Blessings In Disguise

It's so easy to offend someone. No. No. People are easily offended. That's exactly right. My fault is this incessant desire to be normal, to please, to play the game. But, you don't have to play games with the people you love and trust. No. No. You don't have to play games with the people who truly love and trust you. 

You're free to be exactly who you are. You don't feel a wall going up. Because this wall subconsciously goes up when you're not entirely comfortable. You can tell yourself you'll try harder, harder to be...comfortable. How stupid is that? Why not trust and observe that this wall going up is what needs to happen for you to realize some folks are not good for you?

I'm rattled when I open the door to certain family members. For years, I do fine. Then they reach out and I'm sucked right back to a time I do not miss or have any kind of nostalgia for. It doesn't matter that twenty years have passed. They are not 'my' people. I experience the same feelings of isolation and rejection as I did before. It dawns on me like a ton of bricks over the head that I do not need them. It's not that I don't belong. It's that they do not belong with me.

"Oh yesterday came suddenly..." I long for yesterday, too, but not in the way you might think. There's nothing I would change except for one thing. If I could go back to my younger self, I'd tell her to keep her head up high. To let people be. Let them talk. And to never ever throw her pearls before swine. 

While I've always gotten along with everyone, it never meant I wanted to walk their path. I'm a lone wolf. It can get lonely but I wouldn't want it any other way. Inviting certain people into your life just because they're blood, is not a good reason to keep them there. Drama follows some people as though their lives depended on it. This drama, inadvertently, becomes my plague. I can't have that. It's poison to my inner sanctity. So, stay away! And lucky for me, it doesn't take much to keep these little rascals at bay, either. I thank my angels for these little blessings in disguise. 

No One To Be

I love moments like these, when you have no where to go and no one to be. I can take off my masks - employee, wife, sister, cousin, friend, consumer - and the everything is okay one, too.

People grasp for moments like these. And, here I am. I recognize them. I am them. They are me. I'm sighing and I know why. If I examine this moment too much, I'll lose the magic of it. Is this what they mean by a perfect moment? Because I'm living it right now.

And just like that, it's gone. I'm still here but not all of me. Parts are at home thinking about this evening...a moment that hasn't arrived, that I haven't walked towards except in my mind, and this moment does not yet exist.

I want to come back here again and feel the whole of myself. In this moment, I encapsulate all things and these things encapsulate me. Do you know the drugs people have to take to have an experience like this?

Through the right approach, I want for nothing. I love this feeling that's rooted from deep within. I love how only I can get there. I love how I can access it anytime I wish to. I love how nothing or no one can destroy it. It's mine. It belongs to me. It's my ticket out of here. Or rather, out of there...

Because here, in this place, in my castle...I don't want to leave or part from it. It's so beautiful. The textures and colours, oh my. And the way the light shines through the curtains? You can't fathom such beauty. 

It wells me up as I sit on a chair no one makes anymore, in a dress I'll never wear even if I was invited to the most glamorous of events. But here, right here, I can feel the material against my skin. I love how I feel in it. The length touches the floor. My hair is black and braided in Targaryen style.

I know what they say about needing people. But, I don't need anyone here. You can't need anything or anyone when you're experiencing a perfect moment...

...unless your perfect moment requires an other?

7 of Swords - 10 of Swords - Magician

He failed to take a chance. He failed to act. Instead, he tippy toed out, like a thief in the night...

There's something so dishonorable about this combination. Why am I always so right about certain things and so wrong about others? I called it from the beginning. Some people are all talk. The way the ego oozes with self-importance and self-flattery turns me off to such an extent, anything that might redeem such person thereafter, is rendered useless.

I operate on a spiritual level. That's where all my work is done. I set things up to see...to see what I might mean to the other. Maybe it's unfair. I don't think so. You can't outwit the gut, instinct or intuition. People show me I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. 

If you live an unexamined life, you have no place in my world. And if you puff up your feathers over some perceived slight, you're a waste of my time, too. The lack of depth from which people live their lives, guised as some kind of meaningful existence when anything and everything they do, is rooted in superficiality, is a blatant and total disregard for all that is real and true in this world and beyond it.

So, go love your children and tell yourself, you're doing your part. Let me give you a hint - loving your children doesn't count. It is your duty! Loving them well? That's a different story...

He thinks he's the only one who's been hard done by. That he's the only one who knows how to be vengeful. That he's some god you should bow down to. He's an idiot like the rest of them.

That's the thing about actions...or a lack thereof...they will always speak louder than words.

Tiny Wounds

You can't feel great about yourself. I've been trying to put my finger on what bothered me so much about our brief interaction. 

I should have just sat there amused and surprised to see you in my neck of the woods as you crossed the street. Why am I always so sincere? Then again, why shouldn't I be someone I am? 

