Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?
And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?
The aggrieved and the injured say, “Beauty is kind and gentle.
Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us.”
And the passionate say, “Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread.
Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us.”
The tired and the weary say, “beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit.
Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow.”
But the restless say, “We have heard her shouting among the mountains,
And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions.”
At night the watchmen of the city say, “Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east.”
And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, “we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset.”
In winter say the snow-bound, “She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills.”
And in the summer heat the reapers say, “We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair.”
All these things have you said of beauty.
Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,
And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,
But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.
It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.
It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,
But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.
People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.
Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.
But you are eternity and you are the mirror.
These are the priorities du jour:
File 2012 Income Taxes(Completed today…finally!) Write something(In progress, at this precise moment, actually….)
- Write a series of thank-you cards for birthday gifts
Skype my best buddy from Billings to find out about her first day on the new job
- Read the last half of NOS4A2 by Joe Hill
Exfoliate and moisturize.
- Unpack my books from the storage bin, arrange them in significant order on the shelf, and trace their spines longingly with my index finger.
- Visit the ocean very soon, press my toes into the soft sand and inhale deeply of the salt air, watching the tides crash to shore.
Snuggle and kiss a sweet little poodle. (Although who can ever get enough?)
- Practice my karaoke duets for next month
- Stop! Thinking! About! Men!
I used to be such a creative and open person. I wore my heart on my sleeve and expressed myself through words effortlessly. Creativity was something that was one with me, or rather, I was a conduit for it. But something happened along the way to sever that bond.
For a long time, I had been forming a pattern with my life, and once there was a propensity to love unavailable men, it became more or less my identity. In my off-hours, I would text, flirt, chat or daydream about various men to whom I was magnetically and helplessly attracted. Granted, I think it should always be this easy to fall in love with someone, and there weren’t more than a handful at any given time. But still.
The signs were all there: Although I didn’t fully realize it, I was absolutely miserable for quite some time. And why? Because I allowed myself to repeat unhealthy habits. I knew that there was never anything that could come of these attractions, flirtations and feelings. I knew that I would only ever get scraps of a man’s attention. Once you’ve got a few unavailable men giving you scraps of their attention/focus, you start to feel like you can live like this. You think, “Gee…this is not so bad.” You form a patchwork quilt of their affections and try to keep warm at night.
I told myself that I was independent and bold and brave and all the things that usually scares men away for the long haul. They loved their moments with me, but in the long run, it seemed to me they all wanted someone that needed to be cared for, someone to stroke their egos all the time and remind them that they were their heroes. What becomes of the strong, independent woman? She…doesn’t really express those same levels of need. She proudly displays her open heart, her confidence, her capability and autonomy. And it attracts a certain type. The broken ones. The unavailables. Empty promises. The ones who need a little fantasy in their otherwise humdrum routines.
But the truth is that there was always something in me that knew I was better than this, that I needed to break out of the endless cycle. That I really DIDN’T need a man to be happy and why was I still subjecting myself to this torture? Well, the long and the short of it is that, even though I had these level-headed ideas and was wise enough to recognize the issue, I felt completely powerless. I was gripped by this emotion. I shall call it love. It was a selfish kind of love; but I couldn’t really help it. It was a love that only resided in fantasy, and let’s face it, we all fall a little bit harder for what we can’t have. It was, essentially an unrequited longing/yearning for the unattainable.
But just recently, I was inspired to do some spring cleaning. To dust out the cobwebbed corners of my heart. To end the vicious cycle that left me depleted of all forward-flowing energy. And while I found myself completely racked by screaming sobs on the inside each time I said goodbye, I knew that just as in The Neverending Story, “it has to hurt if it’s to heal.” And it wasn’t long before I remembered why I’m here anyway. I’m a divine creature of love, light, truth, beauty, wisdom and compassion. And although I remembered it after a less-than-graceful and not-so-wonderful series of goodbyes, it felt like me again.
And now? I no longer live under a cloud of grief and mourning because I cannot be with the one(s) who have the scattered pieces of my heart. I can write about these experiences without fear. I recognize that my healing has only just begun, but I am a bit heady with the instant rush of creativity that was allowed to flow once more. I accept it. I embrace it. I’m back. Back to the life artist that I have always been. I am here to write and sing, to express, to enlighten, to share and to once again help others who need inspiration, wisdom, laughter, or a vicarious experience through the written word, the sung lyric, etc. Let me carry no torches, but rather reveal the light of my own soul.
For what it’s worth, I also know that there are other people experiencing temporary pain because of the decisions I made. I can say with hope that the time and energy they invest in healing and other pursuits will make the world a better place. They are free to live their truths, if they so choose. I’m still free to send them love, from a place with zero attachment.
And I guess that’s it…in a rather large nutshell.
My weary and adventure-worn feet carried me down a path leading to a cooling stream upon whose banks I could lie in lush grass. Below willows and among the reeds, I found the shattered pieces of my heart. Above me, only sky. Below me, only earth. And I sipped of the clear stream and splashed in the shallows, replenished my heart and soul, washing away the impurities and the grime of old energies, the wasted love of at least a handful of unavailable men. I patched the raw pieces of my heart together to find that its scars had only made it stronger. And when I looked up, to my surprise, I saw that I was not alone. I saw my soul reflected in the face of a sister who was mirroring the exact same motions. I saw the past flowing away from us down the stream, and felt the warm sunny breeze of the present. There was nothing left to do but to acknowledge her and smile and send her all the soul love and support her own heart could hold.
Themes: Media, reading, writing, music, movies, television, nature, relationships, travel, humor & spirituality.
Motifs: Moulin Rouge, nautical, dogs, Montana, New England.
Dedicated to the old souls, lovers, dreamers, thinkers and wishers of the world.
May the world be filled with light and laughter wherever you may go.