Yellow StarThistle

He was simply the most beautiful creature I had ever heard or seen in my life. I can compare him to none I have met before or since.

His voice reached the interior of my soul first. It was perfect. No accent, no nasal quality, but pure, manly deep but not overly so, like a perfect merlot- full, mellow, with notes of music and romance. The mere sound of his voice wrapped and filled me with comfort and bliss.

His skin was flawless, ringlets behaved in his precisely cut hairstyle, his Italian nose was both classic and perfection, teeth straight and bright, a smile so warm and welcoming one couldn’t help but feel taken in by it. The dimple I discovered when he smiled and the closely trimmed beard which was beginning to turn white made me come completely undone. He was absolutely divine.

Acutely aware of his infectious charm he perched behind a casual façade- as if to dim some of his own brilliance.  His self confidence was mesmerising. 
He carried it within him the way a mother carries a new babe in the womb- surely and deeply. His glow was undeniable.

He didn’t walk into a room like other people do, he was fluid, I would almost say he glided. There was nothing ungainly about his steps or his movements. Everything he did, from opening the car door, to washing a dish, to cooking a turkey was done in such a way I would have sworn it had been rehearsed. Never once did I see him flustered or shaken. Even in dealing with a hysterical woman, he was calm and unruffled. He was ever as tranquil and beautiful as a still lake at sunrise.

I loved him urgently, swiftly, and completely, though I was warned, “That man will break your heart.” I paid no heed, but a minuscule seed of worry was sown into my inner core and quickly forgotten. A seed, much like a weed, which began to take deep roots before I ever noticed its tiny shoots on the surface of my garden heart.  That weed much like kudzu, was impossible and fruit less.

He made love to me like I was the only woman in existence. I felt I was his angel, yet knowing full well I am much closer to the type described as Hobbit folk. The passion, the laughter, the shared stories and the way we reveled in each other was sublime. Our time together was too short. One of us was always having to leave, and the distance between us was bothersome and painful to me, but he took it all in stride. I took his self-confidence to mean he was sure of us, of our connection. Our interactions were not casual...though there were languid moments of delight, and sparkling ones of laughter.

His gifts were utterly unique, thoughtful, and timely. A jar with favorite chocolates and hand written love notes for my birthday.  Flowers for my arrival- pink, my favorite color rose. Music filled his house. Beloved tunes of his previous life, and new ones picked out for me. Dancing for no reason-except to dance and hold the person you love closely. Sunsets and moonlight and shooting stars were ours, and nothing was impossible when I was with him. No harm would come to me while in his embrace.

And then…

In one fell swoop I lost him. My divine being withdrew his wings and pulled away swiftly…almost as swiftly as I fell in love with him. A responsibility as big as keeping the moon in orbit fell upon him; and while fearless in his new role, he was unable to hold on to me. With grace, yet determination, he cut the tie he’d bound me with- never suspecting he’d also severed the cords of my heart.

I bled profusely. I wept like a little lost child in the middle of dirty Calcutta. I crumpled and fell to the ground like a used Kleenex, and my world was filled with searing pain. I searched my heart. Was there no way I could assist? No use for me in his new role? Couldn’t I remain attached as a cheerleader, or a bringer of dinner or flowers?

Ahhh…flowers. 
As I looked inwards- there it was, the Weed. 
It was so big and thorny and overgrown there was room for little else. It grew with rapid speed and complete destruction without the divine to keep it in check. It stood tall and stared back at me when I faced it. Internally she towered over me. She was as frightening as my lover had been beautiful. 

Without eyes and tilting her yellow head somehow she smirked at me.

Her words echoed in my gut, “That man will break your heart”.

Dante's Inferno- LOVE

Love is more unitive than knowledge in seeking the THING, not the THINGS reason; :Love is bent on finding a real union- though this can only be constituted by knowledge.

Love wants to find the thing that is tactile.  Love wants what it can put it's heart, and hands, and lips on.  It wants warm flesh, and a knowing smile, and soft sheets, passion, and laughter when all is said and done.


