Thursday, April 24, 2008

A Dance with Melancholy

Journal entry dated 04/21/08

Going within...

I spent the weekend busy with errands and social engagements. What happens is that I become full of many things. Emotions, thoughts, whispers, questions, desires...rhetoric.

I don't know if they belong to me and I feel out of sorts. Somewhere in-between. I'm floating, but being pulled down. I pick up the phone to call someone but there's no one I want to talk to..no one that really understands (so I think) and it's like a chaotic, demented, sad tale. Tones and pitch rising like an aria then plummeting down to pay a visit to Hades. In the Underground.

Dancing with melancholy.

A contrived smile on my lips.

The mask is pretty and distracting. Ahh, but the soothsayers know better. The yogis, mystics, the Mad and Enchanted. They know it, too.

A brave face with sparkling sad eyes.

Piles of books waiting for the chance to be devoured. Explored. And the little girl inside waits. Somewhat impatiently. Tired of speaking with ghosts and gangsters...she waits for the hostess to drop her pen...and dream...so that she can tell her what she is unwilling to hear...in her waking and walking state.

The small breaks are short. Streamline after streamline they come. They have been waiting for this chance. They jump up excitedly like rainbow colored sand crabs when they see the ink change to black.

And the dreams. They come. Vividly. And with old, painful history. Reminders of unhealed wounds and unpaid debts...the few chances of redemption or ridicule. Sometimes both.

My inner voice yearns to be heard. Yet, I question the true owner. Is it a voice from beyond? The neighbor's? Does it matter?

I would think not..I suppose...

I struggle with the idea of writing fiction. It is what many call, 'telling lies'. However, the idea of writing a story masked as fiction seems more fitting.

But, dare I ask the question: Am I hiding or protecting?

After some speculation, I feel there is a need but for reasons such as integrity. That is a required ingredient in the telling of a tale full of love, romance, magic, adventures, tragedy and redemption. Not to mention the mystery of anonymity.

The peaceful, poet warrior with a sword in one hand and a pen in the other. Journeying through her own subconscious battle of inner workings, that at times...while wading through metaphorically...seem to coagulate into mud or worse: quicksand....
That's when you fall
down
down
down
into the darker areas. Doors are barred. Rusty chains decorate some entrances. There's a dank smell and no light. There is anger here. And fear. Loneliness and confusion. Unsatiated hunger. It is far from pleasant here in this place. The little girl sometimes comes here to skip down the halls. Her shoes knocking heel to toe like tiny hooves as they resound again and again, a reminder of the world's indifference.

It is in solitude that I find some solace.

Though the dark places are unpleasant...it is necessary to have the courage to explore its regions so that when you reach the inevitable end (and yes it's there)...the light is intoxicating and flagrant.

A Spring blooms here as well.

I can see it far beyond in the distance.

Closing my eyes....

And I'm there. A warmth fills me and the little girl is laying in a field full of dandelions. The red ribbons in her hair seem to glisten in their movement..oh, wait...they're ladybugs!

Butterflies decorate the sky and the ground. Little clusters of color moving about in an erratic fashion.

These are the Fairy messengers leaving only love notes in every flower they visit.

This is what I take with me when I journey back to the World As It Is.

Monday, April 14, 2008

J'ai un faible pour le chocolat...

That's french for: I have a weakness for chocolate...

I have this line that kind of whispers...it's the little voice of loneliness that comes out when I think of an old friend: I miss you because you're never here....

Journal entry dated 04/12/08:
And so the warm day is winding its way to cooler temperatures. It's as if Summer is impatient and eager to come out to play. My dreams are vivid and intense as ever. Old lovers stop by for visits, having conversations with ones that have passed on. My training of martial arts continues alongside my inner conflict. This internal war rages on attempting to find semblance and balance in-between the aggressive and masculine behavior that surfaces with the 'feminine' part in me not wanting a hostile take-over. It's a struggle to find what is beautiful, fierce, and strong...all within me...and accepting it as is...

I enjoy the moments when my upstairs neighbor plays his guitar. It makes me think of the kind of life I'd like to share with someone...

Journal entry dated 04/13/08:
Last night was filled with music and experimentation. Listening and learning the language of the music was wondrous and beautiful.

There are these moments that I live for...stepping out onto a porch, overlooking a view of the mountains. The splashes of light and dark greens hits you with a commanding presence... or speckles of yellows and golden browns that can only be seen peripherally while driving speedily down the freeway....then, seconds later....being halted by the emerging emerald green grass against a majestic blue sky....a rosy scene with a pink twist...

I decided to try something new. Allowing the night to unfold...to be drawn in by the melodies and what they say to me. To allow the words to flow through me as they widdle off my tongue. To smile at the reactions and light they create. To shake my head at the ridiculous responses that are unearthed. Oh, how I long to hear the right melodies of words that can unlock my own suppressed inhibitions.

The sink and bins are overflowing. Rooms filled with dust coupled with piles of random objects conjugate a new painting or game of : what does not belong here?

I've realized the difficulty in interacting with new people requires lots of patience..and understanding. The first initial attraction draws you in. Conversation fueled only by desire. Fear becoming an obstacle for depth...so frivolity accents the night like salt and pepper only adhering to the safe haven of surface bullshit.

These thoughts reflect the recent events and confirm my restlessness, my true desire. The poet in me is strong and the warrior in me even stronger...

This craving I have has yet to be satiated. Words of warmth and romance...light sensual kisses of bliss felt in my being...

Drawing on thunder and the dawn, I patiently await for the storm that rumbles in the distance...

Ready...waiting...enjoying the presence of this hungry anticipation...