I realized I'm just that woman from the building. Endless chats about this or that with you still puts me in the "stranger" category. Let alone, acquaintance.

You looked nervous. I wondered when you were going to open your arms to give me a hug in your usual way. You never did. I felt a wall go up...though it could have been mine, too.

And you crossed the street, like your life depended on it. I should congratulate you for being such a loyal worker. I mean, why would you make time for me? Well, on the streets of Toronto, anyway? 

I would have made my way back sooner but my pride was stronger than any desire I might have had to speak with you in the safe zone.

I heard your voice but went back outside and around to avoid an encounter. You know I'm a woman of integrity. I chase no one. And desperation is not becoming...

I had a feeling you waited as long as you could. But, to me, you had already been too late. There's no way I was going to show my face.

A birdie told me you mentioned you'd seen me and that I had called out your name. Yeah, I know you waited as long as you could. I know you figured you weren't going to see me again that afternoon. And as far as you know, I thought it was your last day on our premises.

Now I understand what bothered me so much. It was a stench of ego and arrogance. It was ever so subtle but there, nonetheless. It came off as some kind of "dick rule". Who has time for nonsense like that?

Not me.

Lust For Love

You can't wait to get out of here. You can't stop telling me how much you hate coming back to this place. Doesn't it occur to you that might hurt me? Bruise me? I guess you really love it when I stroke your ego. That's all it ever was. Just you passing time getting your ego stroked. 

I didn't mean to inflate it. I was just being nice. And you were just being a guy doing what guys do best. You just want to know whether you've still got it. Yes, you've still got it. And, so do I.

Do you know the wisdom I can cultivate from the scraps you give? You have no idea. Emily was right. They were all right. You're just a little man who isn't interested in paying the price. Or, living an examined life. And since I'm worth more than all the gold in this world, I can see why or how you can't pay.

Plus, I was never for sale and you were only passing through. It's too bad you haven't managed to put your foot where your mouth is. That was my first and the only clue I needed that it's all been about you. 

How was it so easy for others I've known to jump ship when things got rough? All in the name of love? Unless it was never love to begin with...That you created children together only to leave the other for a shinier toy? For better or for worse? You couldn't have possibly understood the significance of that line. Because it's only ever about you and your happiness. Why would I insert myself in such a shallow arrangement?!

I was an idiot for being kind in my usual sweet way. It's okay, baby. Stay with your woman and your offspring. We both know you're just a guy among guys in a dirty world. And I'll still be worth more than all the gold in this world.

The Terror Of The Situation

I need something more than this. I need a way out. I woke up realizing I've been working for a cult with people who are just in it for the money. I can't stand the hypocrisy. The inflated egos. I know what brainwash looks like. There's a fine line between a Robbins seminar and pseudo-science approaches to health and well-being disguised as evidence-based. Just thinking about the way people throw their arms up in the air in so called bliss whether in church, an office or a spiritual retreat...is all bull-shit. It's just some wannabe leader trying to make a living by attracting people who want to be lead. But why these fuckers have to go so big, is beyond me. They must be greedy little bastards with god complexes. There's no other explanation. All of it cloaked in altruism. And when you take a closer look, you see how no one's home. You sense the blackness of their existence. How they're just running on auto-pilot...and that my dear friends, is the root of all evils. Going through the motions leading to death. The problem is that you're already dead! You're the walking dead believing you think for yourself, believing the choices you make are your own. But, they're not. Your lucky break - if you get one - occurs when you actually wake up to this horror. Let's hope it isn't too late...

The Quiet Lady

I realize how much I love being alone, despite being a city girl. Sure, there are times I prefer the company of a friend. But, most days, I'm perfectly fine to go to a cafe and dream up ways to live more quietly.

People think that silence is the absence of noise or sound. That's true to a point. I enjoy hearing the chirp and song of birds while a plane passes through. Or, the buzzing of cars and motorcycles. All of these things make up the sound that is my life. And in it all, I find quiet places and pockets, like doors, that open themselves up and invite me in. 

Maybe it was the comfort of music that helped me retain information during school exams. I couldn't study without music or a persistent and consistent cacophany of sound around me. 

Of course, I often imagine waking up by the water. But, it's in the city. Not, up north somewhere far away from all that's familiar to me here. 

I was mugged in my city...not because living in the city is a bad place to live. Where there are more people, there is a greater chance of crime, statistically and logically, speaking. But the thought of getting mugged in the suburbs? Where silence is a shadow in the dark? No thanks.

People haven't learned how to cultivate silence. They think they need to go somewhere to get it, to find it. It's always right here. Where ever you go, there you are. Forget FOMO. "We're all bozos on this bus."