According to Dante-
The effects of love are enumerated as "such":
*  Reciprocal abiding - together by choice
* Mutua Inhaesio-  mutual indwelling
* Of lover and beloved together
* a transplant- "out of the self into the other"
* ardent cherishing of each other- with zeal  (was Dante a woman or what?)
* a melting- liquefaction- so that the heart is unfrozen and open to be entered
*  a longing in absence
* heat in pursuit- fervor
*  AND enjoyment in presence..fruitito

Then...what of fear?
And honestly, this is where I have fallen short...fallen short of fear because there was never any need- and yet, now there is.

"Without the discipline of service and obedience, fear remains formal and does not spread over the whole known reality of existence."

As a kid I knew all too well if mom or dad threatened corporal punishment it would come surely and swiftly.   I abided by my word out of the fear of what they would do to me if I lied.   Being untruthful was a magnificent sin in my little world.
Once I expanded beyond my little world- I realised that lies were something people did every day- with no remorse- and no consequences.

Yet- as I age- I fall back into the undeniable value of trust, and truth, and being who I say I am.   Even if I admit to being faulty, or broken, or  blonde (flighty) at times.

In this moment I am alone.   There is no one to call (with more authority than me) if I end up in a rough place.   My kids, my siblings- my friends, all still look to me.   I am Mom, and the Eldest, and a pillar to most people who know me.

In love...what I long for and want to offer- is shelter.

Not necessarily a place to lay your head (though that would be fine)- but a place to lay your heart.  A place, like a manger, where the most important being in the world (to me) can rest his sleepy head.
And wake up feeling new- and strong- and awesome.
Mostly because my Love found it's union- and my wisdom could attest to my loves finding.
-CRB
 9-26-15

New day

"Wisdom trumps feelings."

-Cora Blue


without a doubt- this is true.  

Enough

.

The moment you doubt in yourself,
The moment you give way to another-
The moment your happiness depends on ___?
Is the moment you fail altogether.

In this landscape of broken dreams,
Is the moment you see WHO you are,
Beautiful, ugly, perfect, or shattered-
A planet, or a fallen star....

The sweet moon shines on me tonight-
Forgiving all of my imperfections-
I glow in the thought- of maybe just maybe,
I AM my own version of heaven....

IF I smile at each fear, IF I welcome each change,
IF I step out in faith when I must-
Love will find me- love will bind me,
And love- of myself- will be simply enough.

-CRB  9.2.15

Stuff from a long time ago...

I forgot about this place...
http://maydenpersona.blogspot.com/

:)  Fun to look back and remember ♥

Lifetime

A lifetime she said,
Slowly turning her head,
And smiled at the man of her heart.
Whatever is left, we'll make it the best,
Each morning we'll kiss at the start♡

A lifetime she whispered,
Forgetting all winters,
Only thinking of spring-
Of flowers in bloom, while honeybees zoom,

 and the man who made her heart sing.

A lifetime can be lived in a moment,
Or it can span 100 years,
Millions of seconds of joy and pain,
Of laughter, learning, and tears.

"A lifetime", he whispered, and nodded his head,

 while holding the one he loved so-
I've waited long- you are my hearts favorite song,
For a lifetime, I'll never let go.

CRB

Comfort, Illness, and transparency

In my earliest memories of being sick as a child- my mom was always present, and ever providing comfort.   She held my hair while I hugged a trash can, brought a cool towel for my face and forehead, and poured a tiny glass full of ice and cola for me to take tiny sips from.  Her care was equally diligent for a bad cold, or a an injured limb- she was present and she was helpful.

This week I suffered from a terrible bout of food poisoning.  It was most likely the norovirus, which has a quick and violent beginning, and leaves the the body weak and drained.   Re-hydration is tricky because you don't want to do ANYTHING to trigger the retching again.  Mom's advice about tiny sips echoed through my head multiple times.  It was good advice then, and it is good advice now.

