Dear Me ~ Part 2

The clean-up of the blog-house took a bit longer than I anticipated. You see, just as I was about to start blogging again ~ I bought a house. Yes, I finally have become part of the “landed gentry”. Alas, it’s not a fiefdom with hot and cold running peasants, but a charming “mid-century” (that’s estate sale-ese for 1960’s) house.

One of my dearest friends, I’ll refer to him as BW works these sales. He called me one day and basically said: “You’ve GOT to see the cra…stuff for sale at this place”. I’ve been to these with him before and a lot of times, it really is … um … uh … stuff that should have been done in a yard sale/garage sale. But, getting to see it is getting out of the apartment. He arrived, and off we went.

I’ve been in literally dozens or more houses over the last few years ~ all types, styles, sizes and shapes. (Hmmm, that somewhat reminds me of my dating pattern!) I was NOT prepared for what happened when I walking into THIS place. My poor friend was trying to get me to look at things for sale and I’m saying things such as: “Wow, that’s an impressive sun-room”, “This must be the hall to the bedroom”, “Good Lord ~ THAT toilet is nasty!”, “How long did they live here?”, How much are they asking for it?”

The price his boss had told him was amazingly low AND amazingly inaccurate! However, the real price was not out of line with the neighborhood and what the place was worth.

I’ll be back probably tomorrow, and start the saga of this house – the purchase – in inspection and, since demolition on the interior started today – the story of the changes to the interior.

Until then ~ here’s just a couple of teaser shots for you ….

F.Y.I. ~ The Return ~ Early Evening Thoughts

I’m sorry that I have been “missing in action” for these last months. I would like to say upfront, everything is fine, I’m fine and what is now going on around me is fine as well!!
It was just important that I take some time off and solidify what’s been happening with me, and to get to the point that I actually wanted to write something that wasn’t in my journal.

So, even tho’ I have NOT been:

And I certainly have not been under a storm of any kind:

I am glad to say that in the next few days I shall be back, and be back to stay!!!

Early Morning Thoughts ~ Two Very Special Guests

I have been writing about my journey concerning truth, childlike enthusiasm and love. During this time, I discovered a wonderful blog written by Steve and Warren. It’s called simply Our View On Superior. Since they live near Lake Superior – it’s a very apt title.

It also is a searing, unflinching and honest blog. I have it listed in my blogs I read section, but here is another link to it.

For those of us who are “older” we look on in awe at what some people have found together, and Steve and Warren are people who have worked at their relationship, and found something powerful and wonderful. They seem to continue their journey in love and communication with profound respect for each other and for life.

I salute them…and offer this posting in its entirety from their blog for you to see. It deals with words and love. And it touched my heart deeply as well as profoundly.

In an unusual move for me, the only picture in the posting is the one they used on their site … by the poem at the end – which, by the way, is one of the more beautiful ones I have read.

And someday – I hope in the not too distant future – that I will be able to look at my partner this way —

I will be interested in what you think of it …And please do not use their post without asking them first.

It is strange how words can change the flow of life. For nearly eight and one-half years words have been at times misunderstood between us. He is 33 and I am 60, we come to this world and to this relationship from different eras of time. Our words learned and our words spoken do not necessarily mean the same thing in today’s era of time. Steve was taught this, and I was taught that; Steve learned this and I learned that, he understood this and I understood that.

The way we speak, the reason we speak, what we mean, what we don’t mean – are all about us – together and spoken in love.

Words spoken in love, in jest, in kindness, in moments of hurt, in all situations have a way of hurting or helping a relationship such as the one Steve and I share together.

Has it ever happened that you have stopped to think about the power of words? Probably not – because most of us simply do not stop to think – but we speak first and listen second. Depending on how they are used, words can:

* bring about confusion to our lives
* create enormous and very walls that we sometimes hide behind
* come between you and your mate like a razor sharp knife that cuts and hurts one or both of you
* brings about fear and mistrust between you and your mate

Or they can:

* encourage us to try new adventures and new ideals in life
* many times they can bring peace to a hurting and broken heart
* create bridges of our friendship with our mates and increase our love for him
* and even sometimes they can pass on eternal truths to the one we love
* break down walls of fear

Each of these items is true of all words, whether spoken or written.

Your words will show what’s in your heart, so decide about your words carefully, look into your heart. If you find anger, fear, hurt, and other types of darkness; showing or speaking those words to others may not have a good final outcome. Ask me, I’ve done that and so has Steve – we’ve hurt each other and in all cases we truly never meant it.

