Thursday, January 04, 2007

Illusion


Written in pencil
these lines will fall victim to time
and fade
They will be forgotten
as many things
often are
They are not destined
to be famous
or
read by many
So the little words
connect
into sentence chains
Trying to convey myself
in a language that is
far from perfect
You may spy the novice here...
long robes masking her broken heart
or the curve
of the breast of a lover
Watch keenly
quickly
THERE
sneak up on the naughty school girl
running naked through the
church pews
solely
on
a
dare
They are all here within these writings
child lover nun
sorceress warrior queen
and
all
are
me

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Emotional Emetics and Realizing I Don't Know As Much As I Thought

Snow turns to ice. The clouds of the past few days have traveled east and left the sky a brittle blue filled with floating crystals of glitter. Too bright and too cold, but refreshingly beautiful.

I feel like that has been my life the past year and a half...stuck in the storm and left in the foggy aftermath encased in ice. The depression was numbing; a feeling of being half alive and dream- like. Creating anything artistic was becoming impossible. Writing was a way to regurgitate toxins, but it didn't allow me to move or create. It was a little like being stuck in the maze in the movie remake of 13 Ghosts. There were nightmares being discovered, moving through it and then redicovered and the sheltered from it all to realize I had come to the center of the problem and so what now?

I purged.

I purged my wardrobe, chest of drawers, desks, closets, book shelves and cupboards. The garden was next and then every box in the garage. Things were taken to thrift in truck loads weekly. If I hadn't used it I threw it out or donated it. My vast library of occult books that I had carried with me like icons for decades were destroyed. Some people say that books, being paper do not pick up negative or positive energies, but that isn't true. Everything is influenced in one way or another, because energy keeps everything on the planet together and is a part of every thing. Divorce, bad relationships, worry, anger by the truckload due to family bullshit and backlash, moving, vibes from years in Fresno and desperation to leave the negative vortex had built up into a soup of negativity. The past few years it didn't matter how mundane the topic was, I would start to read a few pages and feel zapped. Dulled.

The whole experience was leaving me emotionally crippled and I finally stopped feeling sorry for myself and decided to walk again.

It's not been easy, but it has been an eye opener.

I went out and listed with an employment agency to go back into the real work force. I landed what I didn't think I wanted, another Engineering firm gig. But this was different. Oddly, the people I have wound up working with are intelligent outside of the engineering realm, happy, joking, eclectic and not cardboard. They think outside of the box and I didn't expect that. I also didn't expect the variety of pagans and eclectically spiritual individuals there. Or maybe, just maybe it was me that had opened. I had found a home.

I began to create...knitting hats, ponchos, scarves. Stitches were changed, patterns altered. Shrines began again and I made one for Marie Laveau to send to my brother in New Orleans. The Yule decorations went up on Thanksgiving weekend and I felt the season creeping in slowly. I was melting.

My life was changing. Gut wrenching at times. The panic attacks had ceased...Thankfully. I turned to my husband again and found it comforting instead of demanding. I'd never shut him off, just wasn't sharing or feeling...like wrapping your arms around yourself in self-protection and hermiting. I needed to insulate. I needed to strip my wiring, but just didn't realize it.

Then there was the fiasco of my father-in-law and the death of his wife. What to do with Dad. Move him up here with us, move into a different place completely that wasn't my choice. Be someone else, be supportive to him and get smacked around emotionally and mentally for it by him. He was short, ignorant and plain rude to me no matter what I did. The idea of living with this man was not appetizing in any way, shape or form. I washed my hands of the entire situation three nights ago when I had found he wants to live in a condo in the downtown area and gamble all of his money away. He, of course, hasn't said he is going to throw it all on the ponies and roulette wheel, but he's made his intentions known by his actions.

On that final letting go, I found not only was I walking, I'd sprouted wings. I awoke at 1 am that night after sleeping 4 hours and thought of ways to make our house more or our own. I was looking at furniture design, sculpturing the walls, mosaics for the bathroom. I was looking a plaster, resins, stone and glass, envisioning an elvish home with a backyard forest retreat in the middle of the desert. Sleep was gone and my mind went childishly berserk.

The baseboards would be changed, stone on the floors throughout the house, stone on the walls inside in stacking fashion up the walls, glass mosaics of all sorts in the baths, carving, painting and woodburning of Celtic, Scandinavian and naturalistic designs on the baseboards, faux ceiling beams, above the arched entryways and on the hearth. I would paint a mural above the fireplace from the Lord of the Rings...or at least inspired by it and the Book of Kells. Latex mold work and wax casts for creating my own space. Finally, I was free to start living in this house...and started the projects by buying two bags of frosted and vitrioled glass pebbles in shades of medium to deep purples to clear. I will buy a bag everytime I go to the store and begin the project in my hall bathroom.

Reading? Yeah, I'm, reading again. Starting with books I have wanted to enjoy for a long time. I jealously guard my reading time. The Silmarillion and the Lost Tales, Vol. 1 are being read simultaneously. (Best way to read the Lost Tales or you will get lost.) Re-examination and baby steps back to faith, and all the things I don't know. Re-reading the details and not glossing over or skimming through anything.

It amazing how much stuff I really don't know.

Wow! I have no clue!

