“All living things are one, like
the blood that unites one thing.
Man did not weave the web of life.
He is but a part of it,
he is only a Strand within it.
Whatever he does to the web of life,
he does to himself. “
……..from the Aborigines
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Monthly Archives: October 2012
… tears …
What is it about crying?
…it seems
the older we get,
the more
the tears
well up and
flow…
Is it awareness of our mortality?
Is it allowing ourselves
the Time to really Feel?
Is it finally letting vulnerability be OK?
this interests me…
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… ok …
…ok….
i’m bored. bored with this never-ending story….
Oh, do not worry……it will end…. oh yes, and …..as it did….
….indeed……end…..
Oh…..sorry……spoiler? somehow i seriously doubt it…..
but….
it’s all about the Journey…right?…
and for now. LIFE
hello to you…….. those who are there….
but for now, i have put the story on the table,
and will pick it up again some time.
For now… i am to do the day to day…..
…..the yoga
and then the writings.
it is good to do this.
…it is Life…
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… the manicurist …
So…. I pick up where I left off…. I have arrived in my little coastal
town…the one where we had first met so many years before…
I am greeted by friends from every direction, and being northern
California in the fall…. well…
…it Is called the Harvest Moon, and yes indeed it was.
I had work 7 days a week, such abundance that is hard to imagine…
I stayed in cabins, I stayed in the camper shell on a little pickup…
I stayed on couches, I lived in a luxurious trailer.
I went here and there, working with friends for a while, then
moving on … bounty beyond belief.
I had access to my friends warehouse where they stored all their
art studio stuff, plus tons of things from the past… the place was
packed, with isle running through and between desks with computers,
half finished art work, collections of materials ready to be turned
into magic. A Surreal Retreat, amongst the spacey days of work
and changing company.
He works in Holography, she in sculpture and casting, creating
very glamorous Art Deco style awards for huge companies and
corporations, as well as art pieces for famous individuals.
I slept in their little bedroom, dark like a cave, draped in soft cloth
and shoji screens, quiet and shut away from the world…
…and once I’d dug in for the night, I’d turn on the soundmaker,
dial to the Sea, and dream-image being on the boat with Alcir….
…it was sweet.
I’d call him from there, and describe the toss and weave of that
boat we were on, the feel of our togetherness in that nether world.
“Oh that’s beautiful,” he would say.
I was offered a room for a while in my friends’ home, that you see
above… warm and exotic, warm colors of mirror cloth and shimmer,
from other worlds more fantasy-filled than ours.
Waking every day to good work, good company, good food
and music, and nice cold cash…
And Always with the promise of a trip back to Him, to Alcir, who
was alternatively thrilled and terrified…
I think he couldn’t believe I’d really come back, and
I know he was scared that I would.
His life was tenuous…difficult…complicated…
and though he wished for better, that was all he had to offer.
Because of his past as a Revolutionary, and later in the Foreign
Legion, it was dubious that he could leave Brasil and come
to the states, especially with the current administration and
the wars… security and scrutiny had so increased…
although he often thought he might just somehow do that…
He talked of getting a boat and sailing over to Hawaii or the Coast.
Always the romantic dreamer, ready to be the Hero…
…and he had loved his 10 years in the US, back in the eighties.
Much of this story is already written, leading up to this time…
If you want to catch up, click on Brasil or Brazil in Categories,
and start at the beginning…or jump around, I don’t care.
It’s a fun story, very romantic, very sweet, very beautiful, and
yes of course, sad.
Love is sad…. because…it’s always something.
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… harvest 2005 …
OK…so where were we…?
It was 2005, and I was landing in a small Northern California
town, one I’d lived in earlier and for 20 years. I was going
there to work with friends, save a bunch of money,
and fly back to Brasil.
I’d taken a month early in the year to stay in Rio with an old
love of mine from long time past, 1987-8, and figure out what
this Thing was between us.
Neither of us had forgotten the other, forgotten the passion or
connection that was undeniable.
There had been great wells of tears on my part at the time of
leaving. He held me close, and remained steadfast, while making
sure I was coming back.
His hand gripped mine, as his great male calm denied his need.
Yes I was, I told him, and as soon as I could. We were engaged,
we were determined, and we were in love.
Romantic, yes? Try falling deeply in love, mutually in love,
and in nearly an instant. Then wait 18 years, find eachother,
and spend a month together again.
Out of time, so much touch and eyes, eyes, taking in what seemed
like reality but just couldn’t be… our brains could hardly grok it.
After I flew away, sobbing into my kleenex the stewardess had
brought to me, I settled into my seat, journal in hand, and
continued to record the saga as it unfolded, pouring out the
emotions as they rose up and fell, like the tide itself, the ebb and
flow of all that feeling.
He drove away, arrived at his favorite street bar, and got
completely wasted, went home, and continued on for
what I suspected were days.
We talked on the phone. He pulled away. He came back.
He opened, he closed.
Notice here that I am focused on the He of it, and yes I was.
His moods, his openings and closings, his near and far, virtually
directed my emotional path for many months, try as I did to not
only understand him, but to hold on to that connection at
such a great distance.
Some people find it easier to hold on to something so etherial,
and others…. well, he was and Is an in-the-moment guy, pulled
and distracted by mind and body, and thoroughly in the now.
Which means…anything could happen.
Waves of fear and worry came and went… alternating with those
beautiful and poetic times that are almost impossible to convey
to anyone not There…
Those are the moments I did my best to hold on to, to get down
on paper before they faded into the ethers…. because such beauty
should never be wasted.
The Magick between us had always been there, and it still lived,
couched between time passing, and the different paths we each
had chosen…
He wasn’t ready for my return, so I went to Hawaii for a while, and
then prepared to arrive in NorCal just in time for Harvest, readying
myself to fly back to my darling one, and figure out how we could
be together forever…
The story has been partially written, and if you want to catch up,
go to Categories, then Brasil or Brazil tab, and start at the beginning.
Or jump in wherever…
At some point you’ll understand…
It’s a fun story, very romantic, very sweet, very beautiful, with
such poetic moments, full of sound and fury, and signifying …
something very deeply profound, eternal….and yes of course, sad.
Love is sad…. because……..it’s always something.
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notesfromthelovewars 