Aside from the unfortunate realtor who came by to show the house I am living in (while I was on all fours in the bathroom over a rug thinking I would cough up my liver)- I battled this illness alone.   No husband hiding on the other side of the bathroom door...no kids asking me if I wanted tea.
No Mom to hold my hair, or reassure me I would survive, or laugh at me when I said out loud "At least the Ebola patients get to die after a few days!"
But, she was there in spirit.
For several hours I was praying I could join her in heaven, but it all passed (no pun intended!), and I came out of the ordeal several pounds lighter and had a new appreciation for suffering alone.  In one way it was a relief no one was around.  I was a disaster.  In another way it was enlightening...to be in pain, unafraid, but helpless and kind of seeing myself in a pure form- because no one else was there- I didn't have to be concerned with their reaction to my misery.  
I suppose we have all tried to put up a good front for people we don't want to worry with our pain (unless you are a man- and then nevermind.  I have never met a man who wasn't a complete and total baby when he was sick!)
Anyway, back to mom.   I think she was probably the last person with whom I was totally transparent.   The only person I have ever trusted enough with all of me not to run away shuddering at what was inside.  

I want that again.   Obviously I can't have my mom back, but I do wonder if there is another soul on the planet I can fully trust with my heart, and my guts, and my thoughts.  I hope so.
However, even then...I don't want them too close if I get food poisoning again.  
Some things are simply better left unseen, unheard, and unknown.

:)

Blast from the past

I probably shouldn't post this again, but it seemed to be a fitting way to end this year- with a joke :)
 (This video is at least 6 or 7 years old!)
Next year is a new ball game, and I am in it to play and play hard!
And I'll try to come up with a better joke :)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpdPo9FD3LI

Reasons or Results?

I'm tired of all the reasons, which is why I don't have the results I want.  Need.  REQUIRE!
Time to compile my first book...
Past time.
Last night I went to a writers conference, and several of the members I had met over a year ago and they were "planning, thinking, chewing on, dancing around"...writing their books.  Those people are published now.

I am published in multiple forums and in Europe.  Not all writers need to write a book, but my mom definitely expected me to publish one.  Actually, I think she expected me to publish many books.  One of the ladies I met, Lee, has always reminded me of my mom.  Last night, with all the beauty and kindness of her spirit- she pulled me aside and said, "Cora- where is your book?"
I bit my lip a tad because for a split second it wasn't Lee who was asking me...
It was MOM who was asking.

In truth, the book is already written.  I just have to put it together/edit/and publish it.  I will self publish- it's definitely the way to go in the beginning.  I'm not a new author (lol...getting a bit too old to be new at much of anything these days! :), but a new "book author" is within sight.

It's funny- someone reminded me of the first paper I ever wrote in Creative Writing when I was 8. I wrote about Aliens and meeting one, and how nice they were (though they were very different), and it was such a happy little story.  My teacher was very surprised.  I didn't know why.  Now, as I think of the 8 yr old little girls I know- it would surprise me a little to discover one was writing a genre which mostly consisted of older male writers.  This was back in 1977.   (Carl Sagan did not have much influence in my life, but maybe more than I realized?)

Anyway...the TIME IS WRITE-
and I am expecting better than reasonable results :)

I made the news again :)

http://www.newsobserver.com/.../ask-the-experts-company... news article...

Eyebrows are awesome...

