Tuesday, December 22, 2009

There is a Bit of Me From Then

Nothing is simple. So many conglomerations of who we are in this life and from lives past. All of the people we have been...loves...pain...joys...appetites...talents are stored inside of us, popping out like a magickal jack in the box when we least expect it.

Nothing is forgotten...nothing is truly lost or destroyed.

Disconcerting as it is a times, traces of me have come through the years. I have recollected being an elderly Jewish man being herded onto a train in Germany during World War II. That was a surprise. I have been a servant, peasant, soldier, Queen (definitely not what it's cracked up to be..lonely), warrior (majorly more interesting than Queen), Nun (that really sucked) and Soiled Dove (couple of times...apparently I enjoyed that one A LOT!). It's been a long litany of positions in lives that were far from glamorous or easy. However, there was great good in each and lessons to be learned in all.

Each life time is a remarkable distillation of all these things. These are what we call "fantasies" in our lives now....what we want to act out for the fun...but is it just fun or is it a longing much deeper than we wish to acknowledge? Allowed to experience the remainders...emotions and desires or revulsions that come out of nowhere...or that sense of knowing where a place is in town without having been there in this lifetime...give us the reassurance of something more profound happening in our life than meets the eye. I have always believed that all the lessons...all of the growth that we must go through in order to grow spiritually cannot possibly be learned in one lifetime. We have to experience the parts we miss...the victim one lifetime...the robber the next....freedom, slavery, poverty and wealth and all the infinite lessons that go with each piece of the puzzle.

For me, I believe this is what Aleistar Crowley meant when he said that "every man is a star." We are multi-facetted and brilliant in our individuality. We become stars or angels or reach valhalla through our travels intot he infinity. Physics has proven that energy can never be destroyed, only changed into a different form of energy. Essentially we are all energy...that awesome and amazing power that is of God. Making man in his own image speaks of that energy within each of us from the Divine. Damnation comes in when we refuse to acknowledge that divine spark within us that encourages us to grow and become a part of the Ultimate. Accepting as a child...yes...Jesus was right...we lose our wonder and get jaded. We have to be curious and open like children.

I have spent the better part of the last 24 years running away and re-inventing myself because I did not like who I was in this lifetime. I didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to see it. I became unbalanced by embracing parts of what I was previously and overbalanced it with what is now. It's time I actually blend it with what I am now... exploring the bits and taking the joys and lessons from each morsel.

I'm not anticipating an ending to this. I don't believe I'll reach Nirvana anytime soon...though one never knows. I learned a long time ago that you just can't question God, it doesn't work. God just is. It's up to us to figure out how to get back home on our own journey. God left us road signs and markers along the way for each individual. I don't think anyone of these markers are the same for any one person.

Enjoy the journey!

Monday, December 21, 2009

Winter Solstice ( For Alice and For Artos)

And the candles shine
bright halo around the flame
pushing past the darkness
on this the shortest day

Druid whispers
soft moaning sighs
prayers down all the centuries
on this the shortest day

Journeys made in silence
never truly passing alone
Alice is home among the Old Ones
on this the shortest day

To all who remain living
may we remember whence we came
And celebrate the Yule fire light
on this the shortest day

Sunday, December 13, 2009

For Terry

For Terry

I have a gypsy heart...following my passion was a rule
and I broke it
settled down to soon
for all the wrong reasons
tried to convince myself I was over you
never was started
never begun
but I carried you with me
to the West and the setting sun

Measuring time
and riding daydreams
I watched the years pass
Children, house and a husband
and the nameless something
standing so close by
longing through the night time
searchng in the day
believing it was just fantasy
I tried to make it slip away

Nightmares came with devestation
silent grief and oceans tears
I stood alone in the destruction
and waged war with guilt and fears
Came a day I just stopped trying
let the pain take me away
and I wished so hard for dying
but a memory bid me stay

Lost in the distance came a calling
so familiar and so sweet
I looked in your eyes and was falling
from the pain that was complete
and the mirror shattered into pieces
crumbling shards upon the floor
watched in wonder and excitement
to find another world and door

Back to the places I once danced in
free and easy, light and wild
I was loosened of my sorrow
and once again the gypsy child.
So you see you were the miracle
you had always held the key
and you freed me to come home now
to the you and I
and where we
should be

December 13, 2009

Sunday, November 15, 2009


It is so funny how something so small can make you start dancing again...and I danced...sang...took a candlelight bubblebath. I sat and edited some of my poetry, turned the lights down, listened to country music all night....something I hadn't really done since high school. I had cut that part of me of since then. I tried to escape Provo completely, but it's where I spent my teenage years and some of my married ones. My kids were born there. I had traveled from one end to the other and both sides. I finally admitted to myself that I was homesick. It crept up when I went back with my family to my ex-mother-in-laws funeral in 2002. On the drive home, I cried when I hit the Utah county line.
I laughed long and hard at that! I think I laughed a lot more at myself and everything else. It felt good.

