It revisited

I finally have a wall of my own...actually many walls, where I am able to hang my pretties in row and watch them as the grow. 

My beast, it, has grown considerably since the last time I contemplated it's frozen state of observation.

He will soon be residing with my other new creations in my Big cartel shop.

It is nice to observe two parallel universes touch, at least on the surface. Right above my beast there is still a shadow of a painting or picture that used to hang on this wall from the previous inhabitants. It makes me wonder, did they leave anything else behind besides markings on walls and dust? Are their energetic markings on the floor, maybe an area so deeply permeated with their energy? It makes me really wonder about life after death. Once a person passes away what do they leave besides the memories that other hold? Do they leave a sort of imprint in the sand that remains for a while, but then slowly disappears? What if people continued to live as they were, who they were, just in a different dimension/ parallel? And as usual my mind wanders off into the spectrum of quantum and such....

Sulla's journey (a SIP, story in progress)

As I walked through the park enjoying the little bit of solitude that was permitted I felt as if I were on a journey a journey a young woman might have taken a long time ago  in order to conserve something special. Something like the feeling of love. And as I sat in a maze of flowers and bees her image fell upon me. I saw Sulla, a mythological creature, hiding within the dirt letters or love to another that would never see them. 

This woman lived in a time when love was not allowed by the gods. It was the only emotion that remained for the immortals to play with. However, Sulla had the ability to love. The gods because aware of this only because her letters began to sprout leaves and petals. Her words transformed into beautiful flowers. 

The gods were envious of her ability and sent her on a journey. She would remained trapped in her vast garden, which was now the park. However the garden would transform into different worlds of strange creatures where she would have to strive to continue to love, and if she managed to hold on to this emotion and even foster it among the strange creatures she wouls soon be able to return to her world and love the one she loved. However, the journey since it was a long one, made her forget at time what she was fighting for and thus become even longer. 

So there within the park as I sat I became aware of my journey I was another Sulla of the many that have existed, fighting for love and wanting to florish it and foster it.

City sentiment

It is difficult thing to move house with a little bundle of energy. My son wants to get into anything and everything and my dog is a nervous mess and does not want that bundle of energy near him....so the solution is to stay away in one room while the Dr. renovates....Its horrible to feel so useless. I want to be able to help, but how can I let my son be in a room with painting fumes or little screws? ugh....horrible. We are moving at snail pace. We have been here for several days and the only functioning thing is the internet and bathroom. Our meals consist of either frozen pizza or...nothing.  I have preferred nothing many times.

However, I have been reminded why living in a city is so wonderful. You can find everything and anything. You encounter strange characters and feel like you are living in a story book. Also i have found that five minutes away, walking, there is a beautiful Victorian park with a petting zoo, aviary, restaurant, and hundreds of acres of green...Oh it is beautiful. I have walked through there many times just imagining what it must have been like when it was first created. I have entered a Victorian state of mind. Our building was built 1911, so it is only fitting that I enquirer about its era...

well back to being useless...

Havesting

As I took the dog out for his morning outing I was surprised the physical presence of passing time. Time had left a message behind in the cherry tree leaves. A message of the approaching Autumn and our impending move to the city. I will soon be offline for about a week. Things move slowly here in Germany, since everything is done with precision and efficiency.

And as I looked at the yellow leaves I wondered about the harvest. I could hear the farmers starting the harvest their fields of wheat and barley, and I thought as I was collecting my own harvest of things how I should honor this time spent with a little cloth.  And so here it is the begining of that little cloth Icall harvest.

the heart from within

Can you hear it? 

Can you see it? 

The beat I tell you. 

The rhythm of life. 

The rhythm of all. 

It prances and sways to the melody. 

You sing to it. 

I relish it. 

But can you feel it? 

Can you sense it? 

It lays in your bones. 

It wanders through your mind. 

It is the glue of dreams and the force of thought.

It is a heart.

A heart of all

A heart for all

A beating force that resonates in itself

A giver of life

a start

an end.

The wordsmith

I have been occupying myself, quite steadily, with stitching and creating. It helps me meditate, contemplate, surrender my helpessness to a thing that I can mold and transform.

Because I am not a time traveler or a space bender, the only way I can travel into another space is through books. 

I love books. I love turning their pages, smelling their woody scent and feel their rough texture as the words seep into my eyes and carry me away. However those words sometimes seem to evade me. Therefore I created the wordsmith. A creature that holds on to those words and repeats them when I need them. A master of tongues. A being of delight who can rhyme and sing and chant along with me. My travelling companion. 

The patchwork design is from Jude Hill´s patchwork beast class, it is her bear. And since she has been a wonderful mentor, teacher, and companion I wanted to honor her with, in some way, being my traveler, my wordsmith.

New new new turns to old old Old....

"Hardships continue to be distributed" the order keeper told me when I asked why I had to suffer this much.
His face was stern and untarnished by my sadness.

I realize that life happens how it is meant to happen, and all things must happen for some reason. Many are obvious, others not so much. As in, it was obvious that my grandfather who had prostate cancer and who had lived 90 years of life would in fact die soon. However, it is still not obvious to me why I had to know it would happen on my birthday, when I was already going through unresolved grief.

It was a difficult weekend before my birthday. I had this pain on my esophagus. It would hurt to swallow, move my head, and the pain was bothersome the whole night that it kept me awake in a nervous state. I wondered why I was so nervous. Nothing that usually made me nervous was coming up, like dentist appointments, flights, or tests. Nevertheless I was so nervous I could feel a panic attack coming.

The weekend went by and I just knew I was going to get that phone call on my birthday. It was a thought that kept on lurking in the dark that I just took as paranoia.

On Tuesday, July 27th, I woke up a year older, with a painful back and a sore esophagus. I had no energy. I had not slept, and my whole being felt saddened. I decided to try to pretend to be normal for the relatives that were visiting...I was incapable of such a thing, therefore I stayed in bed with the excuse of my bad back. I tried to confront my grief for my aunt by writing her a birthday letter. I then emailed others who would be feeling the same way as I that day. The day went from cheerful moments given to me by my son and husband to a more somber haze.


The change occured while the children were singing happy birthday to me. All of a sudden I had the urge to tell them to be quiet and sob right there at the dinning room table. I of course restrained myself and held the tears back. I made a wish and as the flame of the candles evaporated into smoke...the phone rang. It happened as if in a movie. I heard my mother voice. Quivering with restrained grief.


"Ay chrissy, his heart just stopped beating." she said. "his pulse just faded away. I felt it stop."


"yes I know mom. I am sorry" I said with a stern voice. I tried desperately not to cry, but then my aunt spoke to me and all was lost. I hung up and sobbed out loud, as loud as I had just six months prior.

 Since my grandfather passed I have been some what desiring to go back to his time of youth and health. Back when Cary Grant was a hunky Hollywood star and Hitchcock was making "The Vanishing Lady". And since I am in the midst of a move I have been wanting to be surrounded by old things. Comforting things. Inviting things. Things that have already had a whole life. Perhaps a chair, where a young person has aged and has experienced glories and happiness.....
I miss him.
I miss many things.
I miss not missing