What a great feeling to be curious again about things I was taking for granted or felt stiffled by. I thought... was more than sure that I knew so much...or believed I did. Amazing how we trap ourselves with that. I wasn't even aware I had done it. I didn't know that I was stagnant intellectually or spiritually...well I take that back. Spiritually I was recognizing something for years, but it wasn't clear (nor was I motivated) and there was no idea on where to start to work on it.

So off I go to clean house, plot and, well do who knows what....delicious!

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Holy Ghost in My Morning Coffee

Dove in the morning coffee creamer
...or is it....
(dum dum dum.....)

the Holy Ghost?

Do you think I can get the Roman Catholic Church to sanction this as a vision? You know like the Virgin Mary in the tree trunk or the image of Jesus Christ on the tortilla?

Hmmmmmmmmm!

photo copyright 2006. LAG All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Stage Door Exit


Stage Door Exit

When I come back

will you be there to hold me?

Not long,

just a moment to soothe

aching nerves and my tired soul...

Give the loving words

I long to hear

from one

so dear to me now...as always

So far

I have travelled so far

but the reason was not clear

I echoed out the cry

only to hear it

bouncing back lonliness

It was the only answer

Walk the corridors to my rooms

and fall in step...

dark ramblings

with the castles of air

of then and now

Shadows come and go

touching me briefly

passing lightly

Too much (sorrow)

wells up and it

taints my dance

I light a candle for you

burning it bright in the window

light in our storms

light for your way

Pulling back from desperation

I walk the sea foam

gazing into the hems of the oceans' skirt

The decoration and finery of small shells

seaweed embroiders the story of us in her gown

The sea is lifting me

in the shallows

to lay me soft on your shores

silent at your feet

Gather me there, my Love

Away from the lights and stage door exits

lift me away to the fires and warm furs

where I can sleep in peace

perhaps a small time together

without dramas and wars

Claim me as your own and heal this weary soul.

copyright 1987 LAS. all rights reserved.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Your Own Version and Mine


A thorn sticks in my finger and it penetrates right into my brain. There are times when I am afraid of my thoughts...scared of what my mind will conjure up for it's own enjoyment or torture.

I have been writing since 5 this morning. Unable to sleep, the poems, no, the emotions ran over in my mind ceaselessly. If I purgue this, will it leave me alone? How many times do I have to purgue it? It drones on and on as a nun over her rosary.

rerun....

change the channel

twilight zone and they are all the same show.

popcorn for breakfast with oatmeal and a dash of brown sugar with my tea. Okay, let's see where this leads me.

Where it leads you.

There is a dark side to me...glittering, knife-edged and very, very sharp. I am throwing it all up on paper, so to speak...the beautiful, bold, insecure and bizarre.

...the smell of snuffed out candles in the evening air and church confessions banging my head against the dark, on the wood confessional and the words of someone anonymous giving me meaningless absolution for sins I haven't even thought of committing.....wouldn't in a million years.

I count candles and rain drops, and tears that were shed over trivialities and nonesense whose intense meaning in my past look absurd in the now. I keep counting them. Collecting them as scattered beads on the ground, something precious to be put away until I have the patience to re-string them and turn them into something truly beautiful.

The night is young and the spirit is believing in the wax and lighted string and wisps of smoke tangled up in prayers so intimate and unspoken aloud . The silence within me echos up and the choir screams. The spirit boils.

Do you see it? Do you understand ?

So much I pick up and see. So much that goes unnoticed in everyday hurrying to work.

People pass by the building fascade and never stop and REALLY see it. They don't know about the beautiful tiles and the rococo. They don't see the gargoyal sitting placid and ready to spout water during the rainfall. The see the piece of yesterday's newspaper and dog crap by the doric column and have no idea there is a sky above. Eyes to the pavement. Attention to the bits of litter and trash.

I see it, too. I just have the nerve to raise my head. That makes me dangerous. That makes me know too much.

Laying down at Sutro gate is a cement lion. He waits and watches the decades roll by with the fog from the Pacific Ocean. He is covered in sun, covered in dew, cloaked in rain. His roar is frozen. He is wise and aware of everything that has passed before him in the stream of traffic and time that has flowed down the hill over looking the ruins of ghosts and laughter and dancing in the dark to the orchestra after oysters and champagne. Dancing on the floors of a building that you can't see above the ruins and the tunnel and the boom of the waves at high tide when the spirits run with your candle through the darkness and snuff it out on the rocks and water at the end of cave. Dancing with their ghost lights and dreaming of us as a fantasy in their mind.

Madness, you whisper.

Silent. So much is.

Phantom...Do You Know

Phantom
Do you know the dangers
hanging on draperies of dreams
half-glimpsed
slightly
remembered
but in the waking
crumbling to dust
Even in the light of day
you walk alone here
She is
somewhere
lurking
watching silent
electric
prickling your skin
You turn awaybut can't resist
to search for eyes in the dark
...leopard lights...
soft
running beside you
Something blurry
out of the corner of your eye
She materializes
just that fast
to catch your breath
between her teeth
and drink your passions
as the candles gutter
into smoke wisps in the night.

picture and poem copyrighted 2006. All rights reserved.


Relics

Relics

The stuff of records

realm of the Egyptian Thoth

It is the knowledge

of something missing

thickly veiled

black solitude and shadows

queries...

...a held belief...

photos displayed

in high-gloss fronted cabinets

stare blindly

at their own reflection

tragedies

triumph

love blessed (and forbidden)

The photos stare

and like the sphinx

remain silent.

Photo and poem copyrighted 2006. All rights reserved.