The last few months have been the most hellish I have ever had in my life. I seriously thought of suicide a couple of times. I didn't do it, of course or I wouldn't be writing this. I sort of felt like I went sky diving with my eyes closed and they pushed me out of the plane without telling me. The parachute never opened and I hit the dirt....hard. Isn't it great that God doesn't answer al of our prayers?!

I started looking at blue sky the last few weeks. The snow was beautiful. The leaves are gorgeous. I started listening to music, playing with my co-workers and my kids, laughing at jokes.
WOW! I am still alive and feeling things. The cocoon started opening...very, very slowly. Last night, I stepped out and let my wings dry. I started to fly again...no parachute needed, because the wings were attached. Had been attached all along. Amazing how you can lose track of those things when you are in pain. I realise that I have been given a very important gift...a chance to start over again. What a wonderfult thing to be thankful for.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Catching My Breath

I have become like you
worshipping the closeness of summer's warm dark
Walking through the fields
the night songs lift from unseen birds
breaking the silence under the oaks
I wait for you
catching my breath on first sight
all midnight and moon-brightness
Minds touch
before hands or lips press
Shelter reached
pulling me to you
clutching the ebony
to leave us lovers
hidden from the
harsh realities of daybreak
Weez 1991

The Dance Begins Again

Take me dancing

trailing skirts in the wind and


twisting my body back

feet tapping

hair whipping

whispering out against my skin

and the deep blue of the night

my hands stretch out

fingers lightly caressing

a distant


gypsy longing

gliding back laughing

into your arms



Black Mirror

Staring back at the mirror
ready waiting
doing what I do best
It's hard to say
if this is me
or emotions talking
But there are times
I wonder why
the wondering makes me restless
makes me crazy
and those eyes looking back
tired of the madness
of playing
the game
That bed is so hard to sleep in
but when sleep comes
oooooooh! How It Claims You
calls you out
running in the streets
flying down the darkness
to that stranger
A sinsiter
pressing her face to the glass
Sometimes there
is no face at all
or something
from the mirror
coming closer
Finding me looking in
and gazing out
from what is real and
no my


This time that comes
somewhat haunting
from behind me
long ago
Old familiar patterns
The soul does not recognize time
It only knows what it is has seen

Flash Flood

Color exploded into my eyes
when I closed them
so tight
summoning the courage
to kiss you
I could see the rain
washing color from
paper mache streamers
left over from some dance
of so long ago
bleeding down the whitewash
seeping into the chalk
flashing out a plume
of bright violet

Aunt Mame, Aunt Gladys and ME

"...Sister Christian
There's so much in life
Don't you give it up
Before your time is due
It's true
It's true yeah

Night Ranger

I've always liked that song. It was funny that the other day I started hearing it again, a lot, on the radio. It got me to thinking that there was some truth in that. I'm still here...still breathing...still wanting to do so many things that I didn't get a chance to do. But I also realize that Tony hated me being sad or miserable. He sure as hell would be pissed off with me if I were just throwing it all away to lock myself away from the world.

Auntie Mame was a favorite movie of mine. My Aunt Gladys was also an inspiration all my life. She was earthy, smart, beautiful and gutsy. When I got older and after my divorce to Kelly, I swore that I was going to adopt some of her philosophy. Gladys passed away in 2003. She had survived her husband, my Uncle Gus, by some 15+ years. She grieved for him until the day she died, however, she also travelled, danced, dated, lived her life.

I could hear her voice in my head the other day and she was not too happy with me.

"Goddamn it, Sweetie! Your husband would not want you to be miserable for the rest of your life. Look at your Grandmother. Do you want to end up life her or your mother?"

I am not going to wind up alone, bitter and miserable. Yeah, it hurts. It will always hurt. But I am not going to sit here and rot like they did.

I have Chosen to Live!

The Blanket

Shine brightly
spreading your love in warm rays
A beautiful blanket
to wrap around
those souls too tired
battered and bruised
They have forgotting
what life is about
Take off their rags
and wrap your blanket around them
giving them strength
giving them hope
You can make the difference
making that pattern that they need
giving them the chance to shine
and pass the blanket on.
Weez 6/1989

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

The Weasel Report

I apologize to anybody who has already recieved this as an e-mail. This blog was also my mental health update to friends and family.

I am writing stuff again. I got so inspired with some of the books I bought at the used book sale that it made me remember a time when I was so eager to put pen to paper and just write....even if it was absolute crap!

I did buy a book this weekend on writing memoirs (uh oh!) and a writing book by E.M. Forrester (I loved Sean Connery's portrail of him!). So I started re-reading Virginia Woolf's writing book and I've been inspired. Gotta find that inspiration anywhere I can anymore. I stiffled myself for quite a while worrying about what everybody else would think...would they get angry or their feelings hurt. I know. I never used to be that sensitive about my writing. Tony mellowed me out...a lot...according to Jesse, my son! Not a bad thing. Didn't mean it to sound that way. He just balanced me...no small task, that! Jesus, I miss him so much!

