Thoughts and thoughts and eyebrows a' twiddlin'
That's where I seem to be right now.
Hours and hours to go before fiddlin'
That's what I thought when I tipped over that cow.
Somewhere down the land and valley
A Johnny Cash tune rang in my head.
Somewhere down the road of my mind
I felt the song you sang me instead.
Oh, what a Beautiful Mess this is
It's like we're picking up trash in dresses.
And the lead of the pencil scribbled...
And the heart of that little girl giggled...
And after a time, the sound sank through.
It sank through to the pit of her stomach.
It sank through to the pit of her heart.
And with that, she softly remembered
Like waking from a colourful dream
full and mixed and layered of dimension.
Waking life never took so long to awaken to
But here we are, here we are.
We're still here.
Through lanes of walking, alleys of wandering
and hours of wondering
We become what we've always wondered about.
We've become what we've always fought about.
We've become what we've always preached about.
We are what we've always been.
Reflections of God.
Heaven on Earth.
And yes, folks.
Fellow friends
dearest soul mates of the grandest kind
It's more than safe to say
That the joke's on us.
I hope you laugh
I hope you know joy
I hope you jump into your passion
without fear or contradiction.
I hope you remember who you've always been.
And through it all, I'll be here
Singing our song
Love,
Stephanie
Monday, September 6, 2010
Notes on the Road: Avec Mon Beau Ami
Something I wrote in a car while a beautiful man friend of mine sat beside me, taking the wheel.
June 2nd, 2010
Driving. Needing to write again. You never know when inspiration strikes. And here it happens to be in a car with this companion I find myself with again. Did I tell you that he reminds me of my dad? I don't always know what to think about that when it crosses my mind, but it definitely crosses my mind. It's the little things he does. The way he explains things, how they all sound like fact rather than fiction. The way he uses his hands to describe those facts. And sometimes the way he describes doesn't always come out in a way that makes sense, but to him it does. As if everything he says, he believes that since he understands it, then everyone else should, too. And I smile. I glanced behind me today and saw him sitting on a piece of log tying something up, his mind furiously and heartily at work, reaching a purposeful means to an end. And I smiled. His eyes have a kind of compassion mixed strength with abandon. And I feel as though I understand. As of now, I glance over, and he drives and drives and looks outside and I can hear his thoughts as he is gauging when the next fateful rapid will be. Numbers, calculations, logistics and disgruntlements and then. Remembering. What it's like to feel again. What it's like to see this stranger he is driving around, welcoming her into his hometown, wondering of the mind that works in her head. And remembering love. Somehow, it reminds me of a kind of up and down infrastructure that never quite gets fully built. The mechanical pieces of a tall tower, calculating the widths and heights of things, and then, realizing that to reach the top, and finish the tower, would be futile anyway. Realizing that it's impossible to reach the top, because there's never truly a finish line. Never truly an end. Just this journey of building and nurturing and enduring and colouring and expanding. And just when you feel like giving up, giving in, letting go, you remember all over again. I feel as though I need to laugh out loud at this peculiar veil we wear in our heads. The one that separates our brains into "left" and "right" into "good" and "evil" into "right" and "wrong" into "black" and "white." This man behind the curtain. This spooky devil we thought was playing tricks on us. The one we also labelled god. The one we also named religion. The one we also named Human. Because, after all, "we're only human" and that's our only excuse until we think we get old. Being "only human." We are more than that when we lift the veil, the joke that's been on us the whole time, the one that we've ultimately created for ourselves on this Earth realm. We are more than what we thought we were, more than human. More than we thought we ever were meant to be and then some. And all thats left, in the "end," are the colours of us. Colours of you, colours of me, colours of all that exists. A timeless music on a string guitar, a song through the voice of a bird, a flight of its first morning feed. The one who soars by and sees that there is an angel sitting there on the rock, listening to the heart beat. Listening to the flow of the Universe. Paying attention with eyes awake. And she smiles at the bird, after sending out a signal that she Knows, and is grateful for the angel that passes by in return. Trusting and Turning is always a grand scheme.
I Love You.
June 2nd, 2010
Driving. Needing to write again. You never know when inspiration strikes. And here it happens to be in a car with this companion I find myself with again. Did I tell you that he reminds me of my dad? I don't always know what to think about that when it crosses my mind, but it definitely crosses my mind. It's the little things he does. The way he explains things, how they all sound like fact rather than fiction. The way he uses his hands to describe those facts. And sometimes the way he describes doesn't always come out in a way that makes sense, but to him it does. As if everything he says, he believes that since he understands it, then everyone else should, too. And I smile. I glanced behind me today and saw him sitting on a piece of log tying something up, his mind furiously and heartily at work, reaching a purposeful means to an end. And I smiled. His eyes have a kind of compassion mixed strength with abandon. And I feel as though I understand. As of now, I glance over, and he drives and drives and looks outside and I can hear his thoughts as he is gauging when the next fateful rapid will be. Numbers, calculations, logistics and disgruntlements and then. Remembering. What it's like to feel again. What it's like to see this stranger he is driving around, welcoming her into his hometown, wondering of the mind that works in her head. And remembering love. Somehow, it reminds me of a kind of up and down infrastructure that never quite gets fully built. The mechanical pieces of a tall tower, calculating the widths and heights of things, and then, realizing that to reach the top, and finish the tower, would be futile anyway. Realizing that it's impossible to reach the top, because there's never truly a finish line. Never truly an end. Just this journey of building and nurturing and enduring and colouring and expanding. And just when you feel like giving up, giving in, letting go, you remember all over again. I feel as though I need to laugh out loud at this peculiar veil we wear in our heads. The one that separates our brains into "left" and "right" into "good" and "evil" into "right" and "wrong" into "black" and "white." This man behind the curtain. This spooky devil we thought was playing tricks on us. The one we also labelled god. The one we also named religion. The one we also named Human. Because, after all, "we're only human" and that's our only excuse until we think we get old. Being "only human." We are more than that when we lift the veil, the joke that's been on us the whole time, the one that we've ultimately created for ourselves on this Earth realm. We are more than what we thought we were, more than human. More than we thought we ever were meant to be and then some. And all thats left, in the "end," are the colours of us. Colours of you, colours of me, colours of all that exists. A timeless music on a string guitar, a song through the voice of a bird, a flight of its first morning feed. The one who soars by and sees that there is an angel sitting there on the rock, listening to the heart beat. Listening to the flow of the Universe. Paying attention with eyes awake. And she smiles at the bird, after sending out a signal that she Knows, and is grateful for the angel that passes by in return. Trusting and Turning is always a grand scheme.
I Love You.
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