February Journal

12 articles tagged as February Journal

Ssoul mates seems to be a concept that we are getting away from as a society.  You do not need anyone else to complete you, you are already complete in yourself.  You are already whole.

And I think that is true.  I am whole.

But.  There is something very alluring about the idea that there is someone who can fill in your weak points and make you better, someone who is so connected to you that they understand you completely.  You are home where they are.  You are loved unconditionally because they get you.  They see you as clearly and they do not look away.

Looking at the couples around me, I don’t see a great deal of evidence that soul mates exist.  I wonder if the point is to find someone you can live with and have a decent life with, someone you can get along with.  The good enough.  So many marriages seem to be – I don’t know how to express it.  People live together, get along well enough, but mostly it is two people living their own lives.  Their point of connection seems to be their children or their pets or just the comfort of knowing that they are not alone.   That they have fulfilled the expectation of getting a spouse and now they can just do what they want.

I listen to people complain about their spouses and I wonder what the point is.  I realize a certain amount of it is that it is nice to grouse to someone who is pretty good at keeping their mouth shut, as I am, everyone needs that pressure release, I guess.  (Though, I never complain about my mother, who I live with and do a lot of things with?  And it’s not because she’s my mother, I just get along with her really well.  We are very similar as people and pretty easy going.)

I know what I want…I want someone I can be completely comfortable with, that can be loved and will love me without condition.  Someone who will be honest with me but kind about it, someone I can sit on the couch with and be quiet with and read next to and be at peace when they are around me.  I want companionship and love and a feeling of connection, a feeling that we are on the same wave length about things.  I wonder if you can find someone that you have that level of mutual understanding with, or if, in the end, we just make do with what we can find?  We find someone and we think, yes, this is about as good as it gets.  Let’s just do our best with this because this is enough.

I hope not.  I hope there are soul mates.  I hope real relationships are more than that.

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Ddreaming was her greatest outlet.

The same could be said for most people, of course, but it was doubly true for her.  She had a notebook made out of a three ring binder with a swan on the cover, and she filled the binder with whatever paper she could get her hands on.

And she drew her heart out.  Everything that made her sad, everything that made her happy.  She drew butterflies, and tapped on the page, and they came alive, fluttering off the paper, the thin blue lines from the paper becoming veins in the wings.  The butterflies swarmed, up, up into the sky, before plummeting down and attacking a man.

There was no reason.  He had not done even the slightest thing to her, but she did it because she wanted to hear him scream.

Sometimes, her dreams were different.  She dreamed of being good, of saving the world.  She dreamed of beautiful people who loved her fiercely, protectively, she dreamed of all the kindness she could do, if she were rich, if she were powerful.

So sometimes, she dreamed she was the hero.

But sometimes she also has to dream that she was the villain.  Sometimes you had to feel the world burn to want to save it.

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Mmy dream life. Oh, wow.

I could say “I write them in my books” but I don’t.

Some of my dreams are prosaic. I want to be a hermit so badly that my teeth hurt. Freedom is the thing I might want most in life. Sometimes it is that companionship, (I’ll save some of these thoughts for a future entry on soul mates) that perfect idea of love.

So those dreams are about how I become a hermit, what I would do.

My dream life usually involves characters from movies and TV that I like. A handsome Russian soldier from a TV mini series – after I’ve explored that character he gets pulled out of that world, becomes a captain under orders to siege a town, hiding his magical powers. A Victorian scholar from a BBC movie goes from his gentle, boring life to that becoming a cover for him being a spy.

I get to explore romance and adventure in pieces. I get to use ideas I would never be able to use, fall in love and save the day in countless ways. My dream life has romance and swords and magic, and everything is ideal…except for those few times when things have to be less ideal for the sake of an interesting daydream.

Some of these bits and pieces will become stories that you will read, someday. But mostly, it is how I get along in life, how I color the mundane world into survivable bits and pieces.

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I have often heard tales of the perfect date.

One of my friends took his future wife wild caving on their first date. While I love their story (apparently it was quite impressive, camping and everything) and see how this absolutely was perfect for them, *I* have gone wild caving and am much less convinced that I would find it as romantic. There is a lot of mud and darkness and tiny spaces involved, in general, and these are not high on my list of romantic things.

But, joking aside, I probably would.

The perfect date is not about activities or money spent or candles or flowers. Candles, flowers, nice food, interesting things to do are trappings. They don’t mean anything because if the romance is wonderful, if the person you are with becomes the one who holds your heart, then the simplest of dates will stand out as more beloved, more perfect, than any possible situation. And just so, if the romance sours, even a cruise down the Rhine will sour in your memory.

So a perfect date boils down to the company. I tend to be happiest conversing one on one, so good company, something pleasant to do to generate good conversation…what more can one want?

