Chicken Sandwich and Where Do Wounded hearts GO?

"Lady Reading By A Window": Thomas Benjamin Kennington
Click  Gandalf's Gallery to view

The beach, the mountain, the forest, by a river, down the lake, anywhere with pure quiet solitariness would be my preference. Whisk me!

Though March may be thick of summer, my surrounding is sodden in bleak mottled grey. I am heart sick. Ugh, melodramatic, but how else can I say it? I've a mind to pack myself a slice of (wheat bread) chicken sandwich, a bottle of spirtzy water, and a good sized pink cottony blanket to spread on the grass; perhaps then my entire composition would lift. Chicken sandwich will do it!

Of course there would be a book and a pen to bring. But the sun, the sun is stubbornly merciless! All would have to wait till later.

Scorching and sticky and numbskulled! Days like this, one simply has to ride it.

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California Chicken Sandwich

I Was Just Talking About Happiness and Hair

Napa Wine Valley by: Lombardi

When I close my eyes this is where I go.
To the neatly patterned browns and collard greens,
and   blurred crimsons and sun kissed hues of this masterpiece,
I succumb. Lost; come find me.
I am given to much dreaming I suppose.

Half past midnight the other night, my husband had the distinct pleasure of being the lone audience to my chatter on the - wisdom - of - life. My life. (hehehe!) That he was apparently tired ( just a little bit) ) escaped me. What can I do? One must be a vessel of insight when the inspiration assaults!

I talked about "happiness" and how we, the people, of the earth, complicate and struggle to snag it. Verbosity floats out there. Happiness can be an online lesson, read between pages, lectured up on stage, preached at the pulpit, sang, planted and painted. As if one must be particularly skilled.

Or, happiness might be a resort valley you save up (plus,VISA) to vacation to. Happiness. So foreign in its someday. So if. So when. Faraway.

Look into people's eyes and you might see in degrees the play for someday. Someday I'll be happy, when I've arrived and if I have it!  Someday. If. When. Words detrimental to sanity.

The waking up in the morning, the coffee, the day's trade, callanetics, the grass,  the misunderstanding, the laughing, the being silly, the afternoon sunlight, coffee conversations, the deadline, the regurgitating cat, the angry word, the rude, the miscalculated risk, the stupid nonsense, cheap chocolate, tempranillo, the getting sick, the being surprised, the procrastinating, the exulting, the insulting, the forgiving,  latte with fattening whipped cream  and cluelessness...( all the other darn industry of life left unsaid ) - they and those and them are IT!

Happiness unadulterated is truly quite a fortune! The good, the bad, the ugly, the sexy, the whatever of now, rim it with your own brand of silver lining IS happiness. We simply take responsibility. 

For a year I wore my hair quite long. 

A week ago I cut it. By my own self, yes I did! Easy. 

Snip and snip and it was all done. 

Happiness. 

" There is always a question in your mind about something, and there is always an answer gift wrapped in the moments of your life."

~ Neale Donald Walsch

More on my happiness today:

• Reading Goddess Leonie; " How To Have A Miracle A Day"
• Reading Madelyn Mulvaney 
• Listening to this: "Oh Lori"
• Reading this book
• Of course I always read Carmen
• Poetry, poetry, poetry

Happiness I look forward to:

• My new batch of corporate folks to teach.
• Writing a good poem. It will come.
• Painting something pretty.
• A new friend. I don't know who, but there will be. There always is.

That's All That Matters

And this is a painting I have fallen in love with, created by the wonderful French artist Laurent Parcelier. Simply, delirious in light and sun and that filmy sweet dreamy love atmosphere that transports to wherever part of his heaven that is. Marvelous! Marvelous! You simply have to sigh to yourself,  "I belong there!" 

After playing quite the somber soul a night before my birth day, wherein I wrote the post I posted a post below, well, what can I say except life is life, sometimes we are ecstatic and triumphant in knowing, and then there are stretches where we ponder the deepest depths there is from our personal well of experience pull ing up a pail of nugget knowing that merely portions a quart of life lessons. Meaning there are a thousand trajectories to our being.

In the afternoon of my 44th birthday, I strangely became momentarily agitated. There was no quelling that dispassionate dragon, no matter how logically I chastised myself to behave. Discomfited and appalled at my sullen behavior, it took all my resolve from giving vent to whatever screwy emotion  churning my insides. 

Interestingly, my shadow person instantly metamorphosed into a docile butterfly ( from to dragon to butterfly, quite the transfiguration!) soon as my two sons walked into the palace of my home. Breezy winsome smiles and youthful air, they greeted me, the youngest brandishing proudly the gift he had acquired. I was in love with their presence. No happier, calmer mother was there at the moment. Perfection and completeness. Sunshine blessings to cap the late obliging afternoon of my day. And I realized my heart was merely aching for the sacred completeness of my tribe. What gratefulness and joy it was when it was so. The gift that I beseech granted.

After all that's been said, the innermost light of life is having each other. That's all that matters.

Unraveling

What is there to say when all the love has slipped away in half a minute

There is always something we can blame but in the end it's just the same

Suddenly you find yourself alone

What is there to say when every dream just fades away in half a minute...

Tomorrow I turn 44 but what is there to say except the obvious  - that I am grateful for life. Granted, my actions of late belie the notion, I suppose, for in truth,  there is much for me to ponder about the present me I have become. There is no kindness to my thoughts on this account - only honesty.

Two days ago I chanced on an ancient blog of mine and in a rare show of apparent interest read through my past ruminations (a pained cringe, a bleeding wince for incredulously boring writing). Journals do what they ought. Laced in teetering verbosity, they reveal a tactless truth to the workings within and the evolution of being.  Word naked. Page after page was the unraveling of a person who played on a cycle of moods: ecstatic, melancholic, bubbly, downcast, confused, enlightened, hopeful, resentful, encouraging and deflating. For a moment it was laughable, a woman child painfully peering through the world via pink rimmed spectacles.

Glued  to the comedic display was a saving grace to it all for I found part and parcel courage to be quite genuinely happy in between. It takes courage to be happy. In that aspect I pay respectful salute to the me of the past and ardently wish a moiety of her strength sans naivete would pulse in the present.

For life is lonely; I am not first to espouse; minstrels, bards, saints and transgressors had so. Why on earth do we strive to achieve? To earn? To gather together? To entreat a sublime being? Even to celebrate? Is it not, in all propriety to chastise this insipid feel of isolation? We are all each of us a planet of our own. Yet even planets conspire to align.

Often it is surmised that at the age of 40, a woman has - arrived. Arrived where? Four years past prime and yes, I get it, and no I don't. That's the whole truth of it.

Perhaps tomorrow I shall think differently.There is still tomorrow. That tomorrow when I turn 44.