“Beyond this place, there be Dragons…..”
Those words, found on every map more than five hundred years ago, are what the mapmakers wrote at the place where their worlds stopped. When they didnt know what was beyond, its simply what they wrote.
It is the place beyond that lures every adventurer, every dreamer who lives out the lure, every missioner, everyone who searches for God…
I saw that place today and it was familiar.
photo credit: Sandara
You see, The waves don’t care that you stand here
They don’t care if you’ve stood here before and might again
They have always been here
and so it will be
When we are gone
– Me
Im greatly vexed
My brain is full, so here we find ourselves again, dont we?
Its been a brutal Winter so far. Lots of snow and ice, even more than usual. In December and January we liked it because it made us feel cozy. Now it is merely a nuisance and keeps us in doors when we want to be out. The snow is piled high along the side of the roads and has turned an ugly brownish gray color and we look at it as we drive by and only wish it were gone.
We have no lingering memories of its beauty. Its funny how quickly it turned for us. We are fickle beings, arent we?
It reminds me of our Christmas tree. It was a tall, lovely tree, decorated with sparkly lights and hand placed decorations and we sat in front of the fire and admired it almost every night. But there was a day when I pulled into the drive and saw the tree lying by the side of the curb, covered in snow and turning brown and it made me feel sad at how quickly things change. I dont even remember when it happened, but it did and Im sorry for it.
That’s not what is vexing me by the way. Although it did vex me some what when it happened.
What is well and truly vexing me is what happened today while at our local Target store. I know Ive shared happenings with you before from that store but today.. something so monumental happened that it has occupied my brain fully for the last 8 hours or more.
While in line at the check out, there was a man in front of me with a cart full of items. Instead of reading the gossip magazines as I usually do, I glanced at the contents of his cart.
Ok, so you know how my mind works and I began to try and work out what he was doing with this stellar combination of items.
I wanted to give him a medal for the outstanding-ness of his selection. I pondered and pondered… peas, towels, bleach..
Next I moved to the man himself. He was older, perhaps in his late 60s or even 70s with wild hair and a beard. But he was wearing normal clothes and comported himself quite sanely in my humble opinion. He didn’t even mind that I was eying his coveted stash of peas and bleach.
In fact, at one point, when the checker scanned the 19th bag of peas, I looked at him and said cheerfully, “THAT is a lot of peas!”
He simply smiled in an insane sort of way and said, “YES! YES IT IS!!!”
Theory:
He is a serial killer. He kills people by making them eat more frozen peas than the human stomach can handle. Then he cleans up the mess (I dunno, ruptured stomach or something) with paper towels and bleach and then calls a cab to make his get-away after chewing on some Trident gum to ensure his breath is Oh-So-Fresh.
Secondary Theory: He likes peas and dazzling white clothing and Trident teeth. Paper towels were ancillary.
As you may be able to tell, Im still greatly vexed by this experience. Its midnight and Im thinking about it still. What say you?
Dont mess with me when Im SICK. Almost came to fisticuffs today..
Made a run to the grocery today for some New Years provisions. They had crab legs on sale in the case- beautiful, fat perfect crab legs. I tell the guy I want 4 pounds. He points to a freezer and says, “we already have them bagged up over there.” I go over and see the bags are full of broken pieces of crab legs and busted claws.. just the left over junk you don’t want. I go back and say, there is NO way Im buying that garbage. I want the whole crab legs.
He says, “everyone is buying them…its all we have.” I say, “no- look in the case, these are all whole and perfect.” He says, “well, I don’t think we have 4 pounds of those.”
I say, “well then.. you’d better go in the back and find some. Thats bait and switch and false advertising and believe me, Ill make that very clear to the shoppers here.” He grumbles at me and decides Im not backing down so goes in the back. Comes out after a few minutes with two giant boxes of the “good” crab legs and says, “Ill have to charge you the full price for these.”
Im still running a high fever and feeling really crappy so I look at him, sigh and say, “Oh no… no you won’t. Your case here shows whole crab leg clusters for $7.99 a pound. Those are whole crab leg clusters I want 4 pounds and I want them now. You can either package them up really nicely for me or we can call the manager and he can do it. Now, chop-chop… I don’t feel well.”