I remember when I used to spend hours pouring over the works of Rossetti, Tennyson, Swinburne, Poe and Arnold Matthews while lying on the floor in a sun spot, stretched out like a cat. My favorite book "Later English Poets" has stood forelorn the last 17 years...only being picked up to be moved instead of opened. I used to pick it up or a volume of Herriot's works and pour myself a glass of Ameretto or Harvey's and relax in the evening while my ex-husband, Kelly, was at school.

The last year I was married to Kelly, I used to write poetry on crisp, autumn mornings with a glass of wine or a Irish coffee by the typewriter and just go! I decided after the divorce that turning my life into Dylan Thomas's drunken one wasn't such a hot idea.

I believe I lost my inspiration due to contentment. Now, I have it back through loss. How fucking Odd is THAT! I always did have a problem writing when I was happy. I'm backasswards! I would go weeks between journal entries...even when it was something important. Now sometimes I go only a matter of hours. Odder still, there is a certain amount of contentment where I am now. Re-acquainting myself with myself and figuring out who and what I am and where the hell I am going next with my life.

On Saturday, after the booksale (was there from 9-1 looking over every single thing at least twice!), I stopped by the grocery store. I bought a combination pizza with sausage, a bottle of green olives, salad makings, Marie's blue cheese dressing, bread, Earl Grey Tea, a generous chunk of Brie, a bottle of white wine and a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Creme. My grocery list may not sound like anything fabulous, but it was all foods I love and used to buy every so often or not at all. It was time to spoil myself...if I was going to spoil myself rotten I would have bought a box of See's (I forgot it when I was in Reno...DAMN IT!)! I knitted in front of the t.v. in my sweats and turned the front porch light off when I wanted to shut it down from the little trick or treaters (which weren't many).

Well, enough of boring you to death. Just a word to let you know I am still alive and obnoxious!

Monday, November 02, 2009

Scratchy throat, back and neck ache, and had an odd headache for the past three or four days. I can't afford to be ill, but if I am coming down with something I may as well get it over with while I still have time off I can take. Have been drinking gallons of tea and taking Echinachia and Golden Seal religiously. Of course, I have been stressed to the breaking point the last few months, so illness wouldn't be a surprise. I keep thinking I can smell chlorine bleach strongly in the frontroom and can't for the life of me figure out where it is coming from. It seems to be eminanting from the corner by the fireplace, but I don't use anything like that in the frontroom....ever. Weird.

All Hallow's was a double treat. Early in the morning before the next door neighbor boys were up with their bb guns, I snuck away for a few hours to the book sale. What a nice time I had searching through all the old and new books. There were a couple of really old volumes I purchased...Elias by Charles Lamb and a biography of P.B. Shelley. I bought a copy of "The Captive" by Proust, a 20 volume complete set of the writings Algernon Charles Swinburne (YES!), a book on wirint by Forrester, another on writing memoirs, a crockery cookbook that I had and Bones the dog ate years ago, a book of ghost stories and some paranormal romances (housewife smut) and romance stories (not Harlequin drivel...think Chocolat or Under the Tuscan Sun). I also bought numerous Yule presents which won't be discussed here.

Four people left to buy for for Yule...Jon, Laura and the Grandkids. I think I've done well. I am still debating as to whether I will put up the tree. Honestly, I just want to wake up the day after New Years and be done with it. Although I am planning on a turkey, cranberries, a pumplin pie, and wild rice for Thanksgiving this year.

All Hallow's was quiet, thankfully! The next door kids came around early and I warned them to behave as the entire neighborhood has been watching them and won't put up with any crap. They seemed to have heeded it. One of them actually wished me a Happy New Year, though I couldn't tell if he actually realised that for me it was...Pagan wise...or was being a smart ass. A little before 8 o'clock and it was all over. I went through 2 and a 1/4 bags of candy. The kids are getting fewer and fewer...although I saw fliers for parties up all over the place, being on a Saturday night. It would have been nice to have met up with the kids in Tahoe, but I really had to keep an eye on things here.

I watched four of my favorite BBC shows and called it a night after writing Tony his nightly letter.

Yesterday was unspectacular. I didn't feel well and curled up most of the day with knitting and watched a very interesting program on Death Masks. They were doing beeswax reproductions of the faces from the life and death masks of historical and famous people. They would then digitally enhancing the faces so that they had their eyes open, blinked, and smiled. Lincoln and Washington's faces were very interesting. Not what I would have expected or what we have seen in photos or paintings. Even the president's then had to have their publicity shots!

I kept track of the football scores and made a list of who I will draft in tonight's draft.

Other than that, it was a peaceful weekend.

Monday, October 26, 2009

The tears start, seemingly out of nowhere...for no real reason. I find them streaming down my face unexpectedly...sometimes without warning. I have even caught myself crying when I didn't realize I was. I'm not used to this.

I have put up Halloween decorations..albeit more modestly than ususal. The candy is waiting in the cupboard. The red lightbulb has been screwed in at the front porch lamp. The only thing missing is dressing up to scare the kids. I won't do that this year. Every year, Tony and I would figure out what he was going to do for Halloween. Wearing masks was one of his favorite things.

