Voice

Soft voice, a little nervous, maybe. Mine has faint quaver I can’t control – I listen intently. Feel the hesitation, feel the feeling, feel the energy rippling across thousands of miles of distance. Soft talk, happy laughter. Laughing out loud together feels amazing. Talk is like the most sensitive touch and flows as naturally as breathing. Questions that feel like invitations. Prosaic talk, small talk, edge of frustration: so very intimate and close –  yet so far. Talk of this, talk of that, and everything is right there, contained in that space of voice.

Voice is all, and I exist only in that voice, am contained by that voice. Though it feels not confining; just the opposite. World opens up with that voice. The magic of curiosity, of wanting to discover…new world. Together.

Voice caresses me. Voice envelops me. Late nights, deep into the night listening to that voice. Voice is my all – all beauty, all goodness, all of bright and shining hopeful wonder. Voice is both anchor and goal post.

Voice pushes me, gently. Nudges me into new places. Lays bare my heart, my body, my spirit with sensitivity. Voice softly: I love you.

More softly still, and yet insistently, over and over and over again…

Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou Iloveyou …

I am transported to stars, and shaken to my very centre with this raw power of voice. Be this magic? Be this heaven? Be this dream? Star fire echoes with I love you…

Whatever else it be, your voice is the sweetest gift I have ever known.

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Will You Be My Imaginary Friend?

My rather cool blogger friend Teenage Introvert nominated me for an award, which is fun, and I thank him. This award has rules; however, let me say at the outset that I am changing the rules of this game –  because I can  🙂

Up first, 11 random facts about me.

Me, my imaginary cat friend, and her imaginary friend

Me, my imaginary cat friend, and her imaginary friend

My nickname is moo, short for lovesick moo…the story is long. If I were a crayon, I would be scarlet. I believe in love, in magic, and in Santa Claus. I love a cowboy. I like vanilla – oh, real Tahitian vanilla beans, oh yes, oh yes – better than chocolate. I have an imaginary friend. I love the zest, and spice, and adventures of life, although – I am a homebody kind of person; the best adventures happen, I think, when you see your own familiar world in a new way. I adore people who jump into things with arms and hearts wide open. To dance, to play, to sing, to make a friend – to do anything, really, with enthusiasm and curiosity for what is to come expresses a joi de vivre that often seems lacking in our world. I am rather quiet, and enjoy my solitude very much. This makes it both thrilling and frightening to love a cowboy…the fine tension between love and fear tells me my heart is growing a size or two.

And next, the questions that were posed to me by Teenage Introvert.

 Name your earliest memory.

My dad, reading aloud to me from “The Cat In The Hat”.

Let’s spice things up. What is your favourite meal from a restaurant?

I love authentic Thai food, but especially any red curry dish.

 Which sense do you like the most? Why?

All of our senses work together, of course, to create the savoury, simmering stew pot of our lives…but the one I could not do without would be touch. To be held, by someone who loves me. All others fade in comparison.

What was your ideal vision for your blog?

My vision for my blog, was, and is, to have a community of friends who engage with me in its creation.

 How well do you deal with your emotions?

I try to express myself, always, in ways that are true to what I am feeling – my deepest inner feelings. It is easy to be flip, or funny, or sarcastic, especially when it is uncomfortable to be vulnerable…This is courage, I believe, of the highest kind – to express yourself honestly and openly, with care for the feelings of others, and with grace. It is a courage I am still learning.

 Would you rather…kill your best friend, or have your best friend kill you?

If a friend were to assist me to die at my request, that would be a blessed thing. If I were to help a friend to die as they wished, I believe that might be the ultimate gift of grace and love.

 What was your most vivid dream/nightmare?

My dreams, and my occasional nightmares, are always vivid and impressionistic. They feel rather like finger painting.

 Do you like where you live?

I love where I live, which is an extraordinarily beautiful place where many of my friends also live. Never the less, I am ready to move on, because other loves call to me.

 What was your first experience on a social network/forum like?

My experiences on social networks of all kinds have been simply amazing. I enjoy the easy give and take of ‘virtual’ friends, and have been privileged to meet many of them in person. There is something about the intimacy of the written/visual that illuminates people’s hearts quite well, I think.

 What’s your main past-time hobby?

Reading and writing are the activities I spend the most time on, because this is what I love to do…but these always have to be balanced with hiking, canoeing, riding, biking…always, time to play outside.

 How do you feel about this nomination?

I think the nomination is great fun, although strictly speaking it doesn’t apply. I’m enjoying participating in the spirit of the thing!

