The Dreamer & The Fawn

My grandmama (on my mother’s side) wrote a beautiful poem about a young man from long ago and a love that they shared yet was never spoken of. It stays with me, here and there I’ll see it among all her writings, letters and stories. When I think of it, as I find myself now, I always wonder why… why they never told each other how they truly felt? Never the right time perhaps? Something or someone always getting in the way? I suppose I’ll never really know… I can only hope that now on another plain they have found a way to exchange soft words and not far off glances, glances inevitably blocked by “the timing just isn’t right.”

Does one ever truly have the courage to risk breaking friendships that are so elegantly intertwined? Those that seem to stay in a land where time stands still, each moment filled with laughter and promises of forever never coming to pass.

The poet who speaks with flowers and words scripted upon stones hidden far away. But is it only a romantic fantasy? A stable boy finding his way to the princess, though worlds keep them long apart.

How do we dream up such things? Is it not because of the heart. The heart which through shadow and dark passage can only speak the truth, untainted by jealous thought and fear, the heart a peaceful warrior always steady, always strong. The candle in the wind.

“Bring me a rose any day and smile sweetly, I’ll remember, through star cast nights when the winds whisper ‘always and forever’, I’ll remember…”

“Wait for the pass to open when winter is finally gone, but be wary, sweetheart, of waiting far too long. The spring will come then go, the grass will weave and frosts not so tender hand will grasp and tear, another winter has come and for what? To leave one waiting… and springs perfect timing yet again to come, missed, now gone…”

For all my thought-filled wanderings I’ll leave your mind to play with this.

Be wary sweetheart. ‘Alone’ is ‘long’, when robbed of ‘A’, ‘E’ and followed by ‘G’. … and love is hardly this sensible… Be it always tender and strong.

-Said the wayward dreamer to the fawn.

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Never too old for magic

I remember the excitement of Christmas as a child, peaking through my bedroom curtains to see if it was snowing yet, placing water outside waiting for it to freeze, thus telling of the inevitable snowfall. The smell of the tree of course was the best of all, when it was dark out the tree would sparkle as if lit by fairy wings, dancing with tinsel and fragile glittery bulbs that would shatter into a million pieces if dropped, we’d lose one or two every year no matter how careful we were, they were just so delicate.

 Best of all were the gifts! Coming from such a large family, my immediate family alone would fill the under branches of the tree with so many gifts that it became almost impossible to water the poor green giant, all dressed up but with no place to go, one would have to create a path among the presents or lose our precious new family member to drought.

Nothing more exciting however then the night before Christmas, the hush of tired little elves and the rustle of last minute wrapping, it’s magic in the air, floating around each of us, radiating and multiplying into a tizzy of rambunctious joy!

My siblings and I would dream of snow, we’d cut out little paper snow flakes and tape them to the very large kitchen windows, this was tradition to give thanks to the snow for joining us in the past and willing it to return once again.

In those days we had several white Christmas mornings greet us, in our eyes snow would bring all the mystical creatures of the holiday to our home and it never quiet felt as special on years when the snow stayed away.

Even with the likely argument between either mum and dad or one of us kids getting into some silly quarrel Christmas was always the best part of the year, to this day I believe in the magic that surrounds us during the holiday season, hearts are warmer, hands open, smiles frequent. Though it’s not so much about the wading through knee deep discarded wrapping paper that I long for anymore, but the wholesome belly filled love sensation that is everywhere. The air still tingles and the Christmas tree still homes a dozen fairies, wings all a flutter.

…And perhaps maybe, just maybe if we are really still and press our noses to the cold glass of our windows, maybe we’ll by chance catch sight of the first snow flake as it falls.

 

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Correspondence, magic and the dreamer.

As I attempted to organize my (very) small room today and sort some of the many things I’ve inherited from my Grandmama Moo (I have been very lucky to inherit two beautiful little writing desks, one from my step grandma and one from Moo), attempting to sort the massive amount of writing materials into my two desks had me beyond overwhelmed, I hadn’t even begun to understand the beautiful collection of writing materials that Moo had, still I’m in awe, she had the most wonderful collection of postcards! Some to send out to friends and some for her own personal collection which is sorted into binders beautifully.
Even before I was a teenager I had discovered my love for writing and much like Moo my love for sending and receiving beautiful cards via snail mail, an art form and a hobby that has been abandoned by many nowadays and very much so by my generation… to my utmost despair.

The depth of the loss of my Moo slowly has been sinking in, it’s layers, constant layers that one has to find a way through over what feels like a very long time, in my experience sometimes years…. And so it has struck me that I have no one to write to anymore, Moo and I had an extensive history of correspondence and here I have her ‘writers dream of a collection’ of correspondence materials and no one to write to…

Moo and I would write about the trees, the sunsets, the flowers on her patio, how she loved the sea, magic, romance, cherry blossoms and our hopes and dreams in life, we had a language, a heart connection and a mutual love for the written word that I felt no one else truly understood, it was our soul food and corresponding with each other kept our dreams alive.
Of course it’s been sometime since she was able to write, the last year really she couldn’t manage, her eye sight and weariness made writing difficult, she often would have one of her grandchildren help her to respond to friends as it was easier than struggling to herself.