I miss those motorcycle rides on the back of Rakesh's bike. And then listening to, "I'm A Dinosaur," by King Crimson. I want to reach that peak of fearlessness again without the shock of misfortune as an entryway...

Me In A Dream

The things I feel when I look at these trees, the way the leaves sparkle in the afternoon sun. The way they move as the wind passes through. I swear they're talking. I swear they're whispering the secrets of the universe. It's too bad I don't have the ears to hear. 

I know the birds are saying something, too. What are they saying? I could ask Barbatos but I daren't. My mind isn't anchored enough for such a task, an endeavour. 

I'd rather dream in this place as the angels and demons fight it all out. We can't fathom what takes place in the invisible world as we play our petty, insignificant games. As above, so below. 

It got me thinking....When things get so bad on this plane, it must be because of a war raging on the other side between the light and the dark. I used to think peace came from the elimination of evil. That was never true. It can't be true. They've always been two sides of the same coin. They exist simultaneously. There'd be nothing to strive for in a perfect world.

Here I am. Feet firmly planted. But this heart, this heart that is mine, floats between worlds. I'm shallow. I'm deep. I'm lost. I'm found again. 

I flutter in weakness on this plane when I try to belong. It wouldn't work between us...except when I'm shallow, too. When I play the game like talk of marble countertops and kitchen cabinets is super important. Or, how retirement is the goal. 

Then I'd grow weary when he wants to stay in that zone and gossip about how nasty and stupid people are. How he's got it all figured out. How living up north is so much better than living in the downtown core. How he's so great and such a good person.

I'll remember how death comes for all of us, how it's a fact, a mathematical certainty, how it can't be any other way...and how feelings are fleeting, how they can deceive in the moment when our lower parts are leading the way, unbeknownst to us. 

So, I stay in this little dream in the sky. I imagine how pockets of it are 'true' and beautiful...as I watch them slowly evaporate and become the air that carresses the leaves on the trees...

This intoxicating dream keeps me drunk with misplaced hope. It's okay. I enjoy being taken to far away places. This world of the living was made for people like me. But, since we are outnumbered, it's ruled by those who will remain forever asleep...

"The Art Of Principalities"

The other day, I asked why I'm here. And in a flash, I heard, "To feel." When I heard it, I nodded as if I was coming back to a memory I don't remember ever having. Yet, I knew it to be true.

There was both relief and disappointment in the knowing. Most of us run from our feelings. Well, the challenging ones, anyway. I thought I'd get another kind of answer, something more 'meaningful.' Like, "You're here to do something grand and majestic, something really important." Instead, I essentially got, "You're here to...love."

I guess that's beautiful? It's not that it's hard to love. It's not even that it's hard to love, intensely. It's that it's almost too easy. There are days I despise this world and all the people in it. And then I catch a glimpse of someone walking by, and my heart wells up. What the fu*k? 

Even for the greedy bastard. Let me preface, even for the one I deem to be a greedy bastard. I'm learning not to judge...for good or for bad. Either way, I could be wrong about such person. But, feelings are neither right or wrong, you see. So, this feeling - which is not pity - opens up my heart and I well up.

The act of welling up and pouring out is an act of love. I learned that we take on some of God's suffering by doing so. I've asked myself whether this process happens because I'm automatically putting myself in someone else's shoes. But when I observe more closely, I feel the feeling first and then I imagine what life is like for so and so. 

This direct, straight to the heart, trigger feels warm and watery...and fast acting. The sensation in the heart becomes expansive as though it's literally being massaged open. Kind of like a small mercy in the sense that it isn't being ripped open. And, it's painful. Not a physical pain...not like anything you might feel in your back or legs or head or any other part of the body. It's a throbbing, emotional and spiritual, discomfort.  Maybe like grief. Except with grief, we tend to reserve it for loved ones or heroes and not for strangers. Never for strangers.

This is different. And then you realize the stranger is you and you are the stranger, too. They're all my brothers and sisters. Even the ass-holes.

At the same time, I'll always champion the under dog. My heart belongs to the under dog, through and through.

I want to keep a record. A few months ago, maybe sooner than that, I woke up from a dream with the words, "The Art of Principalities." Principalities? What does that mean? While I was on the couch, I mentioned it to my husband. I had looked online as I normally do when words come to me I have no understanding of. There were references about princes and another about angels.

My husband has recently resumed study in magick. One morning, he left a print out for me about the hierarchy of angels. I folded the sheet and told myself to look at it once I was at the cafe. Well, the first to catch my eye was, "Principalities." I thought of Uriel and his scrolls/sacred books. The word "angel" means messenger...There are supposedly, 9 ranks of angels, Principalites being the third one, responsible for overseeing and influencing humanity from above.

