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.