The things we take for granted are various and many.  Especially here in the United States of America.
Clean water comes on every time I turn on the faucet.  The electricity here is operational 99.9% of the time, unless we've just had a hurricane or a natural disaster.  In fact, the times we have been without electric current I have worried we are TOO dependent on lights and refrigeration.  My parents remember when electricity and televisions came into being.  My kids can scarcely imagine a time without computers, much less running water and 500 channels of nothing to watch.
But I digress-
Many of us recall a time of cheap gas and big cars, and (oddly) a refill of coke would cost you an extra .50 cents.  Houses were cheap, hospitals were a place to die, and only women of a certain means were able to get their hair dyed, nails done, and eyebrows plucked to look like Ava Gardner.
She was gloriously amazing... (and from about 60 miles from where I live!)
These days things have changed.
Probably to our demise and undoing.
Of all the modern conveniences- including the ice maker, microwave, and awesomely comfy bed warmers (I do mean the electric kind- kudos Ande :)-, not the iron pot full of hot coals one would drag across the sheets!), one glorious, yet terrible, product has made it's way into the homes of millions of Americans.
Waxing kits.
Yes...I mean waxing kits, the kind of thing which should be left to professionals at all costs, and never EVER used on eyebrows.
Ever.

The Moon tonight

I sat outside alone tonight-

Letting the moon pour over me...

I realized the Moon- He is a MAN

And love is all He seeks.

He reflects the light of a golden sun,

A lover always just beyond his touch-

And how are you and I so different?

Longing for the perfect "such and such"?

The smell, the feel, the leather glove,

Made for you- and you alone.

The touch, the way- the perfect fit-

Like muscle around it's bone.

The man in the MOON was smiling-

He's in love with the "girl in the world"-

But I'm a fool to think it's me-

An aging- simple girl...

And yet, I felt his love come down,

and cover me in light-

He whispered- unabashedly,

That "I" was his delight-

"Few take the time to revel in me",

He said, without remorse,

But those who do- and find the truth,

Will find an altered course!

And so- I sit here tonight-

Touched by a wild full moon.

And I wonder- is he a lover I can trust?

Or not?

Thinking of Ande, Sean, Brian, Foamy, Ted (wherever you are!), NYD, and the rest of my beloved bloggers in this space.   I so miss you.

cora.blue@hotmail.com-

or- you are free to text me at 919.903.4188- seriously- all my phone stuff is free :)  I'd love to hear from you ♥ 

Idiots and heroes...all on the same icy road.

First of all I live in, and love, the South.
People from here, in general, are good natured, easy going, and are willing to jump in and help out in a crisis. Forget the stereotypes, though I admit they have their place in the world, people FROM the South are often kindhearted, thoughtful, and well intentioned.  Yes, we have our share of greedy dumbasses, but for the most part, we embrace people from all walks of life and consider the needs of others above ourselves.
Today, on my way home in the snow storm, I had to pause to reconsider my roots, my kindness, my manners, and my ability to deal with idiots.  If I'd had my Bersa 380 with me all bets would have been off.  I have never seen such an astounding group of ill prepared, STUPID, and inconsiderate people in my entire life.  I can only assume they are transplants from the North or the West Coast.  Yes, Yankees, or damn foreigners!   No one born and raised in this neck of the woods could be so incompetent.   However, I do admit a snow storm of this intensity is enough to make anyone a little stupid- it was/is really bad.
My dad, who is from Indiana- always told me, "Snow is fine to drive in, but ice is another story."   From him I took my cues when it came to driving, and I've always felt that snow was "doable", but ice was something to be avoided at all costs.
Apparently some people can not find a way to drive on a wet road, much less one covered in snow. Triple their incompetence when it comes to ice.   When ice is involved- please alert the morgue- because you will have an influx of deserved visitors!  (at least I hope so)

My first clue trouble was ahead was when I drove down the empty street next to my office and saw a woman, near her home, stop her car in the middle of the street, to wipe her windshield with a scraper brush.  Yes...she was half a mile from home, and stopped- IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD, to clean off her windshield.  A little further down the street several people, whose cars were not in ditches or off the road in any way, had exited their vehicles- apparently, just to walk around in the snow.
The main roads, as you can imagine, were impossible to traverse.
My Google GPS took me a way home I had never been before...avoiding the congested streets and areas with reported accidents, it took me through the housing projects- where apparently people have no cars- and they simply congregated on the corners to see if anyone would break down.  It was kind of like Firefly having to coast through the really horrible part of deep space- and hoping they wouldn't be raped, cut up, bbq'd and then murdered for merely being in the wrong part of the solar system.   Obviously, I made it through unscathed.  Or at least I think so.

