When The Monsoon Came I Lay Down, Safe In Your Palm

sunset_monsoon_5

And no sweet whisper,
Or gentle sigh,
or finely crafted love note,
carefully composed ballad,
time-honoured tradition,
sacred vow,
could stop the roar of water
rushing through my ears.

In the leafy green shadow
cast by boughs overburdened,
hard droplets slap against the lichen-speckled wood
the wooden floor that warmed me from the souls of my feet
to the pads of my fingers.
Slapping, and smacking, and
rushing through my ears.

Bare shoulders to the moist warm air,
sturdy boots clumping through the gathering pools,
all emerald reflections dotted slowly with the coltish blue,
peeking coyly through the now relenting cloud-cover.

And you, everywhere…
In the steam rising from pavements;
in the tentative, retreating mist,
in the subterranean rivers of the city
coursing, racing, charging, pulsing,
rushing through my ears.

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Happy Birthday, To Me.

La Minouche by Gord Hawkins

La Minouche by Gord Hawkins

This year, birthday weekend was a lot less lonely.

In fact, I was moved to tears several times throughout the day as the text messages, phone calls, emails, and Facebook posts poured in.

I know a lot of incredible people, and as a person who believes that the company we keep is a reflection of our character, I was humbled over and over.

I was kidnapped by my friends and lavished with love all weekend long. It was spectacular.

Each year, I am so very grateful to have made it to another birthday. I was amazed this year to consider how far I’ve come over the course of twelve months. I’m proud of my work, which I’m lucky to say that I love. I’m able to take care of myself, in all ways. Every day I’m learning more about who I am, and the things I want. I feel so very strong, even in the moments when I’m lonely. This feeling of inner quiet and strength would be impossible if I was unable to accept the love of the people who are nearest and dearest to me.

My goals in this coming year are at the forefront of my mind. What do I want? What do I really want? I’m beginning to wonder if the story I have told myself for so long is in fact what my heart really desires.

I’m falling in love with this woman. She is perfectly comfortable in the softly descending twylight settling over her attic apartment as she sits at an antique desk typing away. She can be alone, but realizes that she is never really alone. I love this woman, who is now my truest, most sincere friend. She knows always what is good for me, even though sometimes I choose to ignore her. When I look into her eyes, I can see that she is ancient and filled with wisdom I can only understand in fleeting moments. On my birthday, I pledged myself to her. I promised to heed her more often, and love her more attentively. She is the love I have sought for so long, and only through loving her, and wholly embracing her will I ever be complete.

I have all the love I need in the world.

Thank you to all of you who have added to the pile, and have helped to build this tower. Each day, I whisper your name in my heart.

Only Drowning Men Could See Him

Dandelion_Fluff

I can’t take credit for that one…it’s Leonard Cohen’s line, but I heard it this morning, while on the way to work¬† listening to Suzanne and it made me think…

I rather feel like drowning men can see me really well. I’m a little bit like a lighthouse that way. Or the Coast Guard. Of course, other people can see me well too. I think what I need to do is decide that I’m no longer a lifeguard.

All men will be sailors then until the sea shall free them.

Same song. This made me think about a recent post here. Men (or mankind) will continue to drown until they learn how to move with the sea.

Hmm…my intent was to post something a little less cryptic than the last post. The last one was a weird code that Technorati made me add so they could detect this blog. Finally today, a sweet friend piped up with “Ok, I’ve got to ask…what did your last post mean?”

I don’t think the above is any less cryptic, but perhaps I don’t give you enough credit?

Today was strange, and wonderful. Wonderful strange.¬† In fact, this entire week has felt as though I’ve been dreaming lucidly. My senses feel heightened, and the universe is pointing things out all over the place. Strange things like seeing the same man four times in various places around the city. A complete stranger, I might add, who paid no notice to the fact that our paths were continuously crossing. Strange things like a civil, lovely dog park visit with my ex-boyfriend who brought up the idea that perhaps one of us might leave the city soon and we’d need to work something out with Arthur. (I’ve had running away fantasies for the last month) Strange things like certain people calling, or texting, or emailing at precisely the exact moment I’ve thought about them, or spoken of them.

Today was wonderful strange.

