When I was a child I was a dreamer. I thought anything could happen if I tried hard enough. I would go under my covers at bedtime with my torch and pretend that the bottom of my bed was another world. I would go through the imaginary tunnel and reach my other place. The place that I had dreamed up in my head. I look at the pictures of me as a child and wonder where I went. Somewhere along life’s path I got lost and I’m not quite sure when that happened. We cannot go into our adult lives crawling down the bottom of beds and continuing to dream I guess, reality has to kick in and we have to grow up. Is it crazy then then I still search for it? My other world that causes no pain and no sadness.
Someone told me today that I live my life reading books and watching old movies to find answers to my own life. Instead of staring them straight in the face and dealing with them. What is it that I want? Is it so bad to want the dream? Is it so bad to aspire to live this one life I have with greatness and passion and love and reach to the highest point that I could ever imagine reaching?
Why is it that this kind of life only happens in the movies? Why do people not believe that anything can happen if you believe it can?
They glanced at each other now and again but did not talk. Later on in the day she had the opportunity to stand behind him. She stood very still as the guest speaker continued to talk. She could smell his scent. She slowly reached out her hand and grazed her finger along the back of his shirt. He turned to her with a stern look. She quickly put her hand in her skirt pocket and lowered her eyes.
She walked to the elevator, someone grabbed her wrist from behind. It was a tight grip but not uncomfortable. The elevator door flung open. She waited for the next move but nothing came. They stood in silence. They reached a door. She followed him in. Her poured himself a whisky he did not offer the girl one. He told her to stand in the corner. He sat on the chair his eyes blazing. He unbuttoned his shirt at the neck and loosened his tie. He asked her in a soft voice to take of her blouse. Her hands were shaking and she did as she was told. The blouse fell instantly to the ground and crumpled at her feet. He asked her to remove her skirt. She unbuttoned the back never taking her eyes of the man. She stood there in her heels and underwear. He came over to her. Staring intently but no words spoken. She gently undid his tie. She unbuttoned his shirt. She then unbuttoned his cuffs and with grace moved it slowly off his shoulders. They made love that day continuously. In the morning they bathed together.
The show was on that night in Paris. It was a cabaret. She wore a silk dress. He wore a suit. They watched the show and every now and again they would turn to each other, their eyes would meet and they would remember the delights of the day before. Tomorrow he would be gone.
“You have to begin to lose your memory, if only in bits and pieces, to realize that memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all… Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action. Without it we are nothing.”
― Luis Buñuel
Our memories this week…
Visiting beautiful places to see with our own eyes what beauty surrounds us.
Going out for walks along the beach after dinner to play footsie and long jump in the dark.
Visiting Old Book shops, drinking Hot Chocolate.
She goes to the Sea. She watches the waves as they splash hard against the rocks.
You allow her to create. You give her space so that she can find herself.
Love, who we love, what we love everything about you shapes me. How do I shape myself. Can I be me without you?
She falls in, her body limp. She does not fight it. She gets flashes of her former self. That person full of stories, full of passion, full of desire. Everything feels numb.
She will remain a shadow in her own life. She is not the leading lady of her own movie. Her body a shell. Her Mind erased.
There is no boat on the Sea on this day. No fisherman to save her soul. But the Sea is kind. She wraps her arms around the girl. She thrusts her out up onto the rock and ripples away softly.
Sometimes I wonder if other people’s brains work in the same way as mine. If I could perhaps be someone else for the day to see how they process things. My mind seems muddled a lot.
I wonder at times how it is possible that one human being can hold so many thoughts in their head all at the same time, then there are the many feelings that engulf the body and overwhelm us. Resilience…. What is it that we do as human beings to lessen the blow. What measures do we take to reduce this…? be less awake, numb ourselves to the feelings that overwhelm us.
Let my mind be free from all confusion.
I have nothing to give other than the skin on my body. Nothing lies beneath.
I am the faceless woman.
“To be ourselves we must have ourselves – possess, if need be re-possess, our life-stories. We must “recollect” ourselves, recollect the inner drama, the narrative, of ourselves”.
― Oliver Sacks
“To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”
― Federico García Lorca, Blood Wedding and Yerma
A series of 7 paintings.
The room was very light. It had a large window with a balcony. The white net curtain blew into the room softly it blew in and out. There was a light breeze coming into the room. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched you as you slept. You were naked, your head lay to the side, your feet splayed out. I kissed your toe. You lightly groaned. I kissed your other toe. I then started to kiss you all over not missing any part of your skin. I watched your face as you continued to groan and smile though you did not open your eyes. I reached your lips. Your eyes opened blazing with desire.
We fell in love that weekend in Venice. We were away from all of life’s troubles. We ate delicious food and drank wine. Our belly’s warm. You laughed and smiled, you were carefree. We drove to a beach and I wore my yellow hat. We made love in the Sea.
Now only memories remain. My beautiful man lost now. Forever gone.
Every October I start to get knots in my stomach. The thoughts are always the same, seeing you become more ill. There was a noticeable difference in the October. Though you tried hard to fight your body would become weaker. I still do not know why I struggle to let you go, perhaps there is still something left that I need to resolve in my head. Normally when I think of you. I always think of the pain. Someone once told me that I would start to recall happy memories and I do sometimes. Today I heard a song. It is one I hear a lot but today I remembered the night that I was down at the house. It was perhaps late November, early December and I was wrapping the Christmas presents you had bought for the kids. You were in your chair, wrapped in a blanket. You had your headscarf on. You were drifting in and out of sleep. And then this song came on the T.V. (Beyonce- Love On Top) You told me to turn it up. I began to sing the song and you joined in. We sang that song so loudly and I danced round the living room. I thought that I would burst at the seams I was so happy to have you back just for that brief time. When the song finished you drifted off again. That would be the last time that I would ever hear you sing.