When your heart is boiling over with respect, gratitude, understanding and love, your words will touch your mate’s heart with softness.

I’ve learned that I need to keep in mind that spoken words can not be unsaid, written words can not be unread.

We each need to learn how to use the power of our spoken and sometimes written words with discretion and leave instead a never ending trail of joy for the man we truly love.

When I lie beside Steve,
His knee presses
Against the underside
Of my knee,
His hand presses
Against my chest,
As if holding me together.
If I wake,
And he isn’t beside me,
I’ll curl up
Like a frightened child,
Lost in the dark,
Afraid to move.
If I wake,
And he isn’t beside me,
The thickest blanket
Won’t keep me warm.
But I wake,
And find him
Beside me.
He holds me together.

Together – love spoken to my mate.

Yes, I have faith.

Early Morning Thoughts ~ Truth or ? (Part 4)

As I continue these thoughts on truth and making truth work … I want to offer without comment tonight the following fascinating story:

by Flavia M. Lobo

from CAFE IRREAL, a wonderful e-magazine of international imagination

Actually I never thought it did much for Marta,” said Mother from the depths of her closet.

Last year Marta and Vitor returned from one of their trips with a pair of masks. Of a very fine and transparent material, the masks would adjust to anyone’s face like an extra layer of skin. They did not have openings for the eyes, nostrils or mouth. Some intricate technological device temporarily opened eyes, nostrils, mouth at the touch of a minute remote control. Vitor said they were the height of fashion abroad. We had all heard of them. They protected against pollution in general, covering everything from the neck up to the hairline. So here too they were a hit. Some traveled to buy them, some had them imported. Some brought back stacks of them to sell on the black market. And after a while there were imitations offered even in street markets.

Soon Vitor, Marta and Mother all became addicted to theirs, which they wore everywhere, inside the house too. Vitor and Mother appeared more self-assured than ever in their insulation. And I suspect Vitor and Marta were not even taking them off when they went to bed. Despite the fact that the masks eventually went out of fashion, the finest being sold for peanuts. To begin with, the climate worked against them. In a tropical country air is what you want most; you want it more than protection from germs, or noise, or smells. Or other people. Only some of the more affluent wear them now as they can afford to constantly live and travel in air-conditioned environments.

Often on my visits to Mother, I find a masked group of half a dozen people or so, usually playing cards, or watching a movie or something. They speak very little and when they do words sound like grunts. They apparently understand one another perfectly though. A couple of times I have tried to participate in whatever they are doing, but had to give it up.

However, Mother has always been very careful to take the mask off inside the house, when she has no visitors, for her skin to breathe. And sometimes I am lucky enough to turn up at such a time when I can exchange words with her while she is having her massage or reorganizing her over-organized closet. Mother’s things in general look like her: very expensive, but in traditional good taste, well behaved. Except for her nightgowns and underwear. These are all silky, lacey and languid, and surprisingly revealing. I must admit I love to look at them, touch them, breathe in their sophisticated scent. Their fluidity seems out of place where they live, right next door on one side to a meticulously tidied drawer where petrified items of clothing lie as if standing at attention, and on the other to a drawer containing a carefully piled up collection of masks.

Lately Vitor started to worry about the dangers to his skin too. He is conscious and proud of his good looks. He could not risk any serious damage to them. So he makes sure he takes his mask off a couple of hours everyday and before going to sleep.
Marta, on the other hand, insecure, plain Marta believes the mask improves her appearance. It is true that it smoothes her skin and gives it a sort of glazed radiance. Also it certainly makes her look more confident, screened from the darts of other people’s often cruel glances. But her eyes. Her eyes look dead under those transparent lids. Nevertheless, everyone realized a while back that Marta would never again take off her mask. And some time after that she informed us that she could no longer take it off even if she wanted to, which was all right with her.

And over the past six months or so, I have been aware of something extraordinary. Something no one else seems to realize. At first, because of the others’ indifference, I thought maybe I was imagining it. But now I am sure. And yet no matter how forcibly I insist, the others will not take my words seriously, will not look. Instead, they respond flippantly seeming unreachable even without their masks. I have tried speaking to Marta herself also, of course. To no avail. I asked her only last week, “Isn’t it becoming a bit uncomfortable?” “No, she answered. “Not at all.” And laughed that muffled, cavernous laugh. Maybe she does not know it is happening. But how could she not? Or maybe she wants it to happen. Who knows.