Why...the 'art' of principalities ? I find that intriguing. Like Robert Pirsig's book, "The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance." Art and Maintenance don't seem to go together. One is warm and the other feels cool. Art and Angels might but 'art' implies there's another way to do something you may not have considered or a different approach you could adopt. A way to live life differently...with more beauty or something. And since angels are perfect and humans are not, maybe art in this sense means a kind of wisdom imparted by the angels to humans.

I don't know...something's happening. It's both a blessing and a burden when the veil begins to lift.

Angel Uriel

I find myself some mornings coming out of a dream where I've been reading, what I believe to be, sacred text. 

I hear the words come out of my mouth but I don't know or understand what I'm reading. Then it occurs to me that I'm reading a language I've never seen before. At the same time, it seems that I'm not seeing anything on the page at all, like the words been obscured or hidden behind a veil. Yet, the words roll off my tongue so easily and it dawns on me, to my surprise, that I can read 'this' or these words. I ask myself, "How?"

I recall times in the past when it felt like there were words scrambled in my mouth. Then I hear a voice as though it's trying to find a clear pathway to my ears. I find myself fighting, with all of my might, to descramble the words...Eventually, I blurt out the words. 

When I was suffering from anxiety, I fought to hear, "Mary's Well." And, "The Well will be replenished." I must have said the latter three times. The closer I got to hearing the words more clearly, the louder I uttered the statement. Kind of like when you yell out, "Bingo!" In any case, these messages changed my life. 

Then I recalled an oracle reading I'd received back in 2014...

The angel I see with you currently is Archangel Uriel.

Message: I am being shown that you have been receiving messages from the angels, including Uriel and sometimes this can come through as words or sentences in your head, and often you think that these are just your own thoughts/your own mind formulating these words/sentences, but Uriel wants to tell you that these are in fact messages from the angels, they have been trying to communicate with you clairaudiently. They want you to learn to trust and recognise this form of communication when it happens.

I am also hearing "be strong in the face of adversity" and "stand up for what you believe" and Uriel gives me the feeling that it's important that you stand up for what you believe to be true, your truth, even when you are surrounded by a group of people who disagree with what you are saying/feeling. Uriel encourages you to stand strong in these kinds of situations, and that he will be standing with you.

It's happening again...and these dreams are closer together. So, I've been thinking about Angel Uriel and what he represents. He carries a scroll or sacred book...a sword...and his name means, "Light Of God." 

I've needed clarity in my life, especially the last few months. It's felt desperate and frustrating. And extremely, sad and hopeless. 

My husband's been studying Magick again. I think our discussions around archangels, maybe, has spawned a new kind of awareness and desire around the kind of life I want for myself. I'm not sure what I believe anymore...but, thinking of Uriel and talking to him, is helping me see that life can and is...magical.

I think he hears me. I mean, I feel that he hears me. And, I haven't felt heard in...I don't know...a long, long time. 

Something's happening. I think he's showing me the way. He's showing me a path forward. 

I hope I don't fuck it up.

"Do What That Wilt Shall Be The Whole Of The Law"

When you see there's a possibility, you grab hold of it. You try to elongate or expand this potential, to bring it out so that it fills more than a singular point, but a larger perimeter, so that the walls come down and this point actually fills all that you see.

Then the moment someone tries to tear it down, you see that they can't because how can you tear down something that permeates everything and has no bounds? I am the only one who limits myself. So, I have to make this awareness count. It's got to mean something. I've got to bring this thought down and breathe life into it because this thought comes from all that is good and true. It holds promise. It holds that spark of life that is integral to my overall well-being as I navigate this thing called life. And,  I'm telling you, I'm not good at this thing called life. In fact, I'm really bad at it. I don't know how to move with that weighty feeling at my feet. 

I understand the need to anchor myself but it's got to stem from the right kind of thinking. Otherwise, these thoughts are just shackles keeping me in my place, rooted in fear. If I could take an axe to it, I would. I'd shred that feeling and that useless thought into smithereens and then burn them. Each useless thought is a granule belonging to the past, and that for some reason, still finds a way to operate in my present, preventing me from creating the person I want to become. It speaks nonsense and in someone else's voice, always in someone else's voice, which is how I know it doesn't come from me or belong to me and in no way, is a reflection of what I'm capable of. 

I need to make a vow not to let any being on this planet influence my sphere. It means that when certain words are directed at me, they are to slide off and not stick to my person, to this sacred space, to this atmosphere I have chosen to be mine and mine, alone. This place belongs to me and my muse, to my connection with that inner world which in turn is deeply connected to the quiet, magical world of all that is. I will this. I will it. I want this. I want it. I am this. I am it. I am.

