:: Sacred Spaces ::

The office bustles; my cactus is yellowing at the tips, signifying an imminent death; India looms ahead: ah, next stop wonderland?; my mother is coming home; the bruise from my grandma's face is fading; my father's spirit is a muted sore; Vienna; sushi with Rene; red wine; a nagging pain at the back: the kidneys, again?; a broken friendship; Caprice!; one of my girls, joining the ranks of licensed drivers; ambient music, tingling my spine before sleep takes over; Astonishing the Gods with a double-shot mocha and An African Elegy on the train; Cem's words; conversations with T; the wisdom from the honesty of a child: if you make up, you make beauty, does it still mean you are beautiful?; the November sky, broken, sentimental; a private term of endearment in Chinese; A Sort of A Song, Williams Carlos Williams; the loss of loss; ice-cream in the rain; a special friend in December; the possibility of happiness.

Sacred spaces and mystic chords. A chorus of interlocking emotions, and never too far from my mother's wisdom: if you cannot live with sense, then love with passion and the mad freedom of youth. But love not just the warmth of a lover's hand: love the scars and flames of life; because we cannot live with sense, we love.

:: And Flowers They Fade ::

The sun has all but disappear into the curve of the horizon.

Indulgence is the sinking into lyrics and alcohol, thinking of random thoughts, wanting to fly, trying to reconcile my young-old dreams: freedom.

Someone I know enjoys letting both darkness and music wash over him as he sits and ponder over a bottle of red wine.

I'm there in spirit with him at the moment:

Sideways - Citizen Cope, featuring Santana

You know it ain't easy
For these thoughts here to leave me
There are no words to describe it
In French or in English
Cause diamonds they fade
And flowers they bloom
And I'm telling you

That these feelings won't go away
They've been knockin me sideways
They've been knockin me out, babe
Whenever you come around me
These feelings won't go away
They've been knockin me sideways
I keep thinking in a moment that
Time will take them away
But these feelings won't go away

***

I don't usually let other people's words speak for me, but tonight I'm mellow and self-indulgent and this song speaks like pure poetry.

Let the world turn, let the old injustices hide and fade. Tonight I belong to music and laughter and Vienna.

:: Fleeting Whispers ::

"I can't do this Jean," M said, his voice wounded and small and thick with unshed misery.
"What would be the alternative?" I asked. How cold how stupid how callous. But how true.
"I don't know. If dying is not a sin, I would die."

***

I felt relieved when the distressing phone call ended. At this moment, I have no right to be anyone's emotional mother. I'm too caught up in my own healing to truly empathize, and I have headed too far out of the dark hell of self-indulgent pain to share it in spirit with someone else. Selfish selfish selfish.

***

Our laughter, loud and unbridled,
Scarred the night with unsung hope.

I still see shadows of a lingering pain in your eyes; with you we breathe together the ashes of our old loves.

:: Youth is wasted on the young::

I adopted parenthood for a day when I attended my sister's primary school graduation on behalf on our parents last Friday. Next to the rest of the parent-guests, I looked stupidly young - I wasn't half as sophisticated, in both dress and manner; my face was frank and unlined, and I had a smile that was kissed with the beign radiance of youth.

And oh, how I smiled. My sister - the 12-year-old: I actually still remember picking her up from the hospital cot for the first time. How she had the fantastic baby-girl smell, of soap and powder, and of the incredible newness of life. Now she's almost a teenager, and I was there to see her graduate, literally, from one milestone to the beginning of the next.

I lived vicariously through her for a moment; I teared as though the ceremony was mine. I felt for the moment the loss of familiarity, the feeling of suddenly being a 'grown up', and I remember with wistful fondness the fragmented happiness I had as a child. I blocked out my father's anger and remembered my own innocence. For a moment I was happier than any of the children; I had my memories but I also had my new-adult wisdom that added a tinge of perspective to plain, illogical joy.

Afterwards I took her for her Day of the Firsts: her first sushi experience at a nice Japanese restaurant. Her first Starbucks coffee. Her first adult haircut with an impossibly goodlooking stylist. "You're the best sister in the world, and you're also a Super Woman, and I want to be just like you," she told me at the end of the day. Our eyes shone together - hers with joy, mine with regret - oh why oh why did I never do this until now. Such a simple thing to do - just being there. Just talking. Just being there for her as a friend, not The Elder Sister.

But yes, better late than never. It wasn't just her who graduated - I did too - to a new realm of responsibility where my parents can take care of her physical and functional wellbeing, but I can nurture her personality and help her realize her best potential - as a daughter, as a student, as a dancer, as a woman.

I just hope I can undertake this task with enthusiasm, if not always with success; with the best intentions, if not always with wisdom.

***

Saturday was special.
We saw Vienna in Spring.

:: And so the world turns ::

The sun was pure poetry today - fierce and brilliant; ungentle, ferociously burning the dawn into a cerulean canvas. I haven't watched the sky in a while - and now when I do, I think of Julian. He used to read the sky, as though the horizon was a Messiah of untold truths. In that way he was hopelessly romantic; he was spiritually sensitive and saw beauty in rain and old trees and tattered leaves.

I miss that sort of perspective now that the Crazy Welshman is gone; there is no one to point casually into the smoggy distance and marvel at the swirl of clouds that collide at a wind-swept moment. There is no one to admire the stoic stories of old trees, the transient passion of the monsoon rain, the majestic colour of autumn. He brought a humane, humbling element into my first corporate existence. He made me believe that humanity was what mattered - not human resource.