He got such a kick out of the tiny trick or treaters. He really had a soft spot for the little ones, although he would deny it. Snot goblins, rug rats, breeder monkies....that's the usual title for somebody else's kid(s) in the grocery store or elsewhere. Occasionally he would point out a truly cute kid and usually get them into trouble by getting them to copy his silly faces while we were waiting in line.

It's been hard gearing up for this. I spent this last weekend alone and didn't do any artwork, which I had longed all week to do as a release. I purged and organized. I folded some of Tony's clothes and tucked them neatly away in the armoire.

It will be a different experience this year. Hopefully next year will be easier.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Digging Out

Working through this...literally. In the last 48 hours, I have worked myself through the master bath, laundry room and our bedroom. I have dusted, oiled furtniture, straightened, thrift boxed and thrown out. The office is daunting. I have worked from the closet, organizing boxes of old photos so I gcan get to them easier. Next was the rocks that I was polishing...polisher and all parts, including the rocks, have been banned to the garage. Again dusting, sorting thourgh papers, the desk, finding scraps of paper with Tony's handwriting and tearing up. Oiled furniture, and now the bead shelf to dust off. Then vacuum and the next room...the dining room...maybe the kitchen.

I have sworn, cursed, laughed, cried, and curled up on the sofa for awhile during this whole thing wondering when I'll pull out of this a little more....the voice...so soft told me I already was, even if I didn't realize it. A little stunned, I realized, yeah, maybe I was because it was feeling better this afternoon than it had yesterday or this morning. I'm voraciously hungry and I may treat myself to a little something this afternoon before I get to nuts over the rest of the house.

I'm no longer on a time limit to get things done. The only person looking at it now is me. I can tear this stuff up and take my ime with it...well sort of, I'm still a neat freak. I can't believe how much dust accumulated in the office since July. Wow! Tells me what I haven't been taking care of . Well, ok, taking care of me..most important right now.

So, I'm getting closer to wanting to talk to people this weekend. I haven't decided if I quite want to yet or not. Just gathering strength right now. I need this.

Friday, October 23, 2009

The Abyss

and I am not sure

where I stand

arms stretched out at my sides

staring straight

across the chasm before me

do I fly

do I free fall

do I fall back upon the "safe" ground

that is no longer so

clawing my way back

to a time that doesn't exist

a comfort that was

merely illusion

once again standing

at the well before my feet

no magician this time

to pull me back from

falling into the abyss

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Solitary Rose


I am a ghost
dancing in shadows
a passing breeze
shifting the leaves
to a rustling waltz
sigh of the wind only
the drops of rain
are tears of sorrow
out of my control
the storm passes
only to begin again

Thursday, October 15, 2009


My life is wrapped

bundled in

yellowing newspaper

obituaries neatly

tied in black ribbons

She leans


in the corner

behind the bedroom door

Where once she moaned

fingers clawing the bedsheets

as he had kissed her neck

their fingers brushing skin

catching fire

Sprinkled with dust and tears


like blowing sand

scour her soul


pumping pain

that won't stop bleeding

from the wound where her heart had been

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Art Has Always Saved Me

I bought new watercolour brushes for the first time since I was in Windsor, England in 1987. I didn't look at the price tag and shocked myself when the 5 brushes I bought came to $29.95. Nothing really cost-wise, had they been red sables, which I have always preferred, they would have easily cost $60.00 to $70.00 dollars. The last brushes I bought had been at Boots on the High Street, along with some really neat watercolour pens and pots of paints. The day after I bought them, I rose early and walked to a bench lining the Long Walk and proceeded to paint a picture of another park bench close by.

Watercolours have been a staple art supply in my house since early childhood. My father was the real driving force in my learning to draw and paint. Dad would pack me up in the old Chevy Bel Aire and away we would drive to the deYoung Museum or the Palace of Fine Art. I would be enthralled at the fact that anyone could take paints and brushes and create a Renoir or Monet. Sometimes I would ask my Dad to pick me up and hold me so that I could look (but don't touch) closer at a painting. It was so amazing to see the brush strokes, proving to me that, yes, someone actually painted the picture. Up close, you could sometimes see the colours blending...just a minute line a hair's breadth...but enough to capture the eye. I still remember seeing a stroke like that in a Rembrandt painting where the crismon turned to orange...a faint trace of yellow...just a scratch of it peering through. You wouldn't have seen it if you were standing at normal viewing range, but the arms of my father made it possible.

From that time on, I have painted on sidewalks, walls, and rocks. I was disappointed as the pigments faded in the sun and bled off into the gutters in the rain. Later on, in high school, I took watercolours my sophomore year. My grandmother bought me a box of Binney & Smith artist's colours in a white plastic case. I remember sitting in the freezing classroom, listening to the instructor whose name I can't remember, droning on about how you have to see with your own eyes...not what people expect you to see. It was a passion...something to be felt...like when Renee Farnsworth had a leaf bug land on her shoulder in the middle of an outdoor painting class. I was absolutely fascinated at the green wings it had...so much like a leaf and the tiny beady blue eyes peering up helplessly as I grabbed it before she, still screaming, squashed it. I had to paint it. The painting never was displayed it school...and has long since disappeared in the many moves I've made throughout the years.