I cannot in good conscience work for someone else ever again once this ship has sailed. I cannot. I won't. Let that be okay for others but it can no longer be my path. This world was set up for money makers, business men and charlatans. I am none of those things. I refuse to keep putting money in someone else's pockets while I slave away and they go off on vacation with their families. I don't belong in that space which is illusory and transient. If I could compartmentalize and tell myself this is what people do, this is just what life is all about, to suck it up, I could continue. But, I can't. It's all soul-sucking. And that would be true - soul-sucking and soul-crushing.  It's not how I want to work on myself anymore. It's time to pick up this sword and cut away these roots that are not serving me. They served me for a time. But, not anymore. I have outgrown this body.

I say this all as a chant, a chant back to myself, back to the higher that knows better than I. So that this I and this higher body become the same thing, become one, unaffected by the rattlers of this mortal world. Real change, the kind of change that lasts and transforms, comes from within. You'll never find it out there, unless 'out there' is 'in here'.

"Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law."

Eight of Cups

I see that you're gone. I pictured you taking a detour and off the road you went. I get it. I still wonder whether I alone operated in the quiet realm...you know, that place where things are left unsaid and you're not sure whether you were the only one living there in the time you knew the other. 

I swear, I could hear you in that space. It felt more real than the usual place we reside where people talk and talk and say nothing. Maybe your eyes gave you away. Though at times, I saw nothing at all in them. I know how man can flirt, how he can tarzan his way into your life and still leave so much to be desired. 

There was momentum for a little while. And I know how people can talk...and make promises they never intended to keep, just to be nice. I'm like that, too. Though, not with you. Not with you. 

Remember the unsolicited advice you gave? How easy it was for you to 'just' say it? Knowing full well, it wasn't your place to? I mean, what gives you the right? We're absolutely nothing to one another and yet, man feels this need to insert himself into anything and everything. 

You disappointed me in such a big way. I can't really explain it. It feels as if so much life was lived in that silence and yet, I can't prove it was real. And, you're off the hook. I'm the one living in dream...in illusion? Am I delusional? I can't be delusional. 

I'm the high priestess who sees and knows and remains silent. I'm the one who holds you to a higher standard, who keeps you in check, who maintains boundaries.

Matter

It's time to get moving. There's no time to waste. I wish someone had told me that when I was young. 

I did know that, though. I just felt helpless to do anything about this seeming paralysis...of the mind and therefore, an inability to move my body by putting one foot in front of the other...a moment at a time. 

Imagine what I could have been...today. 

I don't look for platitudes now. They can't provide any sort of comfort. There's no fooling me. Trust me, sometimes, I look to be fooled. Have you tried that? It's an impossible feat. How can you lie to yourself when you already know the truth?

Among the trees, I lay here. You should hear the bustling of the leaves when the wind picks up. I swear it sounds like they're conspiring to bring us all down. But then I remove my heavy minded cap and realize, they're just talking. When will I listen?

I was a fool again, hanging on to someone's every word. I put too much gravitas around his mouth. He was only ever talking and talking, saying nothing. Just empty words. I know their kind and recognize the sounds they make.

What do I do with all of this...feeling? I hear, "Keep writing. And, paint already!" I love and detest that place no one can touch. Maybe I'm not relating in the right way to this inner quiet place. It's a safe place filled with all the real stuff. Why wouldn't I find solace in that?

If I relate in the right way, there's nothing to fear. If I relate in my usual way, I'm just sad. I hate the lack of permamence about anything and everything. But moreso than this, how we never seem to transmute these experiences into...matter.

If my cup is filled with all that is transient now, what will be left of me at my moment of death? What will have materialized by then? Will there be anything of me? Guidalberto Bormolini explained it so well. I felt he was speaking with me directly. I know what he speaks of. It's a language spoken in a particular note that finds my heart's cord so easily, effortlessly. I hear it as truth.

Where he finds beauty and peace, I currently anticipate in fear. There's something in my being I need to overcome or accept or perhaps, transform. It's lonely here...on this planet among the living and the dead. I see things about people and this place and it just saddens me. 

I'm sad for my mother and father. I'm sad for my brothers. For aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews. The horror of the situation lies in an impossibility to connect with people on this level. We won't have these conversations...ever, except in the most earthly and superficial way. 

I want to catch that glimpse in the eye...in the eye of the other, that tells me we understand eachother. I don't see it. Which means, there's nothing to build on, to cultivate, to bring to life. It only ever be a seed...and this reality, this horror, sits heavy on my heart. 

The Reading

Wishful thinking would be that you have a sudden realization to change directions quickly on the road and get back to me.

This is so silly, I know. And I'm older...so, for that reason, this stings. It stings not seeing you. There's nothing I can do about it. Nothing. I can't pick up the phone. I can't send you a note. Well, I can. But, I don't. Because it would be wrong. 

I should get off this road. Let that bus pick me up and take me back to the only road I've ever known. I can still make magic there. I don't need you. 