I felt utterly exhausted when I woke, like I had not slept at all despite an early bed time. I couldn’t rouse myself. Once I finally rolled out of bed, I was late for work of course (there may have been another distraction or two keeping me from leaving on time). Then, once at work I had a most productive day, though I continued to feel exhausted. I ran on vapours until getting caught in a most profound TTC cluster fuck that had me in circles, but had this not happened, I would have missed a most extraordinary text message/phone call series that I’m still certain was a birthday prank. Or something. Then home, and Arthur, and a pre-rain walk. (At the time of this entry, the sky still has not opened up.) The beautiful strains of the handsome young doctor down the street sitting in a red wicker chair on his beautiful porch playing what I think was a mandolin, and smiling sweetly at me as Arthur and I passed. Then fetch, and friendly strangers, and home again to sweet neighbours in the garden and tonight there is music rehearsal. I will sing Suzanne myself, and find my own meaning in the lyrics.

Sweet red cardinal is singing me a song. The trees in the yard are full of ripe pears. It is the week of my birth, and the universe is laying flowers at my feet.

I should set some goals this week. Whisper some wishes into the wind. I feel like there is magik everywhere and something glowing and wonderful is reflected in the faces of the people I encounter.

Greater Independence
Deeper Understanding of Self
Increased Health and Strength
More Reading
More Music
Travel Opportunity
Greater Trust
More Writing
More Giving
More Family
More Art
More Cooking

There. Off you go then.

(My theory is that if I focus on all of these, that obvious, unspoken one will happen too.)


The Life Aquatic

ocean-temperature

There is an ocean inside you.
I can hear it between your words
as clearly as the yawning roar
from the pearly slit of the seashell at my ear.

You have held these tides at bay
and have quelled the undulation of the waves
with the steady power of your gaze,
but the fathoms are so strange and deep
that they wake you, feverish from your slumber.

Who will you become if you surrender?
If you abandon the exhausting tread
to sink slowly, and steadily
into the velvet green of unknowable fathoms,
will you be dangerously far from the all-illuminating glow of the sun?

Or will the ancient, secret levithan
fold you carefully to her scaly breast
and sift her golden treasures
from the silt and sediment that has settled
upon a trove so vast and bountiful
that the solar glare suddenly seems so garish and so strange.

medaw7cjyp

Infinite Possibility

Wait for Me by rosiehardy, flickr

Wait for Me by rosiehardy, flickr

Rosie Hardy is a seventeen year old girl who lives in England. She met her boyfriend, Aaron Space on Flickr, when they both participated in the 365 day contest. She lives in England, he in America. When I was seventeen, nothing about love seemed impossible.

This has been in my inbox for a while, and I’ve been debating whether or not to share this. It’s an excerpt from a letter written by my friend Richard Northwood, to a girl who added him on Facebook. I don’t believe he ever sent it to her, but he shared it with me after a discussion about online dating.

The Internet has changed everything about the way we socialize. Everything. I like to think I’m fairly savvy, and perceptive, but this letter still made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I remain convinced that a person’s actions speak louder than any words they may utter, and that by perceiving people with more than your eyes and ears, you can get a fairly good read on them, if you allow yourself to hear what they are telling you.

Without further ado, Richard Northwood:

Oh hey remember this morning when you sent me that message via chat and I didn’t answer? Then you sent seven more in the next five or six minutes and I didn’t answer any of those either? I was actually sitting at my computer creeping your profile deciding how I should respond. It is kinda weird what you can find out about someone just by flipping through their profile for twenty minutes. I mean, sure the whole ‘found out his full name and added him on Facebook seven hours after he made me feel like shit in public’ thing is a bit stalker and clingy, but you should probably remove all that crap in your profile about looking for your one true love and being tired of players, and looking for your prince. Your list of favourite books and movies was priceless.

Just so you know, the next time you send me a chat message on here and ask me what I’m doing, I’m going to tell you that I am ‘super pumped because I finally found that rare SNL collection of Will Ferrell skits online’ and ‘I can’t wait to watch it’. You’re gonna say that rocks and then jokingly say ‘don’t watch it without me!’ and I’ll be like ‘what’re you doing tonite’. I mean, three of your favourite movies are Anchorman, Talledega Nights and Old School. Pretty obvious there babe. Then I’ll jokingly say something like ‘get your ass over here and watch with me then!’ and you’ll make up an excuse why you can’t and then I’ll say
its okay I don’t laugh on first dates anyhow. And you’ll type something like ‘LOL’ or if you’re as young as I think/hope you are you’ll type ‘roflmao’. That’s hot.

I’m actually gonna start the next chat with you and ask you if you know of any good books because I just finished reading (insert one of the books on your favourites list here) and you’ll flip out because that’s one of your favourite books. I figure you’ve forgotten that you even put that there two years ago when you joined FB, but even if you didn’t you already think I’m too much of an ass to bother creeping your profile, and I’m a bit out of your league and quite a bit older than you. Man if you only know the truth.

