Someone once said,
“Your wings already exist.
All you have to do is fly.”
I’m soaring through the rain today
how about you?
Pack your bags and come with me- no passport required.
Here we go again; I’m dreaming of traveling to far-away, mystical places. Lands where beautiful exotic things grow freely and the air smells like magic as the breeze blows little surprises my way. In my dreams everyone in this land is unique, no two are alike. Each person is valued for the special way they grace the world with a unique presence.
There is no pressure to be successful, no reason to stress or fight because everything is free and shared. In this place there is only harmony and peace, no wars, no prejudice, no poverty, just happy rhythms flowing freely like the whirrr of a carousel spinning round and round.
It’s all there in my dream just waiting to be discovered but for some reason this place is secret and can’t be found. No matter how hard I try or how long I search, I always wake before reaching this exotic place. So I have to wonder is there such a place of love and peace for all? Is this really a dream or just a passing thought drifting through my conciousness, inbetween awakefulness and sleep? Do you dream of shimmering places that can’t be reached?
Perhaps I’m dreaming of travel and far away lands because something feels a miss about this season of sun and budding gardens. The weather has been ever so funky and thrown me off just a touch. The days start out in the fifties with a cloudy haze and cool damp air. This lasts until mid afternoon when the sun either melts it’s way through the haze or thunder storms break loose and swallow the day. Then around four or five o’clock the sun gets warm and true to a June afternoon but shortly there after the coolness creeps back in. The weather has been quite bazaar for mid June.
Come to think of it this year has been a calamity of oddities, the weather colder than unusual with record amounts of snow and the news of an economy filled with doom and despair but then we had a little glimmer of hope with a new election and a promise of better days to come. Perhaps all of this would explain my thoughts and dreams that seem to be just out of reach. I have seen a glimpse of this magical place and it’s not perfect but soft and dreamy all the same, which is just the way I like it.
Have a soft and dreamy Monday.
Get comfy-here we go into part 2 of the Pink Door. If you missed part one click here first.
The feel of weathered metal, the anticipation of the unknown and the sound of her breath hot and damp filled the space between her ears. Her hand began to tremble as the creaking door inched it’s way to an open stance. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room. The smells were faint but somewhat familiar. A scratchy voice beckoned her to a back corner, softly bathed in a crystal glow.
One foot in front of the other, slowly making her way to a soft velvet chair. She looked into the face of deep character and darkened eyes. The gesture of a hand and the mumer in voice caused this woman to lend her palm for further examination. Words fell to a whisper as her eyes became fixated on the pale pink lips that had lost their supple shape. Her ears burned as the passionate tales of an old soul and her lover swirled round and round until her mind was full and half a day was spent. The essence of vanilla bean and dark cocoa lingered as insightful words trailed off and the light of day pierced her eyes. She squinted and took a deep breath of smug city air with a sigh of relief. This act of poor judgement and indulgence of curiosities had not caused her demise, in fact it was a pleasant way to pass the time. But now the light of day was falling and it was time for her daily transformation to commence. Just as she began to remove the pointy red shoes it happened. Her exit from the city was blocked. An unfortunate accident had closed off the freeway and forced her to detour from route.
With eyes like saucers and a heart beat that threatened to leap from her chest she noticed the similarities to the tales that were spun all afternoon. The afternoon’s images, so intricately described, began to unfold right before her. She passed the lemon tree which sat on a corner just past a white picket fence that contained a small child in blue cotton dress, chasing her tiger striped kitten. Just past the lemon tree was a familar old man walking his dog, the very same black and white dog described to her earlier that day. He was pointing to a drive just a few feet ahead. This drive led to a diner with a Moroccan blue door just like the shack that the mysterious old soul had described as the place where she met her “true love”.
The car swirved off the road and parked right up front. She entered the diner and took a seat on a stool at the counter. While enjoying her second cup of turkish coffee she noticed the essemce of vanilla and the bitter taste of dark chocolate lingering on her tongue. A chill rolled down her spine as the burn of a stare on the back of her neck quickly stole the moment. Slowly, very slowly, she turned to engage the eyes that remained so intently focused on her shape. Her chest tightened as her throat let out a tiny gasp. The dainty cup filled with her delightful brew fell to the floor and shattered the silence. Those eyes, those hauntingly beautiful eyes, that hair, that dark wavy hair…
Don’t miss the conclusion of this tasty little tale coming very soon. I think I’ll go grab myself a dainty cup of coffee. Cheers…
Slums of Mumbia India
What is it about human nature that forces us to look at the suffering of our fellow human beings? We have an intense need to gawk at the scene of an accident, a bubbling curiosity to drive through the worst neighborhoods to view the belongings of evicted tenants strewn on the lawn, and a deep lust to read about the struggles of our blogging friends. Is this simply human nature or something else. Have we been conditioned by the continual onslaught of violence that the media crams down our throat? Maybe we’ve been desensitized by the evening news and the constant reminder of how tragic the world has become. Do we tune in our ears and affix our eyes without even realizing ,or do we make a choice?
