Monday, 31 October 2016

I CAN FIX IT!

One keeps things, even broken things, because ...  

"It's fine!  I can fix it!"

And so the pondering frog, with a leg and a hand detached, ended up on the dining room table.  The little metal bird with its wing undone, the spring sprung, lay beside him.  I had the fullest intention of repairing them both neatly.

I came across them at 3.00 a.m. today since I still can't sleep. I  don't think I will for a while yet.  It doesn't matter. I'm not tired.  It will not last much longer. Not this particular night.  

The morning birds would already be conversing. Nay. Concluding morning prayers. I would be writing about them if I were "home", but I am "home" in the Bay, again.  All I can hear is the fishpond waterfall and a few crickets. The house has its own voice. Creaks in the ceiling. Fridge rattles.  My laptop sounds like a toy house fridge.  Same noise, just softer.

I took out five movies.  I only watched Benicio Del Toro as Escobar. Paradise Lost, it's called.  I love that face.  His mouth whispers - well, almost whispers.

"I love you," sounds like a death threat.

He also acted in, "Things we lost in the Fire"

Weird with the X Files and Whitney Huston mix of actors, but the kids are great. They fit the man with the smile that wrinkles so much it looks like a wince, frowns so hard that it looks like a trick smile.  A pretend frown, not confused, a laughing kind of think about that for a bit before you think that, kind of a smile.   

For one who reads faces and hands and lips and all the gambler's tells, he's a pudding in a fancy fine dining place where the portion is tiny, sculpted and tinted to make you want to take it home and keep it on the mantelpiece to look at when there's only yesterday's bread in the bin and the peanut butter jar is empty, lying through its lid because one can never get that layer off the glass.

I don't like to read about the men I love - actors I mean.  I like to think of them and how they make me feel about them, even the villains.  I don't want to find out that Al Pacino is a nice man who walks grey ladies to church. I want a mean man who can tango and name the fragrance I sprayed about my head hours ago, drive a Ferrari, blind, and take down the establishment with one single speech and a uniform.  And then fall in love by accident.

Del Toro is the Benicio of all perfumes and it's just too late, I'm sorry to say.  I fell in love with him when I first clapped eyes on him and not even Robert Redford can unseat him, or Mr Pitt nor my darling of all darlings, (lies, lies, lies!  I have so many darlings and I refuse to kill them) Tom Hanks and Magnum. Oh, and Colin Firth and the lovely late lad who was a dad and I know it was the Joker that did him in, not the drugs, the meds, the be still my heart stuff some of us take when we feel too much good or bad or both.

We keep the broken things because they once charmed us enough to make us take them home, and there is always a tale that becomes endearing, if it wasn't already, right then and there, in the shattering, that sticks with us enough to hold us back from heading for the bin.  

One ditches a broken glass, a cup even, plates, hearts, and God only knows what else is disposable these days, but those little shards of time, past, bleat when a frog's hand shifts from under a sheet of paper doodled to death, one hand waving, or when the steel bird scrapes across the glass and falls to the carpet with only a little bit of a clang.  

There is preciousness in the buying, the keeping dusted and then in losing with a breaking.  It's all good.

I really only get that now.  Frog and Bird hit the bin today because the dining room table is a mess of no dining and that needs to change.  Besides, they are fixable.  

They are even charming in their brokenness.  They will land in the spot they must be in and a collector of things will find them there.  Frog will find his leg and sit in the sun on a window sill. Bird will fly once again from a spring or a string tied to the hook in the ceiling, or hooked, if she's blessed, and I am sure she is, to the branch of a tree.  They have begun another journey.

And sometimes broken people are brought into our lives for us to fix, and fix them we do, but in the fixing, there is a losing, and what is lost cannot be gained again.  

But, yes.  I can fix it.  I can fix it so I can lose it to someone else who finds it charming, broken bits notwithstanding.   

Bye, Bye, dear Frog.  You will be blessed with kisses from princesses and maybe one day you'll turn into a real boy.   

I've gone and fetched Bird.  She's a real Lady and she's too precious to leave to chance.  There are no trees where she'll be going and no ceilings either, come to think of it.  I shall take her "home" with me and hang her in our tree. Yes.  

I can fix it.

Oh, Lord.  I can't dump Frog.  Let me get him out that bin and spend the day with glue.  I think I shall go for a walk now.  The dark has departed. The pond waterfall sounds louder somehow.

Music for my heart.

Love and Light.  




    



Sunday, 30 October 2016

SLEEPING WITH MY EYES OPEN


By popular demand!  
 

I slept with my eyes open.

It was recently brought to my attention that I will be turning 66 this December. I can't tell you how that feels.  It's the strangest thing.  I don't feel 66.  I don't know what 66 is supposed to feel like.  I stopped thinking about my age at 64.  It's as if someone hit the pause button on time.  But, in real time I am about to turn 66.

I've considered myself informed, well read, conscious and as living on purpose, not by coincidence. But, I have been in a coma.  Sleeping with my eyes open.

I saw, I heard, I assessed and I considered. I judged, forgave, condemned, pardoned and adjusted, moved and swayed like a branch in the breeze trying to accommodate the un-functionality of soul without realizing that my soul was something apart from my body.

I have been medicated to balance my bouncing mind.  It keeps me awake all night sometimes.  And when I do sleep, I dream I am dodging bullets from the dark side.

I have been afraid to close my eyes and rest. I did that one time for about four months.  If you have ever wet a sheet of watercolour paper and dropped blobs of colour onto it, you would know how slow and fast the paper changes.  It seeps and then runs.

It was dusk, the air was sweet with the smell of blooms. Night creatures and birds put on their party hats and readied themselves to create the night's voice.

I was drinking wine, telling stories.

I was blogging before blogging was blogging.

I lived on a farm with bees and snakes and birds and two dogs. My best friend lived next door, also on a farm, if next door is a way to describe the next property.

Lines from an old movie that has stayed with me forever come to mind just now.

"The Life that I have, is all that I have, 
and it's Yours.
The Love that I have
of the Life that I have, 
is Yours and Yours and Yours." 
I regret I cannot remember the the name of the movie or the author.

The life that I had..,

Yes. That life that I had just then, the one that was at rest, burst like a soap bubble, sounded like a mirror shattering, felt like shards of steel penetrating my very being.

The music, the soundtrack for the scene - me leaving the farm and all that belonged to me - was from the movie I couldn't watch, the harsh one.

I wasn't up for seasons. I did not have the understanding.

The tale is not sad.  The sad part is that I imagined I was conscious.

About two years ago, when I was 64, (obviously), I started awakening.  Time's stood still since then. How else can one miss aging two years?

Just about then I met a lady. I felt I needed to explain my presence.  I didn't know how.

" GO TO THE LORD," she said.

I did.

"SING!" She said.

That's harder.   I haven't really listened to music in general for ... I don't know;  fifteen years.

My voice is still stuck. It comes and goes.  I need to remove another splinter or splinters from my soul.

The songs are in me still.

The work continues.  "Time is few." as we say incorrectly on purpose.
I have to be fully awakened.
Make things right.  

It's 2.50 a.m   The first birds have begun to sing.
Music for my heart.

Love and Light.







Monday, 10 October 2016