So anyhow, we’ll end up out for coffee and I’ll bring up my love of volleyball, camping, live bands, dogs and New York city (where I haven’t actually been yet, but after about thirty minutes on Google I’m feeling pretty comfortable describing as my second home). I’m only going to mention these things in passing, and then listen to you ramble on about them, which should fool you into thinking I’m a good listener. Based on what I saw in your photo albums that should work nicely, and help you to decide whether to go down on me at the end of the date, which actually might not be half bad since I don’t see anything about religion in your
profile.

Okay so after that I’m not going to call you for like five days and I don’t plan to return any of your texts. When I actually get a hold of you I’m going to pretend like I wasn’t ignoring you. I figure five days is just long enough to make you worry but not so long as to scare you away and have you put something about regret in one of your status updates. Its a bit of a risky proposition because you’ll complain about me to a couple of your friends (and I’d really like to fuck a couple of ’em) but I’m going to go down on you for a really long time so that should fix that.

Dude, its so weird that like 70% of your photo albums are titled ‘girls night out’ something or other. I mean how bad was your heart broken? Its all like girl power this and who needs boys tonight!, geez. Relax a little. This is just sex, or is going to be by the way. Its not even going to be very good I bet, you’re such a prude. I saw your halloween album, that wasn’t sexy it was embarrassing. And that didn’t even look like a whip. Maybe next time instead of running out to party packagers the day-of you can try having a sense of adventure and a modicum or originality?

You know what, just forget the whole thing. I’ve seen all I need to see of you from Facebook. The sex is going to be terrible, I feel like we’ve already had it. Man I’m glad I didn’t answer your chat forty five minutes ago, you’re exactly what I thought you were. Just forget this ever happened. And don’t go saying shit about me either, I never promised you anything. And it was like two dates, tops. You know I just got out of a relationship like two years ago. You were the one that came on too strong.

Next time I see you I expect you to thank me for saving you the heartache.

Yours truly and thusly,

RN

Wrathful and Peaceful Offerings

Yamantaka Ekavira, Solitary Hero

Yamantaka Ekavira, Solitary Hero

July 13, 11:15 pm

I’m whispering into your ear. Can you hear me?

Tonight I’m actually nodding off as I’m typing these words, but I wanted to let my fingers dance here, because I’m feeling very strange, and I’m hoping the exercise will help exorcise the real matter at hand.

Distance. I’m thinking about distance, and how it has saved me time and again in the last year. I put miles between myself and a horrible breakup by running away to Paris. I’ve kept so many people at arm’s length to avoid getting too close. I’ve locked myself away in a fortress of my own creation. I’ve been “too busy” on more occasions than I care to count. It is with certain clarity that I understand how easy it would be to just run away from this life and live like a gypsy for a while. Had I been presented with the opportunity, I would have run.

But instead, I literally built up my own life from a pile of debris. I watched things take shape slowly, and as I look around at all the repairs left to be made, and odd jobs left to be done, I realize there are some that I can do myself (the painting for example) but there are some that I’ve left deliberately for someone else.

My dog shifts on the sofa at my side and nestles his warm head into my thigh, sighing mightily in his slumber. I envy him so much sometimes.

Excitement is not coming to me easily these days. I am watching my life from afar, and it may be partially due to the cold meds. The rest of it is the strangest sense of detachment, and displacement.

Yep…going to have to sleep now. I’ll finish this one up in the morning…

July 14th, 9:45 pm

It’s not the morning…

Sleep went very well until about 4:00 am when my drunken neighbour came home and made a ruckus. Still, I feel a bit more alert this evening.

Alert, but still just a little off. I feel like I’m drifting through my days, and each one is melting into the next. I’m a helium balloon, with the finest string keeping me tethered, when all I really want to do is drift up, up, and away.

My spidey senses are tingling, too.

All of this to say that The Fortress feels like the best place for me to be right now, and Arthur is perfect company. I cannot surrender myself to anything but my profound need to hold myself very close, and very tight.

I never, ever, ever thought I would feel like this.

Progress?

All Request Wednesdays

IMG_0377

Hello world at large!

I’ve really come to love writing here, and I’m deeply touched that so many of you enjoy reading my ramblings.

In the interest of writing more frequently, I’m asking you to suggest topics that I might wax poetic about.

I’m very happy to keep this anonymous, you have my word on this, and if you’d like my humble advice on anything, I’m happy to offer that too!

Mail your suggestions, requests, and questions to schnooville@gmail.com

Your secrets are safe with me!

xoxo

Schnoo