After my graduation from high school, I again found myself in art classes at the local technical college. Photographic developers, inks, printing inks, and the pungent scent of solvents came whaffing through the lower bowels of the college, blending with the smell of coffee, cinnamon buns and bacon from the cafeteria next door. I fell in love there...or lust...I'm not completely sure which... with a fellow student...all unreciprocated unfortunately...over coffee and discussions of art history, Gutenburg and who had the best prices in town for art supplies. I was in heaven in those classes until I had to take the rest of my core classes to graduate. Art was everything...health, P.E. and algebra seemed dull and hardly worth the effort.

On the walks home, I began to see angles, shapes, shades and nuances in the world around me. Provo in those days had huge horse chestnut and maple trees in front of the spooky, old BYU Academy building. The textures of the rain-soaked, ancient grey sidewalks, littered with wet autumn leaves in every conceivable shade of orange, red, brown and yellows plastered to it was gorgeous. I wondered how anyone could miss this...didn't they see when they walked down the street? Rich brown horse chestnuts rained from the denuded branches, occasionally hitting you in the head as the crows sat and laughed.

Old farm houses and fields took on a whole new meaning. Art became a secret language, one that my father had successfully transmitted to me as a child. It was my own world. The old train tracks up Provo Canyon could become beautful, spooky and sensuous all depending on the light during different seasons and time of day.

When I divorced my first husband in 1987 and went back to England, it was like coming home in many different respects. I had began to recapture myself with watercolours, pens and pencils. Poetry began to mingle more steadly with the art work...like a filling in a pie or pastry. I couldn't live without the colours or words painting something I had seen and had to share or capture in my mind.

Enter Jan McIntyre when I returned to the states. A sculptor, painter, and artist extraordinare, we were distant cousins who became close friends instantly one evening in a bar gathering of musicians. That group was something I will always treasure, even though we have gone our separate ways and Janny has long since passed. The art carried me through the victory of my first gallery showing of watercolors and wood burned items. It carried me past the pain of a failed marriage and into a new life. It held me together through a doomed relationship with a musician that was cursed from the start. Love or lust (definitely both! Oh, yes.), I am not quite sure. Love and lust for the creative life was a definite addiction...and like all junkies, I had to have more.

And then I met Tony in 1992. Tony was earthy, intelligent, well-read, foul mouthed, and the most beautiful man I had ever met...and he wanted me. He was the high school girl's dream. We became lovers within a month and never left each other's side for more than a couple days at a time. He encouraged me to paint, draw, and bought me a 35mm camera outfit. We explored eras; he was in love with the geometrics of art deco and I with the flowing sensuality of art nouveau.

Through the years I lived in arts and crafts stores; always on the search for some technique book, ink, medium or glue. He would stand there sometimes at the end of an aisle, hands on hips, head tilted, "Are you ready yet?" His patience was more immeasurable than he would ever let on or perhaps, realize. He was my muse and pushed me forward to experiment with using different mediums.

I began taking photo copies and painting them, using them in collages and putting them into journals. Beads and glass, their fine pure colours, intrigued me. Seed beads became another way of expressing myself through jewelry and then peyote stitch. Spirit bottles and loomed murals began to fill the walls. I bought beads and hoarded them, amassing some several hundred pounds, up until this summer when everything came to a horrible, sudden stop. Tony died on a beautiful, cloudless Sunday afternoon.

The last few months have been rain soaked. I have viewed the world through eyes every bit as unclear as rain washing down glass. Isolation and intolerable grief, along with with an incredibly acute loneliness has shut me off from the world and myself. I began searching through closets in my mind, frantically throwing open doors in dark hallways trying to find a reason for this or some momentary peace. My pens dried up with the heat and disuse and my beading loom covered itself in a fine veil of dust. The vintage mahogany dining room table I had claimed as my art center lay silent and cluttered with ideas and projects now completely gone by the wayside...until last Sunday.

Curiosity got the better of me. I found a small piece of watercolour canvas I had preped with Gesso last spring. It was gritty and I liked the way it felt under my fingers. In the buffet behind the table are my paints, pastels, and other implements. I pulled out a pallette, the old Binney & Smith box of colours and a few brushes from the cat jar. Armed with a glass of water and a rag, I began to paint for the first time in months. I had too much water on the canvas, and the human heart that I had painted began to bleed down the canvas in a happy accident, pooling at the bottom. I bled off the excess water and decided that it was perfect the way it was. Let it dry and rework it in a couple of days to get down the details.

Slowly, I am breaking free of the sorrow. Slowly, once again reaching for who I was and now am through watercolours and brush strokes.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Monday, September 07, 2009

Visitor - Necromancy

Wrap around me
like silk
passing lightly
sliding soft
over my skin
gone in death
these months
you still distract me
seeking refuge
in the darkness
where only you were allowed
to wander
slamming me to the wall
pinning me
against the bed
in August heat
sweat rolling down
the curve of my back
to the rumpled sheets below
where I lay with you
to all but the gifted
(or cursed)
riding this pain
straddling the pleasure
of certain knowledge
that death
is not the end

Copyright 2009 - Louise ann Godfrey - the Ravenrose

Karl Marx Got It Wrong...the Opium is TV and Radio!