We've carved out our own paths. At a certain point, these paths crossed. That's all it has to be. No more and no less. I just hate and love the way you quit. That would be the truth - you changed your mind and quit this scene. Who could blame you? 

You quit for your love. Which means, I was just something that intrigued you while you looked out the window. You'll never penetrate that glass. We both know that. I know you tried in your own way. But, not hard enough. Not hard enough for...me.

I hate how another chapter closes. I only hope I have time to look back and see it was all for the best.

Round And Round It Goes

In one hundred years, there will all be new faces. Talk about the world starting with a clean slate every century, like clock work. What a relief. Because I don't know about you, except for a 'few' humans, we can be lame and obnoxious.

I detest lame and obnoxious because that's deemed normal these days. Average. I don't know how the universe tolerates us. Maybe for the large part, we go unnoticed because of our smallness. 

We say a lot and yet, say nothing. If anything, we demonstrate our faults and weaknesses...all those things we'll never rise above or overcome not because we can't but because we've decided not to. 

I can't stand some in their role. How the young compliment the young. How it's groundhog day to those who know you, who've served you time and time again...and still, you're a nobody in their eyes...unworthy of a proper hello. Please. They're going to get old and ugly, too. They just don't know it yet. And then, blink, there they are! Now I know why I stop frequenting some places in the neighbourhood. They lack real depth.

J.J. Muggs

I remember that night when we all sat together at the corner of Albany Avenue and Bloor St., eating dinner together. I can't recall what I ate but I know who was at the table.

It's now a cannabis shop. Before that, a cafe. We didn't have cell phones back then to memorialize a gathering. And we didn't think of taking cameras with us to record something so natural and daily...and uneventful. It's a snapshot in time...only in my mind.

We were young and free, filled with hope.

Now, it's nothing but nostalgia for a comfort long gone. A comfort I've come to realize in hindsight.

Where are you now? Still in the city watching the river? 

Across the street used to be a Second Cup. After that, PiCo. That has since gone out of business, too. But, for me, it will always be the Second Cup where you and I had a tea outside and I shared with you my dreams of Cobain, during a summer night.

Next door was where we'd build magick out of ourselves. But that grew weird, eventually.

I'll never forget those days or nights when we listened to grunge bands and gobbled up books about Metaphysics and Astral projection. 

And then in the blink of an eye, we grew up. 

I don't like who we are now. Just like the hippies who became family men. Or rather, business men. And the women, power hungry to become like men. Why would you want to climb that ladder?! Forge your own paths!

I hope I morph into someone I used to be proud of very soon. Oh wait a minute - I did! I am! Proud...

Thank goodness for my husband. After some heartache and heartbreak, I closed the door to you and the past. I never thought that there could ever be anyone in this world who gets me the way my husband does. 

We forged our own path and not completely in a traditional sense. Which, makes me smile. We still manage to do things our own way. Though, at times, I still struggle against my father's influence. May I grow up soon - in ways that matter. And not too fast - in ways that take me away from the beauty of this life!

And it is done.

The Lovers II

When I heard you say those words, I knew then I was in real trouble. If only I could put into words this feeling of disappointment on the one hand, and pure excitement on the other, you'd see how I'm experiencing both a blessing and a burden, simultaneously. 

I want that taste so badly. Before I'm old, tethered and fully gray.

We talk about saving like it's some kind of cliche. It isn't. It isn't. It just isn't. Too bad for me. No one's coming for me. You won't. You can't. And...well, you're just another man among men. I'm not just another woman among women. You have to understand that. I have to make you see. 

I think I may have...

Which saddens me to the core. These silly games we play to test the waters because being vulnerable is too high a price to pay.

You said that I just have to change something. The words rolled off your tongue like nothing. But, you're all fools. You think Happiness is King. That's the ultimate lie. The ultimate deception. Show me the grass is greener on the other side and still I won't budge...even though I might want to. Don't you get it? I push you away because you're wanted and I can't have that. 

I'm aware our time is winding down. I test you to see...to see something in you I believe is there. And then I remember again...you're just a man among many men.

What am I supposed to do with this? What can I do? But write and weave stories together with my dreams. I tune out the sound of voices in the cafe as I lose myself in the heart of my cappuccino.

When I look up and out, it's through that window again. The window in the bathroom made of stone. This castle is too big. And my personality too small to be noticed should something befall me. 

You're so grand. You could swallow me whole in no time.

Despite my quietness and inner stirrings, I have a power worth more than all the gold in the world. No one told me about this power. I stumbled upon it on the way down to the abyss many years ago.

I reach for it during times like these. As I take off my clothes and enter the tub. It's a ritual filled with magic and beauty. 

I take my mental wand and whisper words in the air...

I take my emotional wand and apply rose and pomegranate oil on my chest.

