“The woman who follows the crowd will usually go no further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has ever been before.” ― Albert Einstein.
Fear not dear one you know no limits the world awaits
discover learn, flower like a lotus risk loving
world`s here for you help to mend your broken heart cheer you to go on
no boundaries no limits that will bar you believe in you
your potentiials your power to rise undying love
love amply you will be loved passionately
follow your heart not the crowd who’s stuck march further
seek curiously live life like no tomorrows believe in you.
One expresses emotions in varied ways and for some it is spontaneous and simply who they are. Perhaps you are like me when you see someone you love and have not seen in a while, you run up to the person and hug them, kiss them on each cheek.
Overjoyed the morning I felt my son moving in my tummy…the basement of our new home had flooded and I could not hide my joy. Could not relate to the damage, the flood or any problem whatsoever for a human life did somersaults in MY tummy!!
Oh how I weep with joy every time I see my daughter performing in a choir, when my son did a guitar solo and sang a Bob Dylan song, when they graduated both from high school and college; and even today when I see them smiling and teasing each other…the joy just takes too much place in my heart and so I weep.
Perhaps your emotions are too close to the surface and your heart swells so much you weep the moment a word hurts your feelings; perhaps it is anger that is too difficult to conceal and you shout, rage or cry again. Maybe you have always felt life dealt you a raw deal and everyone and everything you touch must be for your loss, like a child who stomps off angry because Mommy would not let him eat candy before dinner.
And then there are those who do not express emotions as easily and it eats at them, festers and makes them sick…they are not “at ease” hence it stirs “dis-ease”. The persons who cannot weep when they grieve, express their love when they long, show their joy when they are gripped with such a powerful love…yet to look at their body language, one cannot read the joy, happiness, rapture or sadness.
Sometimes I speak to a person who has gone through the most dreadful experiences in his past, heard such hurtful comments, witnessed such atrocities and yet I hear no emotion in the voice…flat, no affect whatsoever. Over time the dam may open slowly when a person feels safe…In this case, a person had to hide all emotion to survive. To give in to emotion may weaken them and so life goes on with explosive emotions inflating their soul…heart, like a ticking time bomb.
Emotions are not excluded to humans, and we can see that with animals that we love. It could be a horse you would groom for hours before riding, your dog you have walked, bathed like a baby and cuddled with a towel to keep them warm, a cat that leans in close to get a pet, a scratch but deep inside we know it is to be close to you…expressing their emotions in their loving and natural way.
My grandfather had rescued a golden mix a few years before got terminally ill. GrandPapa died later in his bed at his home; when the ambulance came to take his body, Princess, the golden mix, followed the cot whimpering along the side and then went running in the basement howling so loudly. She did not come up for a whole week, so great was her grief.
The thunder of the waterfall echoed in the distance. Cher looked up at the sky and noticed dark rain clouds. She would have to hurry home soon if she didn’t want to get drenched but first she was curious. She walked all the way here for an hour from the other side of the village. She heard there was a path towards a secret garden. Her great-grandmother told her about it just before she died. “Cher, go to the garden luv, you must not miss this last chance to meet true joy.” She thought her grandmother was in her moments of dementia when she said that but still…what if?
Cher was near the falls now and the booming sound of tons of water falling was impressive and a bit daunting. Should she continue, she thought to herself peaking in the little opening between the two plum trees…and then she saw…
wild flowers competing for attention bursting in colours
There were mini gardens within the largest most spectacular garden she had ever seen. Daisies, buttercups, marigolds, lilies, sunflowers and so much more. At the centre of the garden was a cherry tree and the fragrance from the blossoms were so tantalizing. There was a section beneath the tree that looked like a velvet emerald carpet it was surreal…too perfect to be grass…and yet it was with tiny clovers interspersed and part of this exquisite verdure. She sat beneath the tree, picking at clover leaves and tasting their sweetness. She lay on her back for a moment admiring the clear blue sky …funny how the clouds disappeared here, she thought. The scented cherry blossoms seemed to have a hypnotic effect on her…she closed her eyes, “Just for a few minutes, I am so tired”…not realizing she was actually sleeping on a bed of poppies. They were so minuscule and not visible to the naked human eye.
She was bathing in bubbling hot springs and suddenly soft laughter of what appeared to be children, woke her up from this wonderful dream. She looked around and saw little people the size of her thumb dressed in glitzy costumes of gold, silver and her favourite of all…azure blues. They giggled louder when they saw her raiser an eyebrow. A chipmunk sounding voice shouted, “Come along, let’s set the tea and sweets. The human is awake…quickly now!!”