I narrow my eyes at him and look quite evil Im sure.
He sighs and wraps up the crab legs and hands them over.
Happy new year I say.
Crappy, broken crab legs indeed.
Im having a nap and some antibiotics now.
“In a while, one of us will go up to bed
and the other one will follow.
Then we will slip below the surface of the night
into miles of water, drifting down and down
to the dark, soundless bottom
until the weight of dreams pulls us lower still,
below the shale and layered rock”
A wise, wise woman
I went out to the pier today while D took a nap and just enjoyed the quiet. As I said, the resort is only 48% full so its nice to have no one around. I walked to the end and sat cross legged and came as close as person who doesnt meditate can come to meditation.
Alma: Excuse me, Missus, may I disturb? (tip toeing towards me)
Me: Of course! Come!
Alma: I brought your Chardonnay….
Me: Mmmm… thank you. Im just enjoying the ocean.
Alma: Yes..
Me: Were you born here?
Alma: Yes, just a few miles from here.
Me: Have you traveled from here?
Alma: Why would I?
Me: (nodding)
We both were quiet for a few moments listening to the waves.
Me: Alma, Why is it so amazingly beautiful?
Alma: (pausing for a moment) I think….. that is a conversation for you and God, yes Missus?
Me: (nods)
Alma: Excuse me.. enjoy.. (walking away quietly)
I hope you have a garden
And wine
And tomatoes
And I hope you can see the girls you raised
Into strong and happy women
And know how we think of you
Every single day
I hope you are proud
I hope you have music and
waves and sand
Because I hear you in them
I hope the lightest wind on my face is really you
And the dandelions
They feel like you.
I hope you laugh and dance
And watch over us
But most of all I hope
Wherever you are
You are happy and free
And still with us.
– Me
If he never came home…I think that I would grow old, and write stories…and drink too much wine…but my eyes would show…. and you would see.. great sadness and loss, and wisdom… the wisdom to know that I have had what others sought… even if for a short time…
I could never be with another again. They say the heart is an organ made of fire, and I believe this to be true. It burns in me each time he walks through that door. I listen for his key each night, and it starts my heart to beat. His touch brings me to life, and gives me power and the strength that people say I have.
He knew…. even before I did…. or before I was brave enough to admit it, that there would be no others like us. There would be no one who would bring me to my knees with just a smile.
The beauty of it reminds me of a time when I was a child in church. I was alone, after midnight mass, waiting for my Grandmother to finish talking to the minister about the floral arrangements. I was maybe 6. I walked down the long aisle of our church in the near darkness, except for the many candles. My small hands ran along the smooth, dark mahogany of the pews, as I moved closer and closer… I knew God was there. I felt him and I wanted to touch Him. I walked slowly with tears in my eyes, being afraid. As I neared the front of the church I looked up at the stained glass windows and saw the moon shining though. Suddenly I was no longer afraid and I walked faster. I was over come with a sense of power…. and knelt right there in the front of the empty church. It was a tribute from my heart…and I know God saw me there… I know he smiled down on me… When we are six- what do we know of emotion other than purely what we feel?
This happened to me again, nearly 30 years later…… and I’m not confusing Him with God… but here it is…there is this man… who is so much a part of me… and who I am that I cannot imagine ever being alone again. And there are times when he walks in the door and I am six again, and I want to kneel because there are no words I can say… There was never any one before who was going to take care of me, but me. There was never any one who would read my words, who would understand, or even try.
– Me
Where I was tonight, when you went looking for me...
They called it "Forgotten City" and so it was.
It was built and climbed and rose
to beautiful heights
and the flags flew and blew
The people cheered
and their shiny city was
it was
And then one day, they disappeared
Every single last one of them
They left behind their clothes
and plates
and coffee cups
nothing left but dust
But the clocks kept time
the bells in the towers rang
And So I came and visited
I imagined them there
I sat in their places
and looked out their windows
and still cannot begin to imagine
what became of them
that city is still there
It stands as a reminder
of the faces and the smiles
and the words
and most of all the people who left
pieces of themselves stuck all over that Forgotten city.
-Me
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose or if your wish be to close me,i and my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands e.e. Cummings
Being Alexus 