I position my body in the water out of respect to the gods, who can grant me my wish.

I do it with reverence, baby. I've been waiting for you through oceans of time. What took you so long? But then again, who are you? What are you? How dare you?

You created ripples in the water that is my life when I wasn't looking, when I had resigned myself to the ways of this life. I hate you for that. I really do.

I tried so hard to prevent this tsunami. You have to know I tried. And when the earth has shifted and the waters have settled, what will remain? Tell me. 

Will I be alone for another eternity with this dream? Or will you take me out of here?

The Lovers

I feel at a loss for words. Yet, they're right here, just layered and tangled up. How do I disentangle these invisible strings that are becoming ever more real?

I feel nourished in a way by a potentiality that itself cannot be entertained or fed in any way in reality.

That's okay, baby. In my alternate universe, I can do whatever I please.

You'll say all the things here you can't say over there. You'll touch me in all the ways here you can't over there. You'll treat me the way I've always dreamed to be treated here in all the ways I'm not over there.

Oh man, these feelings. Maybe I've given too many fucks to the wrong things, as Mark Manson would say. Maybe I haven't given the right fucks to the right things...

You know you're in a bad place when even here, I can't say what I want or need to say without falling apart into a thousand pieces. Who has the time to gather up all those pieces? God knows, if I don't collect myself, no one will. No one can.

I sense you here. How? Is it my imagination? Am I just a stupid little school girl? Who am I? What am I sensing? The unseen? Those words that go unsaid? What am I resisting? A potential outcome? Any outcome is painful. Any way this goes...is troubling.

But here, right here...is sweet suffering. The sweetness of it is what makes the suffering somewhat merciful. I'm not a dishonest woman here. I'm loyal and caring and loving. And no one gets hurt. 

Except me.

Elizabeth & Antonio

My landscape is changing again. 

I feel a tug towards my culture. Then when I get there, I remember why I turned away from it. 

What a strange feeling to experience over and over again. I sense the open air of the old world, the sacrifice and yet, profound joy to be able to put one foot in front of the other, despite the poverty. Even that couldn't quell the spirit of joy in the darkness.

I hear the women singing...in their malingering voices. They sound like screams in the night. And then I listen more closely...it's really a mish mash of all life's offerings and takings with a touch of thanks, nonetheless.

I'm the one who feels and understands. Yet, I am not one of them. 

When I hear the history, my heart wells up. It's a sorrowful kind of beauty and happiness that a part of me never ever allows to be more or less than that. I ask myself how sorrow can be happiness. I can't escape the feeling of loneliness in my mind's eye. I can't see beyond this sensation. It's only ever sadness...deep in the bones, sadness. Is this my sadness or is it theirs? Passed on from one generation to the next?

They looked happy, though. Maybe, it's the wrong word to be using here. They didn't have time to ask whether they were content. Today, we call it a luxury to be able to ask the question. I don't think that's true. They had a strength we haven't cultivated. Our luxury is a curse now. We don't allow ourselves to feel anything less than joy. We medicate and drown our sorrows. What a disservice we do to ourselves. The profound joy we get to feel is only ever equal to the profound sorrow we get to experience, too.

I miss a man I've never met. I miss a woman I've never met. There's no point crying over a past that never was. But, they were here. They lived and breathed. They did the best they could. I mean, if I could 'remember' them without having known them, imagine what honour it is to be remembered by those who participated in our lives?

I don't want them to be forgotten. In two hundred years, who will remember me? Recall me? The thought kills me. The finiteness of it all...on this plane, which has been reduced to things and more things. 

The High Priestess Continued

By candlelight and stone walls, I remove my clothes and enter the tub. I can see the moon in the window. It's small from here but its influence is nonetheless, strong and menacing.

I'm back at the front of the line, again, wondering how all of this will turn out knowing full well, it can only ever be the same outcome, over and over again.

I operate in that quiet space where people of this world dare not go, where I'm deemed odd and strange. It's this world and its people who are strange. The earth turns in its usual way. The majesty of this ritual is unfathomable.

I can see the stars, too. How is it possible that my eye can reach them? These burning balls of fire that go unnoticed. It should be a crime to fail to see the flowers and hear the birds or the towering trees all around. 

I think of you in this space even though I understand you don't belong. You can't belong here. I've filled in all the spaces I don't know about you to accommodate your presence. So yes, you're a dream that will evaporate like a cloud in due time.

I'm waiting for you to evaporate while I lay here and imagine the kind of painting I want to create of a nude woman against a somewhat chaotic backdrop, filled with pops of colour and sharp lines drawn with a palette knife.

Thank goodness for that palette knife which is reminiscent of my sword. I waver between being the high priestess who waits...forever. And, the lady of swords who just gets on with it. They both reside in dark places filled with infinite wisdom. I should be grateful.

