.
Like Anything could happen …
Was Anything Real???

 

 

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…babe…

It’s March 9th…2005

We’re at the aeroporto… we cling to eachother like frightened
children…. or frightened old people…..
we’re too quiet to be children…

I can only hold onto him, hold his hands, touch his borders,
until the very last minute, knowing full well that time just keeps
moving on, and soon all this will be gone…the now of now
will soon be the now of the future, evaporated
but for foggy memories.

He sits beside me, and we are quiet together, our last moments
before the long distance once again pulls us to someplace else.
I lay my head against his maleness, holding to his arm,
head on his shoulder, my hands absorbing all I can of him.
He feels solid, grounded, calm, sad and resolved.
He says nothing… there is nothing to say.

I cannot hold the tears that fall down my face, and onto our
mutual hands…… and he looks long at me…

“Oh…I think thees separation ees going to be harder on
you than me…..”
He trails off …… I hold tight.

He takes my journal, borrows my pen, and writes
one last message to take home …

I remember turning to him for one last look, after I walked away,
before I moved into customs, and readied myself for the long trip home…

I may not see his face again for a long time… and for all that life offers..
….and for the way he is… it could be never.

The old panic buttons send their blaring sirens off into my nervous
system, for the so-many-times he’d left before, all of it coming up
like a slide show carousel on the dark wall of my brainscape.

I remember boarding the plane, and asking the assistant to please
bring me some kleenex…
“I am leaving my fiancee,” I tell her…” and I know I’m going to cry…”

And I did.  I cried as the wheels left the runway, as the plane banked
for the last time over that city, over that bay, and away from that
magical place…my magical place…..until I could no longer see
that city, that bay, that coastline, or Brasil at all.

And then I wiped my eyes, sat up a bit, pulled out my book and
began the long journey home.

 

 

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…i’m leaving babe…

Journal, March 8, 2005…..leaving Rio tomorrow.

“She tried without success to see beyond.  To find the path leading
to the future, to their future.  But all was dark, cloudy, full of foggy
mist, tiny lights flitting in when she least expected it.
Lights leading to hope, hopes of a life constructed of dream upon
dream, until it walked in and bit her.  Knocked her in the head
with its head.

That’s what he used to do to introduce himself to someone new,
when he was young… and a few passed out.  She hadn’t passed out,
but Lordy, he surely took her breath away.

She remembered her darling Carrie, who in the last episode
(Sex and the City), had said something wonderful, something so
her feelings…
“I believe in Love, inconvenient, all encompassing, can’t live
without it Love”

And now she’d found it, dreamed it, created it, and it completely
overwhelmed her.  It’s power, the knowledge that no other man
could ever again walk into her life and possess her the way he did…
this one man.
He was the love of her life truly, and the swept away feet off the
ground, the heart over head of it creating waves of pure emotion
without name.   And he had made it clear that it was mutual.

It was completely new territory, another universe, their own world.
.. Wasn’t that what he had said in that first poem….

“Meet me in a timeless world where we can be ourselves.
Where we are who we are..where I can be a true man who’s capable
to love a real woman, without limitations, without lies…
Free to become the most of our possibilities…”…”

 

The Present, May 2012… the story continues…

Reading this journal entry now makes me very sad…
sad for that girl there, the one with such overwhelming mind
stopping emotion and connection with this man.

At the same time, I feel such sadness at having lost it, for I do
love being in love, no matter how impossible it may be.
I believe in it.

The connection between us was real, and still is real.
I know it…he knows it.
He may have tried to move on, but the indelible sting of the
connection between us does not wash away, no matter the effort,
no matter the turning away, no matter what kind of elements you
may try to use, to dissolve away the stain.
Love is like grapejuice stains on the heart…

It’s something in this lifetime that doesn’t get to play out here,
on this particular plane of existence.
Too much territory to cover to get us to a place where who and
what we want is baked long enough and ready for consumption.

But… I think I’ve said this before… I do believe in other realities,
other dimensions, simultaneous places that we sometimes visit in
our dreams, or even at moments where this reality and the other
sort of cross wires, and things bleed through.
Strangely, I almost never dream of him.  And that’s odd, because
I have quite vivid and emotional dreams with other people with
whom I have deep connections.

But there was a magic to the entire thing, with loud and blaring signs
of breaking through the illusion, those signs of that Jungian Web thing,
where everything’s connected, timings, words, clicks,
and simultaneous thought.

These things happened from day one, and although I have pushed
much of the joy and pain altogether, out of my day to day, still
when I review things like I must in order to write this story…..
still there are wellings up, waves of memory of what might have been,
what could be somewhere, sometime, somehow, in another life.

Soul connections, mapped out long before we got here, work to be
done, energies to be shared, knowledge to keep.

We tasted paradise, we drank it in, we cradled it to our hearts, and
we will never be the same because of it.
And isn’t that just great…. and can’t that be enough?

 

 

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…into Rio, the old city…

One of the more wonderful things to do, at least from
my point of view, was to go on the ferry and into the
mainland city, the old city that has held such fascination
for so many millenia.
Rio was the destination for the rich and famous, Hollywood,
and the glamorous.  It was also the place to run away to, for
its vastness made it possible to hide forever, from whatever
or whomever you were running.

Traveling through, it is such an unimaginable combination
of centuries, styles and cultures…
My camera’s eye was enthralled with the contrasts and combos,
the most incomprehensible next door neighbors created by
circumstance and availability.
I share some photos, because Words do not suffice.

Rio just goes on and on.  The sidewalks are made of broken
marble from older buildings from the past…puzzled together
to create artful walkways, each street with its own pattern.