 Now, according to the rules (!), I am going to pose 11 questions, although I shall not nominate anybody. This is a time-consuming exercise, and many of us are pressed for time…So let me say this: you might simply ask yourself these questions, and answer them in your own mind. You might blog this game, and do let me know if so! You might, if you are really courageous, choose to answer the questions in comments…which I would love! Participate in a way that feels comfortable to you.

11 Questions to my imaginary friends:

 Who, and what do you love?

Why?

Do you have an imaginary friend?

Kisses, or hugs?

What does integrity mean to you?

What makes you fearful?

Can you taste colours?

Besides love, what makes your heart sing and makes you jump for joy?

Vanilla, or chocolate?

What makes you curious?

Will you be my imaginary friend?

 Ah, thanks for reading, lovely people. Love and friendship ask us to share in ways that are not always comfortable…If we are honest, we must acknowledge that our singing hearts and joyful jumping are sometimes restrained because of that very discomfort. Yet, love and joy are the perfume of life…I am so pleased, my imaginary friend, that I can tell you anything, anything at all.

The essence, I think, the essence and essential spirit of participating in this exercise is to share something of ourselves, to share and thus to invite the sharing of others…for it must go both ways. Sharing is a word that has been much overused, but one need not be profoundly philosophical, reveal one’s innermost secrets,  disclose one’s greatest embarrassment, to share oneself. The simple and the ordinary, the daily ritual, the spark that lights up the face…these are all pieces of ourselves that will let others be our friends. We cannot have friends unless we can be friends …and we must make more friends, for our world so desperately requires it. Our world needs us to know each other a little better, to banish the judgements of first impressions, to share our joys and sorrows, to move beyond the superficial and strangled and straightened … streaming from the lake of desire,  into the river of playful imagining, and washing down to the sea of joyful possibilities…

I hope you will be my imaginary friend, and just so, the possibilities are limitless.

Sweetness

Honeyed. Fresh. Golden. Perfumed with spice. Clear. Keen. Engaging.

This is how I describe my life today, at this moment, on the cusp of another birthday that brings me to the magic number of 57. All numbers have some magic, of course, but this number – oh, this number – sees me overflowing with the sweetness of life, with the sure and certain intuition that focus, intent, and direction of course are aligned. That life follows its true path, like an arrow skillfully loosed…

I hear you, my imaginary friend, bid me bask in the golden moment, while keeping a sharp eye out for the curves and thickets ahead. For we know the road is never straight, and the end is only visible towards the end. Never the less, the delighted anticipation of what is around the curve is a large piece of my joy in life at this moment. There will be a thicket or two, I am sure, but these must be seen to be navigated, and I am not there yet.

Of what is this lyric happiness composed? A glorious summer, with the promise of a spectacular autumn ahead. The practise of craft and the honing of skills. The love of family and friends. You, of course, my imaginary friend, you. And perhaps some would call it the mellowness of aging, but which I think is more the understanding of my own true nature, the willingness to let the real me emerge and be seen.

My twenties – thirties – forties – much came easy to me, though the folk saying of be careful what you wish for comes to mind. I wished, and therefore I got, in those days, only to wonder why it did not satisfy. The genie in the lamp is much more reticent, now; he grants me only what will live in my heart happily. Or, perhaps he grants me the discernment to know what ought to live in my heart…

And you, my imaginary friend, you. You live in my heart…my honeyed, fresh, golden, perfumed with spice, clear, keen, engaging heart. It is a tangled garden, but beautiful for all that, I hope. It does not grow in orderly rows or tidy plantings, but sprawls and runs riot and reaches for the sun and glows with the warmth of the good earth…

The Tangled Garden, JEH MacDonald, National Gallery of Canada

Just so, like that. What shall you make of it?

Tales of Molly Dale’s Blue Eyes

Laz Freedman's Poetry Blog

Tales of Molly Dale’s Blue Eyes           

________________________

Molly Dale….

Walks along quietly, upon a grassy trail towards the bluer moments, with no ends,

Coming upon trees so free, speaking wooden things… she thinks, that’s how…

How my words would make a difference, when nothing compares and anything could be,

Then in a second glance, warm winds blow leaves, surrounding her softly, only

Telling a beginning of some strange story…. somehow forming into shapes …

This must be art, of a sort… what can I derive, is there a meaning to me, to you?

Molly Dale…

Still walks with a story in mind, though her heart leads the way, not so strange…

I just think about and see the way there, oh and the blue, as if only she approaches,

Seems so far away, yet right along side, reflects the sky in Molly Dale’s Blue eyes…

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