I can only speak for myself when I say that I have a wander lust to travel to remote countries and witness the human condition. The power of witnessing people at their rawest form gives off some sort of romantic notion. Real people raising their families and surviving against all odds is inspiring and somehow magic.
How did I get this way? I never stopped to think about that ,nor did I even realize I felt this way, until I viewed the recent phenomenon called “SlumDog Millionaire.” It is an extraordinary film of brilliant, up in your face, cinematography and a Bollywood soundtrack too good to miss. This modern day Cinderella tale takes you inside a world too painful to imagine and yet so breathtakingly beautiful in color and culture. I found myself falling in the love with this film very early into the picture and yet I still wondered if it was innate human nature or learned behavior that made me and so many others feel this way. I’m not sure that I can explain why I was so taken with this film. It was intense at times and in other moments slipped by like a ripple in the water but each and every second was just as captivating as the last. The characters lent you their emotions without you even realizes the exchange had taken place. It was seamless and when the movie ended you felt good. A modern day fairy tale told with a twist. I loved it!
Some have accused writer Simon Beaufoy of exploiting the people in the slums of Mumbia and criticized the name Slumdog. They claim the word dog is demeaning to the people of India but he claims it is only a shortened version of Underdog. Has he exploited the people of India? Have we voyerized their existence? I have to admit that upon my return home from the movie I wondered how true to culture he’d been. I quickly googled the Mumbia slums and found that the images were true. The sights and sounds of this movie are the real thing, no mistake. Does that make it okay?
I loved the movie but I can’t answer the question of whether this film trivalizes the struggles of the people of Mumbia nor if this kind of fairy tale makes us forget what tragic conditions many people around the world or just outside our front door are forced to endure. Is it right to be curious? Is it okay to look? Is this what makes us human?
I have no doubt that most of us have been voyerized because of our religion, a scar on our face, a limp in our walk, or the old beater we are forced to drive. We have also been on the other end of the spectrum as the voyee.
Ghetto/slum of Detroit, Michigan
Although I am a voyeur who enjoys this type of look into the human condition, I’m afraid to let myself get too close and feel their pain. It’s easy to look from a distance without getting close enough to smell the garbage rotting on the street but my view may have to change. I was recently asked to get closer to the streets by monitoring at risk children and becoming their court advocate. I want to step forward and lend a hand, but I don’t know if I can take it. I am afraid to feel too much; it might hurt a little and make me think a lot. This would mean that I couldn’t turn my head when it got really ugly or walk away when the smell got too strong. I would have to become more than just a voyeur; I will have to be involved. Do I have what it takes? Can I use my moxy and curious nature to help children who can’t help themselves? I’m ecstatic and terrified at the same time. I haven’t made a decision yet but stay tuned to find out.
Dance scene jai Ho
Happy Valentine’s Day!!!!
I would like to feature a secret Valentine written by night man in honor of this day of love.
To Michaela. I see you from time to time at work. I am pretty old and you are young. You are one of those girls who has small, delicate, completely regular features and pale skin, so a statuette of you made of porcelain would look terrific on some connoisseur’s mantle.
And you are also a person who has practiced an art you recently had to give up for reasons I don’t know. Now you are 22 years old and an everyday cubicle dweller. I saw you looking sad for a long time, but now you look happier.
I am glad you are happier and are studying to be another kind of professional, so you can escape Cubicle Hell. And I thank you for being a spot of beauty in a huge workplace that seems otherwise to be devoid of beauty and full of sadness. It makes my day every time I see you.
Please welcome Cat to the sofa.
Dear Lone Ranger,
I can feel you by my side, in my heart and all over my mind. I can hear you through the silence and smell you in my sleep. I know you like I know myself but sometimes I forget that we are not one. You have been there for so long attached to my every move, my every thought. I never considered life with or without you. I didn’t have to think of you at all because you were me and I was you. I took advantage of our closeness, our unique and unshakable bound. Sometimes I forgot to notice and just drug you along at my side. I never doubted your unwavering support or unmistakable love but I didn’t acknowledge it either. Our first kiss left me quivering.
You grew tired of feeling alone, unnoticed and under appreciated. Now I can’t feel you or even smell you but I can see you with another and it’s killing me. We were meant to be together and I can’t function apart from you. If you come back to me I promise that this time I will not only feel you and drag you along side but really see you for all that you have given to my life. Don’t leave me now that I know who you really are.
with love ,
Junie: A beautifully put love letter Cat Woman; I sure hope the Lone Ranger is reading this.