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…
———————————-
…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…
———————————
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.
————————————————
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.
—————————————
Magical Moon, as we float into Fall and it’s Bounty…
…and another Harvest Moon comes back to me…..
———————————————————————————
Here I sit, drinking wine, listening to Sting…some old
some new…. he is so Visceral.
Stirring soup, simmering ginger plum chutney, and
delighting in the night.
They say moving is one of the most traumatic experiences
of one’s life… well, guess I’ve had a few… but
…..this one’s a good move.
Going back to the place where I felt most at home…
going home in many ways. It is not something that happens
overnight, and sometimes it feels like there’s a drag on my sails..
So guess I’m sayin’….. I know it’s been a while since I’ve touched
in with you, my friends and readers….. but I do have some other
priorities that seem to take precedence…
I’m moving!
Long time ago, I fell in love with a man…a man from Brasil…
A little while later…like 18 years… I went to Brasil to decide
what the heck that was about.
…and what the heck to Do with it…
And still, years later I decided to write this love story about the
strange and wonderful and totally bizarre thing that happened
in my life….
And so….this blog… a blog, and a story which will become a book,
and partly because of Him…because he wanted someone to
write his Story….
But this blog has become so much more…
I’m not sure how good a job I can do on my own.
I do what I can, from Me…. from my perspective.
He is not here any more.
He struggles with his own demons, ensconced within his
own cluster of lessons and movement. But…
he keeps on moving, keeps on unraveling his gordian knot.
He now has his Boat, and his diving equipment…
…a long time wanting, a long time coming, but finally, Yes!
He is on his own trajectory….nothing unusual…
and GOOD ON HIM….. no problem here….
I think one of the most important things I want to say tonite is…
Hey Baby…. I do love you… I love your trajectory… I do…
I love how you keep on workin’ it, pushing ahead, no matter.
But I doubt there is room for anyone else but You.
This is sad, of course…..you being the romantic that you are…
I mean….wouldn’t it have been wonderful for one of those
beautiful and delicious romantic moments to realize itself….
and who’s to say they aren’t, in some reality, in some bardeau
on some plane, on some planet somewhere.
For I know you would love to have someone by your side.
Yes….I do indeed Know You….and you always said
I was the most intelligent woman you’d ever been with.
I suspect that is still true today.
But now…. I want it clear…. for…I am clear.
I am new and clear and
we have danced our dance. I hold no agenda here…
I listen to Sting, to his words and heart… it rings of times and
places that are timeless. Soon I return to places that hold my
heart, to memories and times that I will now pick up, take hold
of the string and continuum, and hold to my heart…
and it’s all relevant, all current, all now…
Because it Is all now… it’s not linear….it’s all now… so Hello….
I go home to a place that is set in time and will never move…
it is and it will be….and so will I…
You know….sorry that it didn’t work out, but…it did!
It was what it was… and we were what we were….
I wish you well my love… I wish you the fulfillment of
Your Dreams…
And so I say to you all, my readers… here I sit, readying myself
for another move, one of many in my life of chances and
throws of the dice.
Sureness in mind, yet chances none the less…
So hello and thanks for being there, today, tonite, now…
because I know all of you are just hanging on til morning,
hoping the sun rises once again, hoping someone cares.
“For tomorrow the sun will surely rise, and
who knows what the tide may bring in…”
————————————
I would like to write this little Impromtu Invitation
to those who drop by often, and leave nothing to show…
We have large contingencies in both Norway and Hong Kong.
I know about Norway… their agendas and fascinations,
their curiosities and also the encouragement that
may come to some….
I might even say… to the blonde Norwegians…
…and forgive me for the redundancy…
but …don’t start a war of words if you come unarmed.
Beyond that light and amusing comment, may I say
I would Love to hear from you all, each and every …
Writing is a lonely vocation, and any encouragement
is highly valued and always welcome.
Thanks…. and Peace to all………….
—————————
It’s an interesting time for me now, this return
to a place that holds my heart…
Twenty Years of roots, grown strong,
dug deeply into rich soils…
Roots strike cashes gold and silver,
nourishing soul, feeding mind.
Soon I will return to the NorCal Coast and
dear ones once again…
a place of crashing surf and haunting Redwoods,
filled with the calls of
Raven and the wild,
mushrooms offering themselves to me.
A cabin waits, set in redwoods,
creek nearby, both quiet and
company for tasting once again.
Beach walks and winter wilds,
Oceaned eyes, cold pint with friend,
abalone dinners, prying
mussels off of stone,
brisk dog walks on winter days,
tucked in tight
when storms invade.
—————————–
Just this morning, while waking to cups of strong steaming coffee
colored of cream, for some reason I remembered a little tale that
Alcir told me many years ago…
This was in the early days of our story, back in 1987 when he was
diving for urchins in the little Point Arena town in Northern California.
He’d come west from Lake Tahoe, where he was living, hearing
about the cash and thrills of that gold rush time…
It was a free-for-all, no limits, with ice trucks standing by to rush
the fresh treasure off to the Japanese buyers, who have deep
passion for that succulent, creamy delight.
He could earn a great deal of money any day he dove…
I remember one day he said he got over $1000… that was the day
he came in, surfing the top of that tan van as it drove into my
driveway, that familiar broad grin of his painting his face.
He often mesmerized me with his wild tales of adventure, and
this one became one of my favorites. It wasn’t until this morning,
gazing at the clear blues of the BoraBora lagoons, that suddenly
this little story floated up and surfaced in my mind.
When he fled from Brazil, back in the late seventies, it was because
there was a price on his head.
He had been robbing banks “to finance the Revolution”, he told me…
“An then a cople of peeple got Keeeeled…. An I had to Leeef”…
His grandfather gave him a boat, which according to legend, he
took around the Horn, and escaped before they could throw him
in jail and likely kill him.
He was 19 or 20 then.
He landed in Bora Bora, and stayed there for a year, as I recall.
“At first, they deedn’t like me…. I spoke French, an they
Hated the French…
“They stayed away. I lived on the beach an dived, an ate feesh….
“After a while, they figured out I was a cool Brasilian, an then
they began bringing their girls to me…
“On Sunday mornings, there would be a knock at my door….
…an there would be a woman with a beautiful young girl…
(knock knock knock)
‘Scuze mee….? Could you fertilize my daughter pleeese?’
“What could I doo?” … a sly smile joining his shining eyes…
”I could not Insult them……
“I theenk I haf to go back to Bora Bora someday …
….an veesit my cheeldren…”
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notesfromthelovewars 