Thoughts

Pain

2010-04-03T20:19:00.000-07:00

The first time we parted I wrote:

Night falls imperceptibly, stars sporadically pin point the soft canopy of sky.
Darkness threatens to permeate all with its melancholy.
My soul cannot bear the imminence of sadness washing over.
Longing for lost love, sadness overwhelming reason,
A heaviness, a flooding surge of tragedy
Tears spent, tears welling, tears impending.
Nothing can quell the hurt,
The longing for my love
But each day brings more of the same
Unrelentingly more of the same...and on it goes.
Nothing will change, only my lover can change it
How long can it go on, this pain ?
How long can it be made to bear ?
It consumes my will
I want to kiss death, only death can charm it away.
Death, wind your comforting arms around my heart,
Spill into my being, make velvet black my despair,
Make all velvet black, soft, and I disappear
To be no longer.

Now nearly two years on I write:

Heart crushed yet one more time, and by the same errant,
By the same silver tongued voyeur.
One sees only what the heart wants to see
Believes only what the heart wants to believe.
The game so clear to all others
This cat and mouse charade so obvious,
But not to this Åpril fool.
The love of my life...but I not his
My irrepressible heart implores me
No more please...forgive and move on
And so I must

Why ?

2010-03-30T02:57:00.000-07:00

I watched a program on Quentin Crisp last night, he had so many answers, died alone, but won't we all? Something that biffed me - we can love but it's best to expect nothing in return, unrequited love it seems is de rigeur, no the only thing that can get one through without heart ache or behemoth disappointment is to have no expectations of anyone. Our happiness is reliant on nobody but ourselves. It makes me uneasy, I yearn for the love of someone, both the warm physicality of love and the kaleidoscope of emotions that travel with love. I long to be sucked into its eddy of blissfulness... the path to a zen me is yet agonizingly out of reach ...

Brunei, the abyss and later....

2010-03-02T19:18:00.000-08:00

In January 1983, I left with nothing, on the first flight out of Brunei - it had to be first class, the only seats available and leaving was mandatory. Alexander , all of nine years, remained silent all the way to the airport and unfortunately or perhaps not, Erika my four year old slept. To her horror, I imagine, when she finally awoke, her mummy was gone, not to be seen again for another three months.

There were so many facets to it all, a kaleidoscope of emotions, people, situations, colours, blame, shame, guilt, remorse, remorselessness selfishness, indulgence, hedonism - all self destructive and all finally culminating in unbearable pain.
There were lovers, the booze, fornication, over there and back home - and endless churn of addled alcoholic numbness, possibly to stop my heart from aching, breaking - all the hurt caused and the anger leashed ...all for what ? I rejected every single soul that was dear to me, ravaged them and threw them on a heap ...for what ?I have never come to understand why.

Back in Australia, one of my sisterinlaws visited me only months after losing her two youngest,only teenagers, in a traffic accident. Nan told me that my two would never hitchhike home to see me on Mother's Day, because I didn't care. It wrenched me out of my antipathy, my self pity. It trumpeted at me. It was a foghorn awakening me to the reality of my children and the horrendous grief to come if I didn't change. - I would lose them. She was an angel sent to save me. God has ways. Nan was so strong. I couldn't bear to live in her circumstances.

I grew to adore my children. Alexander was sitting on the stairs one day, his face painted for the Boy George concert, he looked down at me and said "Mummy you've changed." I asked "How?" - and he replied "You care now."

While I write, I still cannot fathom why I spent four years in this turmoil, driven to smashing everything that really mattered, that matters. I have always been open with my children since, have told them all. Sometimes they had observed my indiscretions at first hand. They have forgiven me and they love me. Somehow through all that mess they managed to grow into beautiful adults full of compassion and integrity.

Beginnings

2010-02-27T01:57:00.000-08:00

The excitement of beginnings
The unknown,
Delicious surprise
Discovering of morsels
Fragments of the other
Ever unfolding
Jigsaw pieces falling into place
Some never to be disclosed
Pieces floating - never to fit
Ålone in limbo
Matching nothing
So much still unknown
Past tragedies, happiness, favourite moments
Euphoria, Nostalgia, Tears
The unfathomable complexity of life
The questions without answers
The unabridged
Wearing of masks…..
And glimpses of exposed underbelly
… beginnings

Paris '08

2010-02-25T23:00:00.000-08:00

My Erika had disappeared in a dark cab while the moon looked on, it was black but the naked trees were ashimmer with their holiday bijoux. When the sun vied with the mist eventually, I strolled over one of the many bridges of the Seine, this one accommodated a trio of jazz musicians, their voices American, their garb from the thirties, their music, well, old time. People were sparse, preferring the warm cafes, I was lonely, I stood on the bridge, their songs were succour to my melancholy. When they played the Tennessee Waltz I started to sing along but curiously after a verse I couldn't continue, I started to choke. It was one of the songs my baby and I sang to pass the hours when driving to the mountains. I felt someone watching me, he followed, as I ambled around Notre Dame, and approached me with hesitancy on the next bridge. We talked brokenly, his English and my French were on a par. Small hands I mused,finger stubs, but then he was a short man - Why is it I thought, that small men are drawn to tall women, is it because they can say to the world - look what I have here, I may be short but hey look what I can attract ? We met again but at the end of a grey afternoon in Musee D'Orsay immersing myself in Monet, and Van Gogh, amongst other artists, I slipped away before the impending dinner could eventuate, the inevitable fumblings of unwanted amour, the attempt to remain pleasant/ polite but at a distance, to a stranger who was kind ? or perhaps had his own agenda - melancholy solo woman's mask.

Not a very exciting episode but the mood lingers - New Years Eve in Paris, now that was FUN - That is for another time,