An hour out of my way, and surrounded by Asians and Indians in tiny cars, I found myself on a familiar road, yet mysteriously at a stand still. No one was moving, except for the tiny woman from India (who had abandoned her car and was walking) who wanted to talk to other motorists who were at a standstill.  She was very cute, and when I rolled down my window to listen to her, she kept insisting everyone up ahead was stuck.
I chose to believe her and turned around.
I sort of wondered if we were all headed into an internet sort of scheme- only a highway version.

I took the very road the police had warned us against.  A long, curvy, hilly sort of road that had not been plowed or treated in any way.   Of course, this road, while being free from any sort of city treatment, was also free of all idiots.  No one in a little car would brave this particular street.  Even Santa would have been wary of it.  I, on the other hand, was pretty sure I could manage it, and if I ended up in a ditch, at least no one would see it- or find me until I was properly dead.   Heaven forbid I be found in a ditch and not properly dead...I could not bear the embarrassment of all that!

In less than 10 minutes I was home.  A giant truck about 200 yards ahead of me had made a perfect path for my 4Runner to follow along in.  No idiots, no abandoned cars, just me and the beautiful snowy road was ahead of me.  No one ran into me, or scratched my truck, or rear-ended me.  It took over 3 hours to get home, but I avoided all the zombies on the road.
Wait, I meant...idiots.
Ummmm---
Wow.
They WERE just like Zombies.
OMG.

I really should have had my gun with me.
Augggghhhhh!

Duty...to myself?

"It is easier to do one's duty to others than to one's self.  If you do your duty to others, you are considered reliable. If you do your duty to yourself, you are considered selfish."
-Thomas Szasz 

What is a duty to yourself?  I understand (all to well) the duty I have to others- as a mom, daughter, wife, friend, and sibling, but when I think of being dutiful to me I wonder what that looks like.   Why don't I know exactly what it means?   Have I put myself at the end of the list for so long I can't imagine a life of simply caring for me, or to ask to have my needs met?

The other day I explained to a friend that I didn't want any more emotionally un-fulfilling relationships in my life, which includes work, home, and social relationships.  This also includes food, alcohol, music, TV, books...anything which can enter my body needs to be healthy and and enriching.  I am tired of the junk.  At times, I feel like junk.   (I should probably delete my fb page too!)
I don't believe in resolutions.  I do believe in re-evaluation.  I need to make, and have made, drastic cuts in people and habits which drain my resources, or weaken my body and spirit.  I want the power to say NO, and the wisdom to know when to give my all and say YES.   I will not abuse/numb my body because my spirit is suffering.  I will face the searing pain in my heart/spirit and let it rage on, pour out, be released, and try to heal as best I can.

I suppose that is a duty to myself.  A duty only I can manage.

Eating right, going for a walk every day, listening to uplifting music, making an attempt to be better organised...all these things build me up and make me a better version of me.  Versus my pretending to be well.  The facade can only hold up for so long.

So perhaps the best way to really understand what "duty to self" looks like I should start with what might look selfish to others.  Putting my needs first.  Thinking of myself as a person I love...hmmm.   Herein lies part of the problem.  It's so very easy to love others, and so much harder to love myself.   I mostly see my value and self worth reflected in the things I do for others. This makes it difficult to see the intrinsic value of myself.   I will have to reflect on the last sentence for a while.  It pains me to read it.

I need a shower, and to prepare for work tomorrow.  I'm going to use the new bath stuff I got for Christmas, and not keep it packed away for guests.  I'm going to enjoy and relax the time I have to myself for the next hour or so.  I'm going to turn on my music, make a cup of tea, and relish the rest of this new day in a new year.