What is happening is that the mask is eating away the flesh. It is making Marta’s face a little thinner every day. A minute ago, when she stood by the window in the living room, I saw her cheek bones. Not just the impression of the bones under the skin. The bones themselves. Whitish, unmistakable, covered still by a flimsy layer of epidermis which I know will soon be gone. The lips have shrunk so the teeth are never completely hidden. I looked more closely at her face and I could make out the entire skull. It is taking over.

Once more I tried to warn Marta, I tried to warn the others. I do not understand how that can be, but they do not hear. They do not see.


Flavia M. Lobo is a writer and translator from Rio de Janeiro. Her translations for the Brazilian public include Oscar Wilde’s An Ideal Husband and Liam O’Flaherty’s The Informer. She also helped revise the translation of James Joyce’s Ulysses. Her translation of André Sant’Ánna’s story, “Bitches Brew,” appeared in Issue 18 of The Cafe Irreal, and her translation of another Sant’Ánna story, “Love,” appears in the current issue of the online literary magazine OMEGA 6. She currently lives in Tucson, Arizona.

Late Night Thoughts ~ It’s MORE than just a new year

As the clock hands move toward the midnight hour when one day ends and another a officially begins … This one is special as it marks the end of one year and the beginning of another. What a delight! A chance to look at the new day with a new resolve and new ideas. One of the blogs I follow says in his profile — I’m bursting with ideas. That’s what I want to do tomorrow – I want to wake up simply bursting with ideas. Ideas that will goad my day into being even better than I imagined!!

I shared this wonderful poem with a number of people this year about the new year:

How beautiful the turning of the year!
A moment artificial yet profound:
Point upon an arbitrary chart
Passing like a breath upon the heart,
Yearning with anticipation wound,
New hope new harbored in old-fashioned cheer.
Even when the boundary line is clear,
We recognize the oneness of the ground.
Years, like circles, do not end or start
Except we lay across their truth our art,
Adjusting dates as they go round and round
Revolving to a tune long sung and dear.

As the time moves forward to what we call the “new beginning” I realized that we are actually always IN a new beginning. We have the choice to live with what was, tolerate what is or move into the exciting, terrifying world of what may be. As for me, that is where I want to “hang my hat” and dig in to live.

It’s always been easy for me to simply get comfortable with the now, and accept what is as the way it is. I’m regaining something else I had lost over the last few months – the realization that I don’t have to tolerate what is, that I don’t have to accept less than my best – or anyone else’s for that matter. (watch out friends!)

While I’m looking forward, I will need to acknowledge and celebrate the past. However, as the old country saying goes: “You can’t plow straight furrows by looking back as you’re going forward.” And trust me, I want straight furrows in the field of my life!

And now, it’s almost the time … Morning is almost officially here1

New Year’s Morning

Only a night from old to new!
Only a night, and so much wrought!
The Old Year’s heart all weary grew,
But said: “The New Year rest has brought
The Old Year’s hopes its heart laid down,
As in a grave; but trusting, said:”
The blossoms of the New Year’s crown
Bloom from the ashes of the dead.”
The Old Year’s heart was full of greed;
With selfishness it longed and ached,
And cried: “I have not half I need.
My thirst is bitter and unslaked.
But to the New Year’s generous hand
All gifts in plenty shall return;
True love it shall understand;
By all y failures it shall learn.
I have been reckless; it shall be
Quiet and calm and pure of life.
I was a slave; it shall go free,
And find sweet pace where I leave strife.”
Only a night from old to new!
Never a night such changes brought.
The Old Year had its work to do;
No New Year miracles are wrought.

Always a night from old to new!
Night and the healing balm of sleep!

Each morn is New Year’s morn come true,
Morn of a festival to keep.
All nights are sacred nights to make
Confession and resolve and prayer;
All days are sacred days to wake
New gladness in the sunny air.
Only a night from old to new;
Only a sleep from night to morn.
The new is but the old come true;
Each sunrise sees a new year born.

Helen Hunt Jackson

Early Morning Thoughts ~ waiting and looking

Whether the love is real and physical, lost and still enshrined in the heart or still something to be attained ~ this poem speaks on so many levels. And yes, I’m one that’s waiting, but it will be worth it!

