The Synchronicity: Fire

Willow Croft

Wrote a poem about an hour or so ago to submit to a contest, titled Bonfire. It was the day of bonfires earlier this week, which probably inspired it.

But, I’m a water person, usually. Water, coolness, rain, overcast skies. Yet, a fire elemental has been making its presence known. Hence the other part of the inspiration. In dreams. In random thoughts. In my poetry. In waking life. Then I signed back online to enter the poem. And encountered more fire synchronicity to wrap up the week. I feel a little haunted and eerie, even though I largely accept Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s practical/scientific view(s) on such mental/emotional phenomenon.

So I used the poem I wrote  for the contest to siphon off some of the feelings towards the fire element I’ve been having lately. A short story for another contest is going to hold some more. And the leftover I…

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The Weight of the Pier

 

The Weight of the Pier

What is a pier?

A concrete challenge for the waves;

a cold path I follow to the maelstrom.

I dance in salt and grey

until night paints the ocean

with a mirror sheen.

It’s the stars’ turn

and I remember to wish

on their falling bodies,

hoping they light the way

for my ship to come in,

to a magic bridge,

or for you, dream-wanderer,

to take me from this waiting pier

before I drown.

Lonely ghosts and an almost-full moon…

 

A very sensory, yet very surreal, week. Or mindset.

Things are both ambiguous and very clear. In mental limbo and yet absolutely certain about…well, see the secrets part below.

A inevitability from which there is no escape, and yet, a promise of a new beginning.

It’s a little maddening and frightening, but also soothing and comforting.

I’m frustrated and resigned at the same time. I’m believing in my instincts and dreams and signs but also practical about their impossibility in this dimension.

The moon is blue-bright and has been keeping me awake, but it’s not even full yet.

There’s lots of secrets, which are also revelations.

Some songs from the 90s are (uncharacteristically!?!?) the current soundtrack to my inner world. Out of nowhere I had this urge to listen to them.

I’m both running away and towards something, simultaneously. Distance, and closeness, all at once.

Nothing much seems to have a point right now, including this blog, yet I’m compelled to put words out there, even if they are trivial, unrelated, or don’t make any sense.

Watched a movie tonight titled “I Don’t Feel at Home in this World Anymore”.

Been wanting to give “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” a re-watch, and re-read Griffin and Sabine, but hesitated to take that literary/cinematic journey.

“Foolish man. You cannot turn me into a phantom because you are frightened. You do not dismiss a muse at whim.” – Sabine Strohem
Nick Bantock, Griffin and Sabine

 

 

Sunday, Ordinary Sunday…

Sunday is my least favourite day. It just seems worse than Mondays, because Mondays, at least, are a fresh start. A do-over. Poor Sunday. It just seems to epitomize that droning-meeting-white-noise bored feeling.

But the real issue is that I’m sick. Allergy sick. I got allergy tested (Thank you, Medicaid), and discovered that not only am I allergic to the grasses that make up those dumb turf lawns that are so popular back in my home state, but also a fair bit of trees, certain  kinds of mold, hay, dust, and feathers, of all things. Guess I won’t be going out and hugging any more trees anytime soon. *laugh*

So, when I was cleaning out the art supply closet at work, I got sick. Like almost instantly sick. Within in a few hours, I started to get a sore throat. It wasn’t until a few days later that I found out there was mold growing on some stuff in the closet. By then I was really sick. Lost my voice and everything, but at least it supported the results of the allergy test. But, do you know how BLOODY hard it is to supervise a whole passel of overly excited little munchkins when you can’t even talk? Luckily, the kids are some of the most amazingly sweet kids I’ve ever met, so I was spared a Lord of the Flies reenactment. *laugh*

This morning, I even dreamed I was cleaning out and organizing an artist’s studio. Which would have been really annoying in that I was dreaming about something I’d been doing all week. Except that the studio was an open air one, surrounded by a low stone wall, and real green grass growing everywhere. And it was warm,  but not too hot, the sky was a soft blue with clouds, and there was that wonderful kind of breeze that comes off the ocean–playful and mysterious and reminding you that nature is a conscious, vibrant entity.

And then I got a sense of my muse being present. Not really in person, just a feeling they were watching me (from afar) enjoy the wind blowing all my bad feelings away and tangling my hair. It was too poignant, and too simple to even exploit for a poem, but I just wanted to acknowledge them in some way, in case they are out there reading this blog from an alternate dimension. Even though I know perfectly well they are just my creative mind speaking to me, I haven’t been able to make that connection to the part of my brain/soul that’s epitomized by said muse. But, still, I’ve been missing you, my Muse/figment of my imagination.

And now I have to go clean my own house on this prosaic, ordinary Sunday. While dreaming of an ideal day that was shared over at a blog called “Scotland with the Wee White Dug”. Rain, a quirky museum, and scotch? Honestly, what could be more fabulous?

https://theweewhitedug.com/2017/02/18/hooray-for-rainy-days-in-edinburgh/

The Wild in Me (On Letting Go)…

“Safe as houses.”–Angel, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

I am trying to move past the fact that I let myself fall for a pack of pretty (albeit well-crafted) lies. I foolishly fostered some rare hope that I might have a chance at a “normal” life….and by normal, I mean actually taking the risk to settle down with someone I loved. What can I say…I believed I was in love. They were beautiful, they were creative and smart, they loved to cook..(okay, yes, I’m also trying to avoid getting maudlin *wry laugh*). I know I am still holding on to that idea of love for that person, but I am finding other ways to let go, in the meantime.

Over the years, I have carefully hoarded stuff, dragging it from place to place as I flitted about the country, or took on the fiscal and emotional burden of storage. I did this, despite all practicality, because I was holding on to a “maybe someday” dream that I would eventually get tired of the restless lifestyle, and set up roots in my lovingly restored vintage home, or in a wee blue cottage on a rocky shore by a tumultuous ocean (with sea roses by the front door), or a in a lighthouse at the end of the world–you get the idea. I have a shoebox of magazine clippings that embodied this dream, visually–its online version was recently started on my Pinterest page that my friend talked me into setting up. (http://www.pinterest.com/fmaggot/safe-as-houses/).

There was an unspoken, unacknowledged part of this dream that I might find a life partner to share in my space, even though I have never been very good with people, have always been a recluse by default, have never had many real friends (if ever, truthfully), and have successfully fended off any attempts to be suckered into the love myth (well, until now) by building a fortress that protected me and my inner worlds, and inner self from the cruelty of the human race.

So, in the aftermath of this fierceness of emotion I felt for another person, I have decided to jettison a lot the stuff I have hoarded over the past ten years or so–retro furniture pieces, collectibles, hundreds of paper-and-ink books–strip myself down to the barest minimum of possessions. (I’m keeping my cats, of course–I’m not an irresponsible pet caretaker like a lot of other people are.)

It’s not as painful as it would have been, once, as my attachment to these things pales against the first, and only, time I felt something real for another human. The stuff that I had carefully treasured now feels empty, static, and is serving to only weigh me down while I am trying not to drown in heartache, misery, and bitterness. 

Time to (entirely) let go, and come to terms with the wildness inherent in my nature….

Jack (from the movie Titanic): “Well, yes, ma’am, I do… I mean, I got everything I need right here with me. I got air in my lungs, a few blank sheets of paper. I mean, I love waking up in the morning not knowing what’s gonna happen or, who I’m gonna meet, where I’m gonna wind up. Just the other night I was sleeping under a bridge and now here I am on the grandest ship in the world having champagne with you fine people. I figure life’s a gift and I don’t intend on wasting it. You don’t know what hand you’re gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you… to make each day count.”