Today, I am not. Today, I want. And yet, I won't let myself want too much even though I can have whatever my heart desires here.

I pour salts in the water and then take my basket of rose petals and gently toss in a handful. You can't imagine the power I wield when I'm in my sensuality. 

This sensuality is very much connected to vulnerability. If you can't be vulnerable in your imagination, you won't be vulnerable anywhere. I'm aware of this truth. And this inability to draw the heavens down. 

I dislike the density of this world. I dislike having to break down this density in my most sacred of spaces. It feels cruel. How upbringing and religion keep us in our place for fear of some unknown repercussion.

I let you in and the parts I can appreciate. You're charming. You're strong. You're sure. Your certainty and strength are commendable. I'm taken aback how much I value these qualities in you, how they express themselves through you. I like the colours that project around you, how they bounce and then settle. 

I wish I didn't like that so much.

The Look

I noticed the way you looked at me by the door when you finished playing your tape, the tape you've played numerous times before. I figure you're getting old, too, and can't recall telling the stories.

There all meaningless, really. I mean, when you think about it, it's just proof we're becoming our parents and that we have nothing interesting going on.

I cringe and then I see that look. I wake up from my sleep and feel alive again. Then I remember I'm older, too, and there's no where to play. The sandbox is gone. The corner store. The school by the park. It's all gone except for this valley in my mind.

I almost don't allow myself to go there. But, why shouldn't I? This place is filled with joy and love. It's my sanctuary. I can let whomever I want to come inside. 

So I imagine myself with sword in hand, dragging it across a field as I contemplate what to do next. You see, there's nothing to do except to rest my head against the lush green grass. 

Then I take my clothes off and rest my head again against the lush green grass. My sword is close by. I never part with it. 

It occurs to me how different I must look to you. You have to know I'm not like the others. You must know. Do you know?

I'll never be that woman, that typical and stereotypical woman who needs a man to prove to her she's wanted by showering her with expensive gifts. 

I'll never be that power hungry woman either who has to prove to others she's smart and worthy of all that money. Or who has to keep herself so busy in order to tell herself she has a purpose.

I was never that girl who made it an aim to be mother, either. Or to be a stay at home mom while my husband brought home the bacon...to put food on the table and for me to get my nails done...and hair....and eventually, botox for myself and my daughters. I also dreaded the thought I might have a son grow up to become a typical man. 

That look...tell me about that look. Are you a typical man when your wife's not looking? We're not children anymore, are we? It's their turn now to dream and choose. And to make mistakes and fall short.

It's time to do away with earth bound matters, those things that are dense and not capable of absorbing light.

I float in the clouds, sweetheart, right by heaven's door. There's nothing on this plane that can feed this longing.

Knight Of Swords

You and I sit together side by side at some social gathering. I know this is a dream though. It feels fuzzy, warm and surreal. I see oranges, yellows and reds. The tables are adorned with glasses and centerpieces, plates and cutlery.

There's an element of fluidity to this scene. You're new to me and I, to you. Yet, there's familiarity and we can't explain the why or how of it.

I feel so good and it feels so right, sitting next to you at this place of celebration. I'm called to another area in the room and I feel anxious about it because it pulls me away from time with you.

When I return to the table, I see you're no longer there. I imagine you've left me a note, something that would signal your affection for me or that proves you care for me.

In my mind's eye, it's a note written on a small piece of baby pink paper. But, I know men are not like women at all. There is no note. I figure you're not sentimental like that. Yet, a sinking feeling tells me you were never 'there' with me. It was only ever me...feeling...and guessing.

You're gone this time. For good. 

You're the knight of swords not circling back...

Fool

What a fool. He doesn't know me well enough and never will. The way he talks while his body betrays him with all of that machismo bouncing off the walls? He must think it's impressive. It isn't.

He's just a man. Just another man saying and doing what's already been said and done. There's nothing alluring about that. Or him and his money...and house in the suburbs. There's a reason I never married my father.

All that bravado disguised as self-confidence and a high self-esteem, is a mighty turn off. I'm not that woman. I'll never be that woman. I see through the banter. You can't lure me in with your words or gaze. You don't have what I need or what I want.

I already have it all, fool.

Stay in your corner of the world. Don't ask about me. Don't throw your wife under the bus. Or tell me what a great man and father you are. Or how you understand relationships. I won't let you feel good about yourself at my expense. N. E. V. E. R.

I'm the gold at the end of the rainbow. Your silly games don't interest me. There's a price to pay for the things we want. There's also a price to pay when you don't want to buy. You don't want to buy and I was never for sale.

So, come and visit. Hope to see me. Hope to speak with me. Hope to paint yourself in a manly light. I'm already gone like I was never there.

Thanks for giving me a head start.