Late At Night –
Poem by Nima Youshij

Translated from Sorani Kurdish,
adopted to English and Romanised from Arabic scripts by Dr Rebwar Fatah

At the moment
When the shadows seep
Between branches of the trees

The love of your sweet heart
Is sad for the darkness of night
At that moment
My eyes are watching the road
For you

Late at night
At the moment
When the motionless valleys and hills
Are the body of a soulless snake

At that moment,
When convolvulus, like a lover,
Embraces the bodies of the pine trees
Whether I am in your memory or not
My mind is only with you
In the way that I came to being
My eyes are still watching the road
For you.

(entwined trees from a painting by Patty Torres)

In Romanised Kurdish
Shew diringan

Shew diringan
Lew demeyida sêber le nêwan liqî telacinda
Resh deçinewe
Ewînidarî dillixesiteyî to be tarîkî shew mate
Lew demeyida emin çawim le rêgate

Shew diringan
Lew demeyida ke shîw u doll
Çeshinî cesteyî marî bêgîn
Le bizûtin dademênê

Lew demeyida
Gullî lawilaw desit le bejinî seriwî shaxan dehallênê
Eto yadim bikeyî ya na
Emin bîrim her lelate
Çonê ke bûm
Emin çawim le rêgate

Poem by Persian poet Nima Youshij (1895 – 1969)
Translated from Farsi to Kurdish by Nasir Husami
Translated form Kurdish to English by Dr Rebwar Fatah
Composed by Fariborz Fazari

A really good chuckle ~

The Bible says that:

Proverbs 15:13 A glad heart makes a cheerful countenance, but by sorrow of heart the spirit is broken.

Proverbs 17:22
A happy heart is good medicine and a cheerful mind works healing, but a broken spirit dries up the bones.

So in the midst of what’s been going on with my friend, the world, the sky … a good laugh was definitely needed. When I got home tonight, there it was!!

Evidently, at the end of exams 4,000 UCLA students celebrated by taking off their clothes and running around the campus in their underwear!!!

As a fellow blogger says:
That’s a lot of dangling participles!!

For The Early Evening ~

When I started sharing, one of the postings that I wanted to stay away from were video postings that didn’t seem to fit with me. Yes, I watch videos on YouTube, Dailymotion and a couple of others since I use them in Sunday Meditation. Nothing seemed to really stand by itself.

A few days ago in very active forum that I’m a member of, a member re-posted a video that stands out as amazing.

The performer is Jerome Murat – a living statue performer of some note. This clip takes a little patience to watch and appreciate. It’s not only brilliant technique, but has something to say. It does not involve violence, sex or computers. It’s from France, and you might say it could only be from France (it seems to be a sort of articulated mime routine; and it is existential, but of course) but it is not obnoxious. It is something completely different.

The start of the video is in French as he seems to be winning some kind of award. After just a few moments, his performance starts.

He can be “booked” for events …. from this company and this is their page with yet another picture of him.

True Happiness

Generally, I don’t post verbatim what another post has said. So much uncredited “ripping” from other blogs that goes on…

This came from “A Flat With A View,” a blog that I follow daily. This article was so wonderful, powerful and true, that I asked if I could post it in it’s entirety. I have created a link to the original post, so you can leave comments there if you would like.

I hardly share my feelings with people not even my close friends. I feel that every one has their own daily “crosses to bear” and it not fair for me to burden them with my sobbing stories and feelings. Besides, I try as hard as I could not to fall into the tempting traps of whining and self-pity because they are toxic and emotional draining.

Yet, once in awhile, my mutual friends somehow sense my emotions (without me telling them) and shower me with random acts of kindness. Naturally, I am deeply touched by their generous gestures.

For example, I was feeling a little low last night and suddenly a friend sent me a text to offer me some words of encouragement. The text message is about true happiness and after reading it, I felt propped up. I just want to share it here and hope it will prop you all up as well:-

Happiness is not something
That someone else,
Like a lover can give us.
We have to achieve it ourselves.
And the only way to do is
By developing our character and capacity as human beings
By fully maximizing our potential.
If we sacrifice our growth and talent for love,
We absolutely will not find happiness.
True happiness is obtained through fully realising our potential.

link to original post

(and let me add:)
As we reach within ourselves, we will find what truly makes us happy and content. As we reach within ourselves, we will find the capacity to reach out to others, and in the process help them to reach what they can be.