The beaches themselves, lined with deco lighting and the
eternal sidewalk strolls, enabled by parks and grassy spreads,
and that white white sand, going on for miles…..
Copacabana…. Ipanema…. who does not feel a little thrill,
at the sound of these almost mythical places…
Nothing creates sand like that, but a million years…
This I know from Hawaiian times.

There, as the sea bed’s volcanic activity keeps on spewing, the
land mass moves over it, traveling NorthWest, and one by one
the islands were formed in order.
This is a beautiful example of geological creation of land mass
that is a clock, a window on the timing of movements
and how it all works.

Kauai is the oldest, and thus, those immaculate white sand
beaches that are indicative of long time coming…muito tempo…

The Big Island, at the other end of the chain, is relatively new,
and mostly you see black sand beaches, and lots of lava rock,
while the volcanic activity is still fresh…. the irridescent lava beds
lying like moon landscapes out before you…as each forming island
straddles the upwelling energies.
Actually off the south east end, there is yet another island forming
under the ocean, while the islands beyond Kauai on the far northwest
end have already sunk, only coral atolls marking their perimeters,
the memory of islands eons ago.

Thus… what I am trying to say, to express, is the Ancient
Quality of this so Ancient a Port…Bay…Islands…of Rio de Janeiro.
This place has basically been there forever… forming, rounding,
sheltering, protecting, like a huge womb, even in its shape…
and being the nursery for the sea for more eons than we
can even conceive.

Port of a million years, Born of a million years…. yes.
James Taylor got it right…. he got the Magic of the place.

And so did I…. and it helps to see a new country with a Native…
Obrigada……!
Ate amanha meu amor………. amanha….

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…nascimento…

What a Beautiful Spirit…. this man.

I love this song for so many reasons, for when it first came out
in 1987, I was in the throws of my love affair with Brasil and Alcir…
I believed that it was more than a dream…

…and when Milton sings it, his deep and spiritual nature permeates,
lending layers with that voice and those eyes.   …..Enjoy…..

Quando a nossa mãe acordar…………………When our mother awakes
Andaremos ao sol………………………………….We shall walk in the sun
Quando a nossa mãe acordar…………………When our mother awakes
Cantará pelo sertão………………………She shall sing in the wilderness
Quando a nossa mãe acordar…………………When our mother awakes
Todos os filhos saberão………………………All her children shall know
Todos os filhos saberão………………………All her children shall know
E se alegrarão………………………………………….And they shall rejoice

But it’s more than the shining eye, more than the steaming green,
more than the hidden hills, more than the concrete Christ,
more than a distant land over a shining sea,
more than a hungry child, more like another time.
Born of a million years, more than a million years.

 

 

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…on the road…again…

We went to visit another old friend, Buquinha, and he had a nice
little place with a friend, where Alcir found some of his favorite
garden plants, and we shared drinks, smokes and talks.

He was a gentle fellow, very sweet, and once again there was lots
of Portuguese, yet I never felt left out.

We went to a little place where we sat by the small stream and
were served favorited snacks….very popular in the region…
In Brasilian grocery stores, you can always find Quail Eggs,
big trays of maybe 18 to 24 at a time, and So inexpensive.
I seem to remember them being like 2 reis or so, which at that
time was about $1 American.
For some reason they just Love them, and they are served in bars
and restaurants as little appetizers with beer.

There were streams all around us…

Here, sitting on park benches along the stream,  we had bowls of
them, and also a great munchy that I have taken home with me
to serve to my friends…. little trouts, sliced into small and handy
pieces, and fried til crunchy….
These are all served with a little dish of light salsa, nice and spicy.

_________________________________–

Fried Trout Slices…

*Slice fresh trouts crosswise, into 1-2 inch pieces, bone and all.
Dust with flour, and heat a good oil, Olive or Grape Seed…til very hot.
(Grape seed is my favorite, as it can get much hotter without smoking,
so your fried foods end up crunchier and less greasy. )
**Fry til browned and crispy, but not too dark or dried out.
Remember…fish is delicate…
**Drain on paper, and serve with a nice smooth salsa for dips.
**Little Quail Eggs hard boiled and peeled are a very nice complement,
and of course, if you want to be Brasilian, serve very chilled
Ice Cold Beer.
____________________________________

The next day we visited a local artists’ gallery, and enjoyed some
very creative wooden pieces, the house itself being a work of art,
and had lots of fun chatting up the locals.

We also traveled along the coast and made a stop at a tourist-y
spot that had wonderful hand made chairs, made from tropical
hardwoods, and large models of Portuguese ships that I wanted
to bring home to my brother.


The Chairs were gorgeous, and so inexpensive, so well made.

As well, there were little table and chairs sets with animals
themes, similar to what was coming from Bali at the time.
These were some of the things I hoped to import by the container
full, and I was so filled with great ideas on how to make the money
flow, whilst still having Fun!

Problem was, I don’t think Alcir was anywhere into it as I was,
and he never took me back to get one of those chairs to take home.
I was sad, because Piney had sent money for the chair, and I
realized I would have to be more independant in Brasil if
I was to get things done, and be happy.

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…ah, milton, angel…

Seller of dreams
I have the profession Traveler
the clerk who brings in baggage
life and repertoire of songs

And of hope
more stubborn than a child
I invade the rooms, the rooms
windows and hearts

Phrases I invent
they fly aimlessly in the wind
looking for place and time
where someone also wants to sing them

Seeing my dreams
and in return the faith walking
I have at the end of the trip
a stone path happy

So many years telling hitória
love the place I was born
many years singing my time
my people of faith I smile
many years of voice on the roads
so many dreams that I’ve lived