Tomorrow I am getting my hair cut and highlighted and I am leaving work early.
Perhaps this idea of "duty to myself" will be easier to accomplish than I thought?

xoxoxox!

How did you live...and die?

I read this the other day- and it made me think of my mom, as well as the way I want to live until my last breath.   Thank you for your thoughts and love during this time.  Tomorrow I see a grief counselor for the first time and I'm sure it will be helpful.   I'm sad to admit I still feel so sad and at lose ends most days.   I look forward to being on vacation for a week every month until the new year.  I imagine I needed one before now, but the timing just hasn't worked out.    Love to each of you-

How Did You Die?

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there -- that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
It's how did you fight --  and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?

© Edmund Vance Cooke 

Rilke...

This poem has touched me so much over the last few days- especially this last part,

Oddly enough, I wasn't sure who I was thinking of sharing it with when I first read it.

Now, I am beginning to believe, I to say it to my self.  

To be able to say this ABOUT myself.

To embark on a journey where I am, and must be, TRUE to me.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection, 
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection. 
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent; 
for there I would be dishonest, untrue. 
I want my conscience to be 
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed 
for a long time, one close up, 
like a new word I learned and embraced, 
like the everday jug, 
like my mother's face, 
like a ship that carried me along 
through the deadliest storm.

Mom- remembered...

This is a re-post from several years ago.   Mom passed away last night, she was 63.  I will miss her dearly-

My mom has been ill, and is now in the hospital.   For the last 3 years, in addition to caring for our families, my sisters and I have been taking care of the lady who brought us into the world...
She is not well.

Last week as I stood at her kitchen sink and washed her dishes I discovered 2 knives she had bought many years ago in her marriage to my dad.    The knife distributor was a door to door salesman who had "everlasting" blades in his bag, and he was selling top quality cutlery which "would last her a lifetime".   It donned on me, as I stood there, in mom's government subsidized apartment, these knives were all she had to show for her 38 year marriage.   My sister reminded me that "I" was also something to show for all those years.   Sigh.   I felt tears in my eyes.   Somehow, the 6 of us didn't, or couldn't, quite validate the importance of the woman who was sick and dying before our very eyes.

She is better, but things are changing.    Unlike my beloved Foamy, I can't move mom in with us and give her all the physical and medical attention she deserves.   Her needs are great and beyond my skill.   She understands and accepts this fact.

As I move through this period of grief, and it is grief- even though she is still here, I lose a small part of her every day...I want to write about the things she has said and done which imparted wisdom, laughter, and joy to me from my early years until the present.   Even yesterday she made me laugh!

She is allergic to percocet, and she said, "It makes me itch like a monkey with a flea!"
LMAO!
I know you do not KNOW my mom, but that is one of the funniest things she's ever said to me!    And I have seen her itch on percocet...so maybe that's part of why the phrase is so funny :)

When my Grandmother (mom's mom) saw me for the first time as a baby, Grandma said she saw a halo around MY head.    She told my mom I was special.   Before last night I had NEVER heard that story.     I'm not sure my Grandmother or my mom were/are right- because I have certainly made a TON of mistakes and bad choices...but my mom swears the story is true.    I am NOT an angel.   I am ONLY holy if Jesus has made me so, and I feel very far from all those things these days.

Eternal life has less value to me than this present life, and forgive me if I sound like a doubter...because I am not.   I do believe in God, and I think He has a special place for souls like that of my mother.   I feel certain life exists beyond this dim plane- and people I have loved deeply have made it clear to me their love still exists for me- and is extended to me, despite being in a form I can no longer hug or touch.    LOVE is an ENERGY.    Period.   Figure out what ENERGY is and can do and you will understand what I mean.

My mom used to sing nursery rhymes to us as a kid...one was "Sam, Sam, the garbage man- washed his face with a frying pan, brushed his teeth with a monkeys tail, and died with a toothache---in his..heel"

she always paused before saying the word "heel"- knowing full well we'd think that didn't quite rhyme...

