VPS – vague peregrination scenario

A big thank you to another one of Christine Ray’s fine works, as a particular memory was triggered today.

~*~

Over twenty years ago, my husband and I were on our honeymoon.

I know. I have already shocked you in that first line. Or maybe I mean, me. I’m shocked.
Not just that we have been married for over twenty years. But because it wasn’t too long ago that life existed without GPS. And cell phones!

We did a camping road trip. Through the SW of Colorado and into Arizona and Utah. And probably New Mexico.
With dodgy maps. And a simple desire to just keep driving and camp when we were tired.

The amount of natural beauty we encountered was rather overwhelming for this young whipper snapper from Australia, and I would have been happy to camp anywhere, just to hug the earth. Or whatever…
(Note to self, find out what the heck “whipper snapper” means. Good Lord, I’ve used it for years so recklessly…)

One night, we found ourselves in Kanab, Utah. We decided to stay in a hotel and found a place that evidently was a resort to the stars. You know, in the 50s. When they were there to film westerns. Everyone’s favourite genre. Well, at least in ‘the Lego Movie’.

What an incredible coincidence that I had bought a swim suit that looked like it was from the 50s…

We decided to swim in the pool.
Best decision we could have made.

Because a storm came up.
Out of the blue of Utah skies.

A thunderous lightning hurled rage of patio furniture slow motioned right in front of us in the deepening darkness. My husband gently suggested we leave the pool…

(Kids, it’s past your bed time. I’ll give you a moment. Don’t forget to put the cat out. Or whatever you do with your cat.)

That’s right. I didn’t leave the pool.
(Something kids should not try at home, apparently. It was something I never considered before, as I often liked swimming in the ocean in the dark and in storms, and rain and whatnot. I guess you could say we were raised by people with differing parenting styles…).

But I convinced my husband we were safer in the pool, and if debris flew our way, we could dive into the “safety” of the water. I think that is the moment he realised he had, in fact, married a genius.

(This was the cassette I played the most on that trip if I remember rightly. I loved the title song. It is based on a Maori legend, I believe. Once again, please don’t correct me if I am wrong. I like thinking that).

something (part two)

 

Midnight tunes

thought balloons

filled in, and

it’s coming around again.

 

misplaced clowns

haunted frowns

shaving paint

the mirror’s afloat again.

 

poignant eyes

bleed unlies

trip that thread

now what did they mean again?

 

If I had words I’d tell you

I don’t walk miles to let you know

you are near and so far

my most unimagined song.

 

I don’t climb but I see you

I don’t dig but I rest beneath

those salient words that you breathe

I’m drenched in unimagined air…

 

something (part one, revised)

the book with no names

Easter Tuesday 018.jpg

So for those of you who don’t know, I am married to a Lutheran pastor.

I could seriously write a book about what life has been like in the last 20+ years living this reality. The thing is, if I did, I would have to kill everyone first. Because changing names wouldn’t be enough.
I jest, of course!

But, these people are dear to my heart. My husband is the pastor of five churches and our churches are small. And of course, microcosms of greater realities. There are times I have enjoyed worshipping with big congregations. The fellowship can be incredible. However, for people with anxiety issues, being welcomed into a smaller community has been an extremely healing thing for them, and we have witnessed beautiful things that literally brings tears to my eyes.

One of the highlights for me was when a very reclusive gentleman, who has some serious anxiety issues for a number of reasons, finally joined our smallest congregation. To say that it terrifies him to join a large group of people, would be a grave understatement. So to see his ongoing healing from the love in that community, has been nothing short of amazing. Last year, he called our house to wish me a happy birthday on behalf of their little church. It is hard for me to put into words what that meant to me, because I know the agony he would have gone through before he made that call. (Please don’t tell him I wrote about him, he would die! 🙂 )

I truly feel blessed I am a part of all of this. And I will always be proud to be a part of these families. Warts and all.

(And thank you WordPress, for being another “family” I have come to love.)

 

silly ditty thingamajig for Kindra

while prancing on my unicorn

one day, I felt so free

I pondered life

and all its ways

and how I never particularly liked horses, (especially after that one time at Ariane’s but anyway), ironically.

 

don’t get me wrong

they’re beautiful

to look at and admire

their graceful stance

their peaceful ways

and to watch them gallop along movie set beaches and whatnot I would not likely tire

 

from any time soon.

But when I look

at what needs to be done

and the mess that’s in this room

I stop a while

to appreciate

that unicorns really are more awesome

how it lifts me from life’s gloom.

(*edit I also feel that the unicorn should do the prancing,

not I.)

 

I’m so grateful

for the lovely gift

from such a gracious soul,

I told her that I named it,

“she who treads lightly and wisely but knows how to have a darn good time”

and makes me feel not so

unwhole.