Karl Marx was wrong....religion is not the opium of the people...it's television and radio...get back to the truth of the stories, words and the truth of the music!

Stop thinking in the can...that's that the government wants...it's easier to control us that way.

Jim Morrison was right...."break on through to the other side."

You can think universally, but for Christ sake...do it on your own terms and no one else's! Question...please question...you can;t learn unless you do and stop relying on someone else to make up your mind for you...take care of you...you have to take care of you....you with whatever God(s) you beleve in. Let nothing or no one come between you and that higher power...that is the truth. Find it!

Friday, September 04, 2009

Still Life

July 2009

Your Scent

You wore the scent of maple leaves crushed under foot in the warm, dusty autumn afternoons. It wasn't a cologne or aftershave, it was your scent...who you were. I smelled it the first time I met you and it clung to me, haunting me as much as your eyes looked into my dreams....told me you were the one. I knew you instinctively through a scent I knew would identify you. I had known it for decades, searched and almost gave up and then suddenly found it in you.

It was the smell of pleasure and something deep, smoldering slowly and spirling up and around me. It calmed me and at the same time made me hunger for that undercurrent that swam below the surface of your voice. I breathed it in as if I were drinking life itself...I could never get enough of you!

Tearing through our closet, I screamed....howled through tears and terror at the scent of you gone. Clothes still hanging, dresser drawer full...I cursed myself for washing the clothes the day before you...oh , OH CHRIST!

My daughter-in-law came in. I whimpered..."I can't smell him!" panic moved on to devastation and I sat down in a messy heap, sobbing hysterically. I found one worn tee shirt, folded it and put it in a zip lock bag to make sure I had the scent somewhere safe for later. Virginia moved me out of the closet and quietly shut the door.

It comes to me at times in odd places...suddenly wafting around me in the open breeze of the rental car last weekend as we crossed the desert going home. No earthly explaination...just suddenly there and gone...caressing me lightly in the afternoon heat. Faint traces at the table last night as you were standing there..unseen...watching me...waiting for an invitation...unnecessary as you unlocked my heart years ago, moved in and never left.

Candles burn for you..lighting your way home and to my heart. I know you are always there by your scent...the scent of maple leaves in autumn...mingled slightly with the smell of a cigerette freshly smoked when no one else is there.

Thursday, September 03, 2009

Entering Dreamtime

To say that I have been a little lazy the last 17 years is to be truthful. You become a bit complacent when you realize that there are two of you to make ends meet instead of just yourself. It had been hard back then before Tony. It will be hard now, although now, unlike then, I do not have a 12 year old to raise. Jon is now 25.

There were important things that I came away with both of the hard times…..when I was younger living vicariously with my grandmother in Daly City, and then again in Fresno after my divorce. I found that I could be both resilient and resourceful. I found that in extreme adversity, I could survive. You get creative living on a shoestring. Extras become special treats instead of everyday commodities. Bisquick, once again, saves the day at suppertime, or lunch or breakfast. The library becomes a free vacation to anywhere in the world whether it is past, present future or fantasy.

There was a simple grace in those days. You relied on what you knew you had. You would use it more judiciously. What you didn’t have, you didn’t want…period. When you could afford it, its appeal had tarnished. You could get other necessities you could really use in the future and put away now. Therefore, you didn’t really want or need it in the first place.

There were mistakes made; many foolish ones. Those same mistakes will not be duplicated due to the lessons learned the first time through. There were certain things I just couldn’t have known as a kid. I had to learn adult mistakes by myself.

Making enough to pay the bills, put food on the table and clothes on are back is more than enough at this point. Some might say it is merely being able to get by. No, it’s more than that. It’s the comfort in knowing that everything else is just icing and glitter. Simple living has so much more substance to it. Amazing how much we, as a society, have forgotten that!

Knowing now that I will not be going to the parties, or dancing, or looking for Mr. Right (due to having found him, married him, and now am his widow) takes the emphasis off what had been supposedly important the first and second times. The fancy clothes, make-up, hair and shoes have been replaced by sensible, necessary and wrinkles. There is a comfort in not being in the “meat market” frenzy. I hadn’t enjoyed it the first time.

The big date has taken on another meaning…a final one. I am rather looking forward to that knock on the door by a healthy, boyish-looking husband to come and take me home to his place once again. I know that once I step through that door, I will be transformed not unlike Cinderella and her pumpkin into the girl I once was. (Boy that will be some hot reunion! Yes, I did go there.)

I don’t want to imply that I intend to let myself go. On the contrary, my interests are being focused in different directions. Classic books that have waited to be read for years are calling to me. Teaching myself and relearning skills I had once had or wanted to attain is now mine to achieve, such as writing, painting and drawing. Solitude is not an enemy.