Cem - I hope you're still looking at the Old Sky and wishing for the caress of your Desert Wind. Shalom.

***

Oh dear. I'm getting sentimental.

:: Wisdom ::

"Grandma? Why didn't you tell me you had a fall?"
"Silly girl, it's a small thing, and I didn't want to worry you."
"But if you've told me, I'd have gone to see you, or go with you to the doctor..."
"Like I said, it's a small thing. And anyway, you have other things on your mind."
"It's not important! I only have one grandma you know."
"It's just a fall. I have fallen many times, and I'll probably fall again. I'm still walking, aren't I?"

***

It's funny how we forget the childhood wisdom we once lived and breathed. Once upon a time, standing up after a fall was something we all did. I had tumbled down drains, fallen off pavements, tripped down stairs; my knees and elbows have been scraped and skinned and bruised, my arm has been broken, a finger stitched, my forehead scarred - but I never had a problem standing up, and standing tall again. I won't let this be an exception, even if the heart will probably take a much, much longer time to heal after the beating it's been given. But I know it will.

***

So school started again last night: I fell back into the old routine of flying out of the office a little after six, with many apologies to the Boss; saying hellos with the annoying cheerfulness that bordered on plastic; collecting random thoughts while trying to concentrate on some far-out theory like post-modernism.

You never like me to say thank you, because you detest formality. I never like to not say it, because I don't mean 'thank you' with gushing sentimentality; I mean it in the most honest way. Looking through the world - this new world now - with our empty beer bottles and macabre humour is a balm in itself. I hope you heal sooner than later, and I hope I heal right along with you.

:: Mangled ::

There is a price, there always is; I feel like a rabid dog, barking silent screams into a lifeless void. The echoes scare me, because they reveberate with demonic strength. I'm still nursing the wound - it's bloody and mangled - from the last wolf trap; for too long my insides are flamed with the acrid infection of grief. I must heal - alone - no vet no doctor no injections no...

Euthanasia.

My euthanasia is knowing I kept my mother's wisdom even when the last shred of hope turned into glass, cutting cutting cutting: Love with abandon, but leave with grace. Forgo, not forget.

:: One Last Cry ::

And so it must end.
'I'm sort of with S,' he told me.
And the night suddenly became sulphur, yellow and toxic, choking off my heart beat. I almost couldn't breathe, but the impact was lost because I needed to smile.

You really needn't say 'sort of' - as though that would somehow lessen the pain, because it wouldn't. You really needn't say you're 'experimenting' - it may be true for you, but it doesn't sound fair. You really needn't feel bad, or guilty, or say you're sorry. Don't be. I'm glad that you have found someone else to make you happy. To listen, where I didn't. To fulfill, where I've failed. To love, where I've left. I appreciate your honesty, and I appreciate how you promise never to fade away. Thank you. It's been almost 8 years of companionship, from the time we first knew each other in the exurberance of our youth. We grew into each other, and we chased after a dream; it doesn't matter now that the dream is an echo shouted down the corridor of time, because I'll always have the memories of Sam and Jean, and that would suffice for now. Be good to yourself, and be better to her. I had my one last cry, and I now see the road to healing, stretching ahead to a new future that will displace the one we will never live to see.

***

T sat with me and we watched the waves crashed like the splinters of our broken hearts against the beach. The sky was old, tattered; the stars blinked feebly, fallen brillance amidst the indigo wisps of clouds. We laughed and cried together as our beer turned warm. We exhaled regret and inhaled smoke, and we promised each other to heal.

Now we are both
Soldiers,
Wounded but wiser,
Badged and scarred,
Armed but sated.
Your skin
My mask
Our metaphors,
Weak but thick with feeling,
Soar.
We have sung the swan song
Of our old loves,
Lingering notes, charred voices -
Our fingers touch
The invisble strength of the
Endless dawn.

:: Kiss of Change ::

It's been a long time since I've felt magical. You know that feeling - it's a starburst moment of mysterious joy, and you forget everything except that one instant of feeling alive.

It might have been the foreign air, kissed with winter, that was searing my lungs; it might have been the sight of the Alps, cutting their sacred histories into the Austrian sky; it might have been the feeling of freedom, breaking old chains; it might have been one of the thousand images I have now committed to memory. But whatever it might have been, I came back slightly changed, slightly lighter, slightly resurrected.

***

To You:

I know it's a difficult time for you right now. I have no right, not anymore, to offer any sensibilities or advice; I never had wisdom nor feminine sympathy - you take it as my selfishness, and I'm very sorry for that. But I wish you only the best. Don't shut me out as you rebuilt the little bit of your life that got smashed - I'm here for you, my shoulders firm and strudy. But I will never ask again, I will never impose, because now I realize you are meant to be free, and freed.

I used to call you Orion - the biggest constellation. Now you truly are one. Far and away, swirling white and brilliant in a separate cosmic world. You're too bright for me. Perhaps one day you will burn for something other than your ambition, but now, this moment, find your own planet and rule. It breaks my heart, but I am no more.

***

And so again I must die a little, but I know I will find a way out of the dusty grave that buries lovers, dreams, memories and the crimson river of bleeding souls.