???"Died with a toothache- and went to hell...."???

Our Dentists ALWAYS said we had the BEST TEETH!

I so love my mom.

"Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition."
Alexander Smith

I see much of my mom in me...and a little bit of me in her. The real delight though- is to see her in my children ♥♥♥

the lost path...and truth- like it or not.

We are trapped by what we know...
And freed by errant seeds we sow.
Never imagining the crop we'd yield,
By napping in some foreign field.

We wander off the map prepared,
By those who wish to keep us from being snared,
Only to find a raptured bliss,
In the arms of one who'd be dismissed.

A dark knight, a cowboy, a biker dude-
All excluded for what they exude,
Darkness, oily, not to ever be made pure,
And never deserve a Sunshine girl.

There is a reason God made Hell-
And some secrets He will never tell.
Of Angels fallen, and of singed wings,
Of His broken heart, and shattered things.

Of splintered souls who search for love,
And only find a leathered glove.
Who look 'til death to find sweet peace,
And only find it "6 ft underneath".

And yet, I am a lucky one.
A golden girl who walks in sun...
Who sparkles in the moonlight bright.
Who shares no darkness with the (k)night.

But yes, my ache is no less a pain,
and the hurt I feel is not a gain.
But wisdom comes when my heart doth yield,
To observe the crops from a foreign field.

To lay down and sleep in another's life,
To wake and feel his hurt and strife.
And judge not the knight, cowboy, or biker dude.
But understand their life, and accept their truth.

CRB/6-15-13

The Dark Knight and a Tiny Candle

In my dream...there is

A Dark Knight on a white horse,
I've become lost-
I've traveled off course.
I've wandered into the garden around his castle.

At the gate he beckons me inside,
Welcomes, and leads me to the library,
Then leaves me to ponder for a time about
All the stories and words which surround me.

My heartbeat quickens,
Latin, Greek, Gibran, and Thomas,
All in one place, and not one word un-sacred.
The hours pass like minutes.

He returns with a gift, and wine,
and finds me, like a child,
Enthralled on the floor with his books,
But I am no child. I am a lover of words.

Smiling, and gently, but oh so firmly,
He reaches down to touch my arm,
Easily pulling me to my feet,
He leads me towards his massive desk.

Leaning over me, touching my hair,
He asks, "Mayden, do you know who I am?"
My exterior shows no fear,
But inside, my heart trembles at the question.

I ponder before I answer...
I was lost, and he took me in.
I was weary, and he refreshed my mind and body,
There was no malice in his eyes...yet he was reading my soul.

I answered, "No Sir, I do not know you, and yet..."
He gazed into my blue eyes, waiting,
"I trust you"  I whispered.
"Good", he said aloud, and kissed me on the cheek.

"I am both a Gentleman, and a Dark Knight,
A lover, and a slayer. A Master and a teacher.
I am honored with your gift of trust,
I will ever guard it with all I am."

I wake up in twilight- confused by my dream of the dark Knight.
I touch  my cheek, still warmed by his kiss.
I am home, and I am alone.
I miss his words, the strength of his hands, and the sound of his voice.

Under my pillow is a tiny wrapped package,
The gift he gave me in my dream...
How can it be here with me, in my bed???
Tied with a long silken cord.

I unwrap the gift...it is a tiny book.
On the first page is written-
"The great tragedy of life is not that men perish, but that they cease to love.‏"
And I find my heart aches for him.

How do I get back to the dream?
How do I find my way back to the quiet garden of the Dark Knight?
What will I find in the other rooms of his castle?
What will I find in the chambers of his heart?

I only know being in his presence made me feel alive,
He read my heart and mind,
And comforted me with what he discovered.
His Strength, not his darkness, is what draws me to him.

My flame, like a tiny candle in a dragons lair,
Can not be put out by darkness.
But perhaps my light- reflected in the polished silver of his mail, 
Will illuminate our path...while he leads the way ♥

If only I can find him again...