Shi*'s blog/

Beyond Translation

She said, 'Come here when you need to breathe'.

... and I did

... go there

... and breathed.

I had buried my heart deep where I thought that no one could ever find it, especially me. To feel love is to feel pain ... to feel. She opened me up like an ancient tomb, found the hidden key, unlocked my heart.

Blinking in the impossible brightness of a first dawn. Overpowered by the sudden strength of an emotion that I accepted as mine. Everything I had sought to bury, eradicate, destroy. So long ago that I had forgotten, what, where and why.

... and I was so grateful to be returned to myself, gave fealty forever.

An intervention accomplished, she disappeared. I was lost for a while. Didn't understand yet that this thing was mine, not hers. A final lesson she taught me by her absence.

... and later I found her again but I never lost the one she awakened inside me.

The point is ... if there is one ... love is what we have inside. But that is not enough in itself. It needs expression.

Understand me ... I am not talking about romantic love, erotic love, brother/sisterly love, God/Goddess' love, sensual love, any one sort of love ... I am talking about the unifying totality of all loves ... the currency of life ... shi ... ki ... the flow of the Tao ... the sacrifice of Odin, Jesus, Osiris ... the love of Mary, Ishtar, Isis, Tara, and all the other glitterball reflections of the one thing we all know ... even if we know it by different names. Love has many facets and all are sacred. The names and labels, creeds and dogma are of reductionist interest ... useful to those who study comparative theology or those who wish to set themselves apart.

So, I will transcend my frailty, my anger, my despair, my pain ... I won't stop feeling again though.

Baby and bathwater.

After a week of laughter and companionship with friends, a week of family comings and goings, time for chess and visits, city and seaside ... a quiet time, a time for reflection.

..............................................................................................

Soul looked at the sword, the word, the wyrd, the way, the truth perhaps. Cleaned and sharpened, its edge catching the moonlight silver, the firelight gold. One last wipe with a soft cloth and she slid it fluidly back into its sheath. A fluid motion on entering and leaving. Katana. The mountain night air was chill, the fire's crackle warming. Food prepared and eaten. Utensils cleaned and packed. Time for the dreaming, then. To be alone. To savour the moment.

..............................................................................................

We are all alone. In the beginning, in the end ... and in between. People come and people go. Some will not return, the numbers of the dead who pass, increasingly so as I grow older, and those tired of my way, but some will stay to share parts of the journey.

Now a time coming to cherish the beauty and flow of existence. To be without unecessary bonds, those ties that bind. Time now for preparation. To clean and sharpen, to wash and pack ... most importantly though to cleanse the spirit. To renounce need. To minimise the material necessary for comfortable travel.

It takes time. Time and patience and a heart full of wonder. Renewing the wonder. Let that be enough. Let it be.

'Singing words of wisdom, Mother Mary comes to me ...'

Peace.

Black, ragged-feathered and portentous. Odin's bird ploughs a furrow through the sea-grey sky. Straight as a singular dice cast. Inexorable course, written as I watch.

Pausing in mid-beat, casting a dark marble, glistening orb. Line of sight. Fixed, I am already past. The corvid flys on, running from the morning sun.

I take another draw, wash it down with a swallow of industrial strength.

And later, much later.

When the sun has passed its zenith.

I exchange unexpected confidences with a sculptor. Why his marriage is on the rocks ... ironic for a man whose spoken language is stone. Why mine failed in the end. Clichés, we conclude, that describe quotidian dramas played to an audience of one. He describes his place in time as the razor's edge, still unsure where the cut will occur. A Romance for a romantic being written ... a clay maquette for a life to be lived in stone. I leave feeling closer to this man. Something real has been said.

And now, as the sun sets ... Leonard tells me how there is no cure.

There ain't no cure

There ain't no cure

There ain't no cure for love.

... I think of the strange and tumultuous road ahead for him. He has met someone who has 'unlocked his heart' but he wants to save his marriage ... plus ca change, toujours le meme chose ... After many years of shutting down his emotions, of reduction of expressed desire, to maintain peace and harmony ... the cat is not only out of bag, it is giving tango lessons on the rooftops under a full moon ... an emotional No U Turns sign in flaming letters in the night sky. For what it is worth, I say there is no going back ... a future can be written any way but it will never be the past re-created. The world has moved on.

Welcome to the world of Shiva, destruction breeds creation.

This is a psychometric test based on the work of Carl Jung and Isabel Myers-Briggs. Jung first coined the words introversion and extraversion ... one of the axes measured in the test. I have found it remarkably insightful, but then I am an INFP ... Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceiving ... only one percent of the population apparently.

If you are interested, follow the link:

www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes1.htm

I would love to hear what you think.