It took ten little people to push a porcelain floral cup and saucer towards Cher. When she realized the tea was for her, she reached out and picked it up saving them another two “human” feet would have taken another five minutes for them. The tea was sweet like honey and fragrant like cerise noir. She felt like a queen being served by these tiny people. Could they actually be fairies, she thought. She must be dreaming.
honourable guest visiting the Cherry garden Way of Tea
She heard a melody that seemed familiar as she put her cup down. Over by the daisies, on an elevated grassy turf, a beautiful petite woman with a white silk gown sang like an angel. She must be an angel, Cher thought, Oh, my I can’t seem to get out of this dream. Gosh! I don’t want to get out of this dream!
voix mielleuse refrain d’amour et longue vie transpire doucement ~ honey tones refrain of love and long life gently trickle
Closing her eyes, she let that sweet voice wrap her in a spiritual wellness. Each note lightened her heart, made her feel refreshed… reborn.
bathed in pure positive energy born again ~ born again releasing her grip softening chi
*Tetsuya says that holding on to the bow too tightly too long only weakens the bow. I must know when it is time to soften my grip. This garden is one way to be in the moment and float on a bed of poppies…drift away from worries, work. Here I am me, beautiful and perfect in all my imperfections.
Cher left the garden feeling refreshed and revitalized; she reminded herself to come back more often and not wait until the clouds turned dark and heavy…regular visits here would be a mindful choice.
May it be an evening star Shines down upon you May it be when darkness falls Your heart will be true You walk a lonely road Oh! How far you are from home
Mornië utúlië ([Quenya:] Darkness has come) Believe and you will find your way Mornië alantië ([Quenya:] Darkness has fallen) A promise lives within you now
May it be the shadow’s call Will fly away May it be your journey on To light the day When the night is overcome You may rise to find the sun
Mornië utúlië ([Quenya:] Darkness has come) Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië ([Quenya:] Darkness has fallen) A promise lives within you now
Géraldine rocked in her oak chair looking at the window. Clouds were hiding mountain peaks of Mont Tremblant. She sighed glancing at the photograph on her lap. Papa was in the other room snoring loudly. She found comfort in this sound. It meant she had peace and quiet for a few hours before he would awaken in his unpredictable rages. It spiralled if he’d taken a few swigs of his homemade Caribou. He seemed to take to it more and more these days. He’d heat it over the woodstove.
La maudite poele à bois! He still had not purchased an electric stove. What fool still cooks on such appliances? Bien moi, c’est qui! Her sisters ran off as soon as they could to la grande ville de St-Jérome for Estelle and Marie-Claude met a ski instructor and moved to Montréal. They left her alone to care for Papa. They’d each promised on Maman’s deathbed to take care Papa but only Géraldine kept her promise. “C’est ben trop tard pour moi, à c’heure.” She gave up hoping or caring. She volunteered at Auberge Alys Robi, an old folk’s home and knew that was probably her calling. The staff invited her often to come work for them.
She sighed heavily, at least she had a place to go when Papa was no longer here.
Her rocking chair creaked as she searched for those mountain peaks still hidden in their fog.
Oh dear, she thought. Mother had to arrange this outing, now didn’t she? She looked at her second cousin, Emile Candiac in the photo with her blushing and pretending to be shy. If only they knew she was turning red from rage.
I wish she would devote more of her time making Father happy, instead she finds it is her duty to make me miserable. Well, I’ll hand to her, she has succeeded.
Can you imagine, how embarrassing this will be for me if word gets out at the sanatorium that I was escorted by Emile Candiac! All of my colleagues had refused courtships by him. He’s the laughing stock of our neighbourhood, let alone le Sanatorium Alphone Genest. Now I will be the joke of the town! Me! a second year resident nurse! They will all think I am so pathetic that my mother runs my social life as well as my personal life! Jesus, Mary, Joseph, what next? Will she order me to go to the New Year`s Eve ball with him as well? I must feign illness. I must!!
Mother thinks that at the age of twenty, I will be an old spinster if I am not wed. I don’t want to be tied down like she was so young. Is it my fault she was without a grain of intelligence or logic marrying Father at fifteen years old, a man thirty years her senior! Emile Candia is twenty years older than me and I am not interested in being courted or even considered for marriage with such dunce! An old disgusting one at that!
I’ve been saving from my meagre wages, to travel. Maybe I could go with some of the girls to the States. We could take the train and head out to Newport, Vermont for a weekend. That would be nice. I hear their fabric, especially cotton is of higher quality than in Canada and at reasonable costs.