Since I was the kid that didn’t quite fit in, I learned that being alone and my own best friend wasn’t to be feared. Some of my favorite evenings as a teenager were spent sitting and talking with my grandmother in the cottage in Daly City. We would turn off the radio or t.v., not turning on the lights when it began to become twilight. There we would sit with coffee and maybe cookies she had made that day and she would tell me stories about the family. I remember seeing her turn gradually into a silhouette against the curtain backdrop, slowly fading into the evening. Her voice was soothing and soft. Birds would twitter in the background as they settled down for the night. Gradually, even the noise of the traffic moving down the hill and on Juniper Serra would fade ever so slowly until you could almost hear the ocean 4 miles away.

There was a magic to those evenings. I was aware that the magic was still there over the years, waiting for me to recapture it, and I have. The summer evenings are spent sitting outside on a chair or the front bench, perhaps before the open window of our bedroom.

Wrinkles, middle age spread and strands of grey in my hair are no longer dreaded. They are a testament to the fair share of hell that I have raised in my time. I am thankful to have made it this far alive and in one piece. I’m not telling the stories to an attentive audience, but I am writing them down. It’s my turn now to sit in the soft glow of sunset and recall memories or make new ones.
I have entered dreamtime now....passing into the shadows...

Monday, August 31, 2009

Thank You, My Love

This photo was taken on Friday, August 28, 2009 around 10 p.m. pst, in my father-in-law's backyard in Fresno, CA.. My son, Jon took the photo for no real apparent reason. This is what he captured. It is not touched up.

I had lost a child in 1994, when I was almost 3 months pregnant. I had wanted that baby so badly. My husband didn't want anymore children. When I lost the baby it was a sore spot, as he maintained it was for the best. It hurt, but I forgave him in my heart for his feeling that way, although I never really got over it. It would naw on me a times, secretly driving me to tears. I deliberately made myself not think of it...blocking it out. I had almost forgotten....almost.

My son, Jon, daughter-in-law Virginia, daughter-in-law's mother, and two of his best friends (one of which was our best man) all saw Tony in the photo. Virginia was the one that said, "he looks like he is holding a baby in his arms." I was stunned. No one knew the story until then. I started to cry because I saw what they were looking at and realized he was telling me not to worry or let it hurt anymore...he has the baby and they are ok.
He has our baby.
Thank you Tony, I can never tell you exactly how much that means to me or how it has given me peace. I hope you can feel what is in my heart and mind. I hope you know how very much both of you mean to me and how very, very much I love you. I look forward to seeing both of you someday.


I am not feeling social...nor charitable...nor tolerant right now. I do not want to answer questions, talk about IT, or go to work. I don't want to sleep all day...although rest is what I am craving....I want to be alone but with someone at the same time who leaves me alone...knowing someone is in the house is enough.

Stretching myself out on the stone floor, I can feel the cool, uneven surface of the worn rock. Hundreds of feet have walked it smooth. I want to just lie here embracing this sanctuary in my mind, loving the solice and peace it offers.

Leave me to my grieving, for you can do nothing for me. No word or deed will stop the pain that tears at me. I pray for release that won't come right now when I want it. It eludes me, dancing around me as a shadow in the darkness...reaching out and drawing back in a ceaselessly taunting game. I live for seconds at a time when the agony subsides for just that brief span and then floods back in waves.

Blood coarses...bleeding out...an act of mercy and finality...virtually painless for you...and I am envious of your new freedom! I long for it like I longed for you in those nights to come to my door...my lover. I long for you again...aching with the knowing you will steal up on me and make me catch my breath...fingers brushing my skin....holding me in your arms...kissing me and claiming me...smiling like the dawn breaking...telling me to come away.

But until then...I wait with the longing...the anticipation for my lover to come in the night.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Letter to A Dead Boss

Dear Karin...

For your information. I never got tired of my husband nor bored with him!

He is gone

and you

have long, since given up the ghost.

...out of the two of you...

...death BECOMES You!

Rot in the hell of your own making!

Your Former Employee

Sunday, August 09, 2009

Lady in the Moon

Created this past April. Seed beads, mirror, ceramic, and focal point beads.

Exiled into Memory

bones and beads
standing stones
are sentries of the passing
as the sand and rain
wash the slates clean
the river floods
thunder throws me back
to center
driving me down into the cave
that lies within me
where I silently leave offerings
to the Old Ones and Ancestors
and those of future days
drawing memories
on the walls
of my mind

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

For My Husband On His Death

and so I
dance alone
waltzing to the sound
the faint melody
of your breath
the voice in my head
that says
it's ok darling
but here
in the quiet night
the darkness
no longer
a stranger
I peel off my body
slipping out
circling over
waiting for your soul
to hold out
the unseen hand
and bring me home

Monday, May 25, 2009

Out My Back Door

And so the weekend is coming to a close. I have been busy with my e-store trying to fgure out everything I want to post on it. This afternoon we finally got outside and drove out to the desert to look for Wonderstone. We found quite a nice lot that I can put in the tumbler.

Wonderstone is Rhyolite. I hadn't known a lot about the magickal properties of the stone until I did a little homework and had to laugh a little at myself when I read it. Apparently, Rhyolite is a volcanic stone. It does contain a lot of quartz. The Wonderstone here is banded, and highly valued for it's red, brown, deep blue and green "Bullseye" patterns.

