Saturday, September 24, 2011
They are screaming 'let go'!
He does hear it ...
His brain computes it,
And God, how he is trying ...
To follow the path ...
Born of youth, years ago.
His resolve is steeloid ... mostly.
Head down ... senses reasoned.
But when the wind subdues a ticking head
And the ocean kickstarts stodgy heart,
Resolve teeters on the brink of dissolution.
And the unexpected is all it takes
To feed the killer rocks below.
He smells their hunger;
He hears their laughter.
But, today, just today,
He's not courting lies;
Not sharing their jokes.
From the cliff edge he erupts:
'Today, I hold on ...
I'm not letting go!'
Maureen Walsh - September 2011
Lovely wind again tonight! Love, love, love it! Almost as good as 'letting go' of anger, resentment and the disappointment of wasted opportunities!
Ciao for now
Monday, September 19, 2011
I have at least five blogs half-written. For the life of me, I can't seem to get down to finishing them.That might just be, because my feet nor my mind have been in the same place for more than a couple of days over most of the summer. As much as I love being busy, doing the whole hostess and caring thing, I find myself yearning for sometime just not to have be anywhere, or have to talk to anyone. And just as I head back into school and the forthcoming production of Oliver in November, being stranded on a desert island just for a few days sounds like a pretty good idea. Then of course, as soon as I've said that, I know how ungrateful that might sound. But hey then I remind myself that this is MY blog, and therefore surely a little self-indulgence is not totally unexpected or unacceptable. After all I'm only human and therefore destined to be imperfect and as changeable as the weather. Which brings me gloriously to the incandescent brilliance of Autumn. Can't believe its that time of year already.
Autumn was so obvious as I walked through Russell Square in London last week, because there is more of an appetite for deciduous trees in the UK than in Ireland. Watching grey squirrels nibbling on acorns, foraging through fallen sycamore, horse-chestnut, beech leaves, and gnawing at, or filing their teeth on, what looked like human bones, only a foot or two away from me, in London's Bunhill Fields burial ground, where John Bunyan, the author of Pilgrim's Progress (the number of translations second only to the Bible) is buried, was captivating, but creepy. There is something spellbinding in the 'crunching' created by shoe or boot meeting dry fallen leaves; the Autumn winds that rustle through the trees like petticoats along the halls and corridors of years gone by; and the lonely rattling sound produced by those same winds of Autumn as they blow across narrowing metal flagpoles, which trick you into believing you are onboard a sea-faring vessel.
I spent most of last Sunday outside in my garden, tidying and pruning back shrubs and all kinds of everything. The wind was warm and the air, after London, was so fresh. It was one of those days, that I felt in tune with everything around me. Sometimes, I am almost afraid to register those moments, in case I lose them. On the other hand, if I don't share my sense of joy and wonder, am I not guilty of not appreciating the gifts that being a part of this Universe brings. Even the greatest poets and artists can struggle to find their words and their hues of colour. Perhaps, I should acknowledge those moments of blissful being 'out loud' within myself and smile outwardly! For the lesser of us, by the time we have struggled to say, or not to say, the right words that are 'hot' enough, the moment has passed. Sharing a smile with ourselves and/or with another might just be a more spontaneous and therefore less contrived response to something that sets us on fire.
Maybe, I shouldn't have written anything. Just let these photos smile for me!
Alison Krauss sings 'When You Say Nothing At All'
Ciao for now!