(*NB. even though the literary slaughtering that occurred here may offend some viewers, please be assured no unicorns were harmed in the process. Well, maybe just their dignity…
A big thank you to Kindra for the unicorn.)

And here’s a musical tribute that I believe matches the genuine nature of, well, something…

abstinence

Look what my talented new blogging friend did. Amazing what some people can do when you just toss a random word their way!

 

hands in the garden

A poem based on the word suggestion, “restore” from fellow WordPress blogger saynotoclowns. You can check out her page at https://saynotoclowns.wordpress.com/author/saynotoclowns/. Thank you for the suggestion and I hope you enjoy the composition. 🙂

abstiencemonth three, vice free

clarity restored:

insignificant and bored.

© Anthony Gorman 2017

image: http://thewritepractice.com/the-absurd/

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here’s the thing…

the differences in magnitude on scales forever changing.

Fluorescence from the colliding of atoms rearranging.

They wait for them to die so they can get a better seat,

you never liked opera anyway the flickering’s offbeat.

Is cryptic really worth it when you want to stand connected,

I ask myself while caffeinated, the parts before dissected?

The conscious streaming lullabies when subconscious starts to waken,

denial is the better part of volcanic years unshaken,

and at the end it’s music in a different dialect,

I’m not making sense of any notes but they move me to correct,

the chorus that’s repeating,

the snow instead of sleeting

is the key I’d much prefer,

just add____ ____ and then stir…

nothing to see here

David Ruston
floral art by David Ruston, flower arranging genius

I have to write!

Which begs a million tangents.

But I’m in my bath robe

and my house needs organising

and these papers need sorting

and there are dates disappearing

into forests of my mind that choke with unclearing.

And an artist has died, and the whole world should have cried

but it all goes on.

 

The dust is swirling

and threatening

to come over my fence.

Too late.

It lands so finely over everything

reminding me of that dream the other night

when I saw you.

 

Our embrace.

 

And nothing was said breathed.
Except understanding.

 

And the wind is picking up the dust again…

“don’t let me bore you with my knowledge of New Zealand…”

     (NB May be some coarse language…and I don’t mean when they quote Australians…)

I have yet to understand how our accents can be so different.

I watched a whole documentary once. On the plane. To New Zealand.

It answered not my questions. It was an hour long exercise in finding different ways to say

we have no idea

why the New Zealand accent is as it is

(Just between us, my husband was pretty excited when the air hostess started talking about “door sex”.  He thought we had, indeed, found the most welcoming country on the planet.

“Door six” the person next to us so helpfully pointed out…)

When checking out of our hotel in Auckland I had to ask my husband to translate,

my American husband to his Australian wife.

I am not proud of this fact. But it is what it is.

(I mean, my ear was filled with Americanese, because we lived there. And, well, my husband speaks it.)

He is better with languages anyway…

 

when there just aren’t words…

I had lunch recently at the Organic Cafe in Stirling with my dear friend Melissa, for my birthday.

One of the women in critical condition from the London terrorist attack works in this cafe, I found out today (I don’t know her personally). I have been going there for years. It’s an institution now in the Adelaide hills.

Of course, there’s so much we could all say, and debate and whatever. But I just wanted to listen to this. So I thought I would share it.

I love this piece of music. I bought it on cassette years ago, it moved my young heart so deeply. The cries from an anguished heart, that is something we can all relate to.

 

(I am not Catholic, but if you are interested, here is the context, and these are the words, in Polish of course:

“Movement 2 – Lento e largo – tranquillissimo
The second movement is based on a message found scrawled on a Gestapo prison cell wall in 1944 by an 18 year old girl Helena Wanda Blazusiakówna:
No, Mother, do not weep,
Most chaste Queen of Heaven
Help me always.
Hail Mary.
It is heralded by a radiant set of chords that has made the whole work famous, but then quickly darkens. Again, the theme is motherhood, but this time, the child calls out to the mother, both actual and spiritual.”

And if you would like even more context: Symphony of Sorrowful Songs)

Oh road trips, how I love you…

Lyrics:

There is something exciting
About leaving everything behind
There is something deep and pulling
Leaving everything behind
Something about having everything
You think you’ll ever need
Sitting in the seat next to you

And i watch another white dash
Another white dash
Another white dash
Fly beside us
And I watch another white dash
Another white dash
Another white dash
Fly beneath us
Away away

There is
Yelling of an engine a constant rattling door
There is serious deep and mumbled
A conversation I’m not in
Flickering lights shadows of trees
Makes me blink my eyes
Makes the land appear like a really old movie
And I watch…

And i watch another white dash
Another white dash
Another white dash
Fly beside us
And I watch another white dash
Another white dash
Another white dash
Fly beneath us
Away away
I got a heart full of rubber bands that keep getting caught on things

And I count another white dash
Another white dash
Another white dash
I drift off at eighty…something
And I count another white dash
Another white dash
Another white dash
Out of time with the music

Something exciting about leaving everything behind
There is something deep and pulling
Leaving everything behind
Something about having everything
You think you’ll ever need
Sitting in the seat next to you

the journey doesn’t end here…

But she really did love those tiles.