The magickal properties associated with Wonderstone deal with making your goals and dreams in life a reality. It helps one to go through the changes necessary, in a prudent manner, to achieve those goals. It is a meditation stone that helps one to remember why we are here, helps to strengthen the mental facilities, and also helps us to resolve past issues. I read also that it represents change, creativity, variety, progress, insight and self-realization. All things I have going through...and I have about 600 pounds of the stuff in my backyard...near our bedroom window. Hmmmmm....coincidence?! I think not.

Since my last blog, I have been working harder on my bead murals, my creativity is going through the roof, I have been working in the backyard to get it cleared and working on myself. The physical side of me is a whole different subject right now. (To be Continued Later)

I also have been learning to boost my energy using psychic exercises. They are designed to help me "fed" my lack of of energy that I just don't seem to be able to create on my own anymore. It's working and I find that fi I don't do them every couple of weeks or so, I am practically dragging myself around...napping during the day...and generally feeling really crappy. My thanks to Michelle Belanger for herlp in this matter. Bright Blessings to you Sister!

Nothing is handed to you...nothing is free. We have to learn to help ourselves to live the lives we wish for. It isn't granted to us, and we have to work hard for it. Many people are learning the old values now the hard way. Some of us a relearning them. It is definitely a time of radical change and introspection. It will be very interesting to see what we do with this situation. Very ineresting, indeed.

Whoa! That was heavy...must be the Wonderstone. Hey....it works!

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Time Passages Present

It's been awhile since I ranted on here. The hacker has been caught and life is returning to a dull rumble once again. That is really nice.

I've been looking at connections to things. I've been thinking of how connected I am to the outdoors and how good I feel after a day of digging for rocks or just walking in the desert. It is a resting place for me; a refuge. I can dig for rocks until I am sunburned and not care how much time I'm out there or that the find might be small. It's better than a day at the office and much more fulfilling.

Getting the sand and clay under my nails and smearing it accidentally across my face, I realize how close I am to the sand and the stone and rocks. I sometimes lay down on the ground I've been mining and feel the cool moisture seep up into my jeans. Looking this close, I see things I would miss from even a foot or two away. So many patterns and re-creations of just bigger patterns....or is it that they begin small and expand out? Bits of rust and glass from a previous ghost town stare up at me trying to tell me their stories. What happened right here in this spot a hundred years ago? Was there a stable here or a saloon? Maybe it was a brothal and I am lying on my back looking up into the blue skies in a much beter situation that the girl before me.

Nevada is a cruel, harsh place to live. In this economy it is even more difficult than before. It takes a certain type of person to want to live far enough away from everyone else that you'd have to fart through a bull horn to get heard. There is no Macy's near my house. My town has a vet, a grocery store, a 7-11 and, oddly, 2 Chinese restaurants and three Mexican. We recently got a Walmart and a Lowe's...so we're really big time now. It could have stayed even smaller as far as I'm concerned. In a way it has. A lot of the hundreds of new homes that were built here either got damaged in the flood or they have been foreclosed on and left by the owners. Hundreds of empty houses in the once brilliant little new boomtown that started to get pretty snotty and high on it self.

Grandma always said there was always someone better/bigger than yourself. My town is learning to humble the hard way...not necessarily a bad lesson as far as myself and a lot of old times are concerned.

So we drive out to the desert, my husband and I. A few buckets, pick axes and picnic basket is in the car along with the sunscreen and bug repellant. Other than paying for the gas, we amuse ourselves with pieces of rock and the past for the price of investing our time. Dust deveils come to peek in every so often and stir things up, along with the occasional horney toad. Good company as the light begins to grow soft and pinky purple.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Slipping into the Fog - Avalon


When I am in pain, I do that. Mist and fog are comforting to me. I need...crave...my space and a time and un-structuredness to heal. I need my sisters and the Old Ones.

New pastels and watercolours are coming. New beginnings in a project Arthur and I are going to do. There is so much hope here. My artwork is taking me out and back and into other areas now. So much in my heart that I want to put down on paper with ink and colors. Wrapping the paint and pages around me as a warm, old blanket. But here....here is where I hide...

Moving through the forests and the dry grass...carefully picking out the flat stones on the waters edge....barely discernible through the mist and dark, I have gone this way before...hundreds if not thousands of times. Weaving my song quietly, knowing the spell to unlock the gates when I come to them. The Watchers mark my coming and lift the veil of snow. I am going to the Isle, going where none can follow me unless they know...are one of us...and there are so very few of us left.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

Fair Isle

Standing by the old trees

I see far out into the mist

looking to the West

over the water

Feeling the change

the breezes carrying a hint

of the old voices


lifting my spirit
lighting my way
ready to step out
on the path
lead me home

Sunday, January 04, 2009

It's Time

In this time
I let the sand
slowly gliding
through my fingers
the veil catchs
lifting in the sea breeze
floating out
the sunset ending

Memories of the Musee

Framed by the Golden Gate, the Musee is every bit as much a golden treaure as the arches greeting the bay.