Denial, not wanting to see the truth of her age and the reality that she was not going to somehow recover from things was something that I struggled to accept, when someone has been in your life for always it’s hard to imagine them not being there, it’s still hard and likely will be for sometime.

I can’t stop writing, not ever, somehow I will find a way to forge on and though there will never be another Moo to dream with, perhaps through time I can find a few to write with and continue my Grandmama’s passion… weaver of stories… Until then I shall write to her, I shall write to her here and share with you dear readers the way Moo and I saw things and how that magic picked us up and carried us throughout our days.

"Not all those who wander are lost" J.R.R. Tolkien

“Not all those who wander are lost” J.R.R. Tolkien

I’ll be seeing you…

I’m sitting here at my weekly local cafe ‘write-in’ and instead of working on my current project I’m thinking about my grandma’s celebration of life which is happening today. In this all I can think of is how I don’t really want to be there, because I’m “supposed” to be saying goodbye, but I don’t want to say goodbye, I’m not ready for goodbye…. so perhaps I need to look at this from another angle, maybe I’m saying “I’ll see you later” or “I’ll be seeing you”, and I can hear the lyrics as the song comes to mind…. I’ll listen to it in my head and smile, for Grandmama Moo loved those beautiful classic love songs and movies! She did love going to see movies, the cinema as she always called it, “I’d like to go to the cinema”, she’d say, and we would…

When it was easier for her to get around her and I would on occasion go to the cinema, she liked Fifth Avenue Cinema’s, there is this lovely little cafe around the corner from the theater and we’d always go for a coffee before or after the movie. Moonie (as she was called by us grandchildren) loved to go for tea or coffee, or a little lunch at the local cafe down the street from her second floor apartment. I loved these outings, I loved how she would just sit and watch people walking by, we’d comment on a new painting or flowers on the tables and just be.

Later when it was too much for her to do these outings I’d go over to her place and we’d have tea and biscuits and a light lunch in her living room, we’d look out the windows and talk about the trees and what colour the leaves were, or untangle weeds in her patio garden and see how the roses were looking and if any were budding yet.

Grandmama Moo had a gift, she saw beyond all the ugliness in the world to the beauty that flourishes in every corner, no matter what was happening in the world she’d see the flowers hidden by overgrown ivy and the tulips escaping from behind the rubbish bins, some may say that she saw the world through rose coloured glasses, I appreciated this way of seeing things, I know it was also an escape for her from the pain that one carries in life, however it helped me, the way she saw things, helped me to get out of my head and find my heart once more and the creativity that is everywhere and in everything.

It became harder and harder for her to find these moments of magic in the last year of her life, it was strange to see her struggling with depression as it became more and more clear that she was coming to the end of this life’s journey, slowly I found myself faced with the fact that I needed to let go.

When it came to her time she wanted to go, she even told us, her family and friends that she was ready and wanted to die, it was hard to hear but I was proud of her as all of us were, she’d lived a good long life full of love and joy, with hardship and pain of course, but oh so much fun! She knew how to have fun and I think this is what made the last months or year of her life so hard for her, when her mobility finally went and all the things that she loved to do, even walking around the block simply became too hard for her.

I struggle with the time line of things and exactly when it was that she stopped fighting, it doesn’t matter, not really, what matters is how I want to continue living and honouring her memory, I miss her, all the creative talks, dreams, writing discussions, poetry and romance. There is so much I could say, so many things, but goodbye is not one of them and so I shall forget about goodbye, she’s here, as are all our loved ones in spirit, watching over us, supporting and protecting us, inspiring and pushing us.

So today I’ll raise my tea cup to Grandmama Moo and say “I’ll be seeing you”… and simply leave it at that.

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…. Grandmama Moo, the Rose Heart.

Drop

Words like imagery can move you…

into alternate places, deep and devastating corners of your mind, into shadow, into light,

there is something there to be said, something there to be felt, something….

And when you see it, feel it, read it, you are somewhere else, someone else,

and the universe appears in a way never before felt, never before seen,

it’s magic and wonder both at the same time and all you can do is stop,

close your eyes and breathe for fear of being lost in the wonder that is…

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Breathe

Sometimes it is a scary step to take in making yourself important enough to do what is best for your highest good, often we can’t hear what that is because we are too confused by the buzzing.

Sit in the silence, you know what you need to continue your journey. One step at a time.

Go walk, dance, meditate, shut out the noise of the outside world and focus on you. Then throw that all out the window and just be for awhile. Don’t over analyse, don’t do the ‘what if’s’, running them over and over again until you are so tired you wish you could crawl under a rock and it would all just go away…

Let go of controlling the outcome of the situation, trust that you are taken care of, you can’t control everything…  and the universe is supporting you, the universe has a plan…. everything happens for a reason.

You are going through this for a reason, there is something to learn, we may not know what that is and we may have to go through it another billion times, eventually something will click, if only for a short while and there will be relief.

The only person who truly knows what is best for you is you.

You already know what your truth is, you will either choose to ignore that and continue on, or you will make changes to align your life more with whatever your truth is! It can take years, you will know your pace, you will know what you need to do to follow your purpose, whatever that is!

Trust yourself, everything is going to be okay.

What is your inner self trying to tell you? What can you do to better hear what it is saying?

Are you happy in your life? What changes can you make?

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Breathe deep, you are not alone.