must be the full moon....

it's in that moment
in the near darkness
the room lit by a solitary candle
that flickers and sways in the night air
caressing the lines of my body
like a lover's tongue
tasting my skin and lingering in places
nestled deep in my scent
when the goddess emerges

... she calls to me
and I can't help but laugh
my head thrown back
a deep, throaty laugh erupts
that stirs my senses
and I celebrate her awakening

-- lml October 30, 2007

little steps...

I've been reflecting on my last post and my feelings and all that wondering.

There is a Chinese proverb that says "Be not afraid of moving slowly; be afraid only of standing still."

I think that I've forgotten lately, that even though I'm not taking HUGE, grandiose, explosive, exciting, adrenaline-charged, crazy, intoxicating leaps and bounds, the kind of cliff hangers that I've taken over and over again in the last few years (a divorce, dramatic weight loss, my very first apartment, a new friend with benefits, new job roles, many new living arrangements, moves, travels, new friends, and so on...), I am still moving.

Little tiny steps perhaps. But forward, nonetheless.

And knowing this, perhaps I can relax into the moment, into the NOW, and enjoy it fully.

the train is at the station...

I've been crying a lot lately - sad songs, silly movies, funny little
interactions with people - leave tears coursing down my cheeks.
...for no apparent reason.

It leaves me feeling troubled.

Like I'm grieving for something that isn't even in my consciousness.

Like I'm turned around and disoriented, and I don't even know that I was supposed to be heading in a certain direction.

Like my soul is waiting.
My bags are packed and I've got my passport ready to go.
But I don't have the ticket yet or know where I'm going.

I find that I'm not fond of this state.
Of feeling a storm coming when the air is calm and the sky is blue.
Of seeing my fragility so close to the surface, wearing thin in places, exposed to the elements.

I find myself getting flustered at my inability to articulate simple thoughts.
I find myself getting impatient at little things that used to make me smile.
I find I argue with myself, out loud sometimes, over how I want to be instead of how I am.
I find the easiness with which I felt light and laughter and NOW is heavier. It takes longer to get there. And it leaves me more swiftly.

I wonder if I am being over dramatic.
If I am catering to my emotional state and allowing it to take over.

I wonder if I am simply fighting these feelings, and by forcing them down, making them even stronger and more present.

I wonder if I'll find some of these answers in the words I write and the feelings that spring from me like a fountain.

I wonder.

human-ity

When I look around me
at the all the people
in a room
on a bus
in a hallway

I remember what it is.

That humanness. That shared experience.

We do all share the same qualities of whatever it is that makes us alive.

That essence. the je ne sais quois...

We all feel bonds of affection and love; of togetherness;
that come in the shape and form of our spirits and our souls and our bones and our skin.

We all have the same blood, that courses in our veins;
that makes us blush;
the same tears, that make us cry;
the same voices, that sing and scream and laugh;
the same bodies, that dance and hold and touch and explore.

We know each other in the way that we seek each other out.
We know each other by our smiles, by our joy, by our struggles, by our pain.

In the way that a smile can bring so much out in a person; how it can soften them.
And how, within that loosening and easing, our attention is captured...

...and we are reminded that they could be our friend, our mother, our brother.

-- lml Oct 12, 2007

memories that surfaced after a weekend with my youngest sister and a lot of red wine

• I'd ski in front of Gina, with my head between my legs, looking back at her, falling and crashing into things, just so that I could hear her laugh. I loved to make her laugh.

• I had many many posters on my wall when I was about 11 or 12. Some of the Outsiders, the movie that was made after the incredible book by s.e. hinton. The movie that launched the careers of many of the huge stars of today's era, but most of my posters were of of Michael Jackson. I wrote him a letter once. I was convinced that he would want to be friends or even pen pals with me. That he would write me back. "Because we were both 5' 7" with brown eyes and brown curly hair." Naturally....

• I used to try out for every single play that was ever held at my high school. I wanted to act so badly. It used to eat me up when I'd audition and wait, breathlessly, for days, until the list was posted. I was always tall, so I would wait at the back while everyone checked for their names and laughed and hugged and smiled. I would wait, pretending to be patient, congratulating everyone who got a part to share in a little of the experience. I'd wait to be in front of that single piece of paper with the dot matrix printout of names. And I'd run my finger down that list of names, the names of people who made the production, and not see mine. I'd go over the list, one name at a time, multiple times, over and over, just to make sure, just in case I missed it in the rush, in the excitement.
  
  And each time, I'd feel that familiar knot start in my stomach. I'd feel my face start to get warm, feel the blood rush in embarrassment, feel my armpits sweat, feel so small, to think that I would have actually thought I had a chance.
  
  You see, I believed that I had this untapped potential in me. I felt that I just needed someone to discover me. I needed someone to take me away from the life I was living. To show me what was so obvious to them, to show me what I had inside. I just needed one person to spend a little bit of time with me, and they WOULD KNOW! My rough edges would be smoothed out, and I would be a star! I knew I had this star quality inside me, I just needed a little help to let it out.
  

• I used to read books voraciously. I remember borrowing books from my parents library upstairs, and from my sisters who would come home from university on break. I can skim books quickly, and it wouldn't take me long to find the really juicy passages of a book. I looked for sex, for any mention of relationships, of what transpired between people. What happened behind closed doors. I loved anything that was risqué and I read content that was far advanced for my age.
  

I had a very rich and vivid fantasy life. : )