They were hand made

and placed with loving

carelessness, in haste.

 

She picked them for practicality

for their water proof qualities

she thought,

(not thinking about salt water, of course),

and their quirkiness,

something different for everyone.

 

He helped her peel them off,

“it’s time for a renovation”, he said.

And they exchanged those looks.

The knowing one she thought she always had

he now wore.

 

Because really, he knew this was no renovation.

It was simply an unveiling.

(‘Cursum Perficio’ was engraved on tiles in the entrance to Marilyn Monroe’s last home. It wasn’t actually in mind when I started writing this, it came afterwards, hence the title…)

song meaning

 

 

She.

Thanks to Heart to Soul being my latest follower, I read this beautiful poem she wrote! It deserves to be shared!

bhavika24


She emerged out as warrior,. She never wanted to be a queen,. She was a beautiful poem,. Incomplete,unheard and unseen.

She wore her pain like high heels,. And walked towards her passion,. She cried in the night under her palms,. Yet, she is a marvelous temptation.

She again smiles the next morning,. As if she never cried last night,. She is a one man army,. Famous for love and known for fight.

She stands tall,in front of all,. Provides everybody with love and care, You may find a million girls, But a women like her is very rare.

She dances between the heart and brain,. Demanding for the right & forgiving the wrong. Now she has become difficult to sing,. She was a poem now transformed into song.

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Soul stirring music

I can’t help sharing this. I love cello music and these clips are incredible… Thanks so much Raili

soulgifts - Telling Tales

Charley’s  post  over at Crazy Life reminded just how much I love listening to the deep tones of the cello. So I hunted down a few video clips to share with you.

Did you know that the cello’s four strings are tuned in perfect fifths? That’s pretty important in the world of music. Here’s why –

The perfect fifth is the most important interval in tonal harmony… and it is used for tuning string instruments. It is a constituent interval for the fundamental chords of tonal harmony.” Wikipedia

I even found a Finnish cello metal band called Apocalyptica ! The band is composed of classically trained cellists, graduates of the Sibelius Academy in Helsinki,  and a drummer.

 The cello’s low pitch is only beaten by that of the double bass. And here it is for comparison.

March 2017 Soul Gifting goes to Elaine’s Bloggers Paradise for being my…

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Recurring Dream

This is a reworking of a poem I wrote a couple of months ago, after visiting an old friend in Arizona. These gorgeous trees surrounded our camp site. A night by a campfire, sharing sorrows and burdens with an old friend, is one of the best things in life imho. Thanks to Charles, the reluctant poet   for inviting me to join ‘the back side of the night’ theme started by The sailor poet.  I really appreciate their encouragement, as well as that by Davy at Davy D blog.  Thanks Guys!

~*~

img_20170113_100300

How those maudlin woods enticed us

adorned so enchantingly with unprecipitation

and the black of trees’ core,

begging interpretation from the sympatheticly dressed.

But we decided not to indulge them.

Or

maybe us.

We held hands instead.

And ran through.

Through

to the back side of the night

where together we watched

the eyelid opening at horizon,

where we no longer dream

of windows wiping clean…

for Melissa

harmonica dream

swirling and seen

as we drift into sleep.

 

so long in the past

our impressions were cast

our friendship to keep.

 

our young minds so moved

the lyrics manoeuvred

to capture the steep

 

rise and the fall

of broken hearts’ call

the standing that’s reaped.

~

Thirty years on

our friendship, blessed, strong

lament’s aura seeps

still,

into sympathetic hearts

joined forever.

~*~

For dear Melissa, my friend from high school, the times we fell asleep to this gorgeous song. (I was so tempted, Mel, to write, “manooved” in the poem 🙂 )

And to those who struggle with serious addiction. My heart is filled with empathy ❤

 

 

 

the gentle cradle…

of the soundtrack

to my dream last night,

facing me forward

into the slip stream of my mind’s review,

while time was on the accordion

compressing the memories

and playing the ones that wanted to stay.

Mesmerising to a standstill

the notes raimented themselves before me,

their diaphanous linger

forming the shape of my mother.

Stepping out of the slipstream

I watch her,

beautiful in dream youth,

opening a window…