Now how can I get the image of that disgusting photograph out of my mind?
This was the second drought in three years and Father said he may have to sell the farm. Mother was up in arms since it was her father’s father’s father’s farm when they immigrated from Ireland. The winters here in Canada were cold particularly in St Jacobs and the summers were scorcher. Unlike the cooler summers in Ballybunion. Father would argue with Mother, “But Luv, we have to be reasonable! Your forefathers were wise enough to save their life savings and leave their land before the famine sucked them dry. Now we may just have to make a sage decision as well. Maybe it`s time to just settle with some cattle. There is always money in beef.” Mother was silent but her body clearly stated how upset she was with Father.
Ellie was not waiting any longer for Father`s decisions. She was leaving at the end of summer which wold give her ample time to help her parents move. They knew she had a “pen pal” from Toronto and although they had let her take the bus for a visit a few times, they had no idea of Ellie’s plans to leave St Jacob’s.
Lindsay was actually more than a casual friend; Ellie had fallen in love…fallen hard. She was eighteen, fresh out of high school and ready to explore the world. Lindsay had already signed a lease for an apartment for the two of them and they would both go to George Brown College to study Hospitality and Culinary Arts. She loved baking and Lindsay`s strength was in cooking. They had it all planned. They would work in posh restaurants for five years, save their money and open a B & B north of Toronto in the country. More and more city people were paying an arm and a leg for a weekend getaway outside the city along with fine dining.
She would wait until a week before moving to announce her plans, and avoid any scene she may see from Mother especially; she was pretty sure Father would also be “disappointed with his little princess.” She looked up at the sky and it was almost like a warning of the storm she was moving into. Once her mother and father realized Lindsay was a girl, Ellie was prepared for the worst …a cyclone for sure.
Haiku is a image of a moment in time, put on pause… examined, dissected and most important, felt. This was my moment in time when I got up this morning. My first day off for the weekend, like most people, a well needed rest in our long winters here.
golden glow
glistening charms melt
teardrops
I set that haiku aside for two hours and wrote another post and came back to edit it until I thought it “felt” like my moment. It did. Afterwards I decided to do a Troiku with this haiku which I learned at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai.
“Come along now, Bonnie, you’re holding us all up.”
.
Six year old Bonnie was stopping to collect a stone here, a stone there along the way on their family venture along the shores of Ballybunion.
.
“Stop being such a slow poke! stupid!!!” shouted her teenage brother, Sean. He was already agitated he had to tag along on this “dumb trip” when his girlfriend was back home in Dublin. “But NO!!, Mum had to visit the old homestead” he mimicked his mother’s voice, “’tis where your great-great-great-grand-dad O’Donnell was born and left for Canada during the famine” As if Sean cared about that trip that lasted one hundred years and they all moved back and lived happily ever after in Dublin, he thought. Big effin deal!!
~
“I’m not stupid! I’m smart, Miss O’Connell said so, so there,” she shouted back sticking out her tongue for good measure.
.
“Come along, Bonnie, we’re all tired and hungry. And stop picking up all those stones,now, luv. When we get to Monroe’s up ahead, we can stop for the day and eat a nice plate of fish and chips. How does that sound?” Bonnie scrunched up her nose just thinking of the smell she remembered the last time she had fish at Uncle Gerald’s. “They’re not stones, Mum, they’re precious pebbles and each one has a story to tell. Miss Con…” Her mother yanked her by the hand with a grunt and a sigh and Bonnie knew she meant business. She stuffed her pocket with three more pebbles and ran along side her mum and brother.
.
They saw the cabin near the pier and Sean rushed to Monroe’s to order his meal…he’d had enough being stuck with females for the past forty-eight hours.
~
They started walking up from the shore, high grass and spots of heather blowing in the wind made a pretty picture for any artist. Suddenly, Bonnie stopped and noticed something in the heather. “Mummy, come quick!” Her mother came by her side and they both approached slowly in case there was an animal hidden in the bush. Mae O’Donnell’s eyes widened and she put her hand to her mouth in shock. “This can’t be! It looks like it but is just can’t be! Jesus, Mary, Joseph…it is!”
~
Bonnie tugged at her mother’s cardigan, “What, Mummy, what is it.” Tears poured down her mother’s cheeks as she lifted the porcelain doll from the purple heather. “It’s me Gram’s doll. I used to play with it in the attic when I came to visit when I was your age, luv.”
Tournesol dans un Jardin 