But, if someone secretly someday hopes this post holds the secret to winning my heart, I will say, walking is nice. Walking where there is lots of water and rocks…or perhaps a historic district with lots of pretty buildings is even better. Or a museum. I do like looking at pretty things.

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Aalot of things strike me as cute and cuddly.  The normal — baby animals, of all kinds.  Who can resist a baby sloth?

My favorite things are soft things.   Right now I am cuddled up under a very soft electric throw, wrapped up in super fuzzy soft blankets.  I think snowmen are adorable.  Monkeys make my heart melt.  Foxes are a delight.  I went to a huge park in Florida where they let Macaques run free over several acres of land, and the humans would walk through fenced in (on all sides) pathways.  The monkeys would rattle little plates on chains, and smack their little hands imperiously on the wood frame work, demanding raisins from the visitors.  I will never forget their little fingers touching mine as they accepted my offerings.

My favorite image, when you turn toward romance (for this is the month for it) is of a sweet hearted man in a thick, comfy sweater, pottering around the garden with a cup of tea and a book.  That, to me, is a rather idealistic image.

This weekend was good.  Mum and I went to a state park for our first walk of the season.  Raccoon Creek State Park was very lovely.  The weather was in the 60’s, mum and I didn’t need a jacket…we just walked freely.

My favorite part was getting to the waterfall…you could walk into the cave, the mouth surrounded by ice.  The lake was also iced over, and it was really rather beautiful.  The ice was jade green, though the photos don’t show it.

 

rcsp2

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The witch made her a promise, and she hoped the witch would keep it.

Every day she went out into the woods and she collected something.  A twig.  A dried grass with a soft buff of seeds, feathers.  She glued them together with the glue the witch gave her, every day she would carefully drop a tiny bit on a plate, then use a needle to prick the ring finger on her left hand.   One drop of blood, mixed with the green white of the glue.  She used the glue and the blood to connect the things she found, building them into a box.

It was the shape of a heart.

In the next room, her husband coughed weakly.  She looked through the door, saw him leaning, weakly against the table.  “Do you need me?”  she called.

“No…just a little out of breath, is all.”

And one day, the box was done.  She waited for one of his bad nights…he had far too many, and she used it as an excuse to sleep in another room, the box on her chest.

The next day, she placed the box on his chest, holding it over his heart.  She stroked his hair away from his forehead, traced her fingers over his features with the lightest of touches.  “I love you,” she breathed softly, “I love you, I love you.”

And when the dawn broke, she took the box outside, and buried it.

And he was better.

And she was worse.

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I purposely skipped yesterday, because to be honest my Tumblr is a collage of likable things…I love that about Tumblr, that you can lose yourself in beauty.

Favorite fragrances?

I am weird about fragrances.  Anything too sweet, too floral will give me a headache, though I genuinely like lavender and roses.  I can bury my nose in rosemary and breathe for hours.  Limes and citrus make me feel like sunlight is in my head.

In general I avoid anything scented (sometimes it is impossible to find scentless deodorant) but I do like getting essential oils.  I do sometimes scent my handkerchiefs with lovely scents by scenting a piece of muslin and putting it in the bottom of the handkerchief drawer.

Currently I am binge watching Elementary and hand sewing.  One of my friends made me a magnificent outfit, but the skirt was too long so I am re-sewing the hem.  It’s a magnificent, heavy velvet, a pleasure to sew.  I have been very sick — no fencing tonight, so sewing and TV watching is very comforting.

I have been desperately wanting to hike, but it’s been so cold.  Just a nice long walk, admiring the world.

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The rose petals fell from the bushes and climbing vines that surrounded them, sliding with a soft susurrous across the stone mosaics, twirling and falling into the rectangular pool.

The men and women of the court lined the edges of the court yard, all silent, except for the breeze that stirred the brances and leaves, that scarrted the rose petals, catching in hair and hems.  She approached the pool with her head held high, the dark coils of her hair carefully pinned, but her feet hobbled in fetters.  Matching fetters graced her wrists, which she held, her elbows straight out, her wrists heart-high.

She met the eyes of the king as she neared the edge of the pool.  She let her gaze flicker to all in front of her, the toes at the very edge of the pool.

She turned.  She did not waver.  She looked at her attendants, her heels at the rounded endge of the marble.  It felt cool under her feet as she slipped them just a little further, until her heels were hanging over.

A second, time to take a breath, and she let herself fall back into the petal covered depths.  She sank into the sun light streaked gloom, years of rose petals giving the water an oily sheen that seemed to make the rays of light glitter.  Red petals, like drops of blood, swirled around her, joined by white petals, yellow, pink.  She waited, counting in her head.

She did not like to keep lock picks in her mouth, not after the time she swallowed it, but today she had had no choice.  She pushed the picks with her tounge, shifted so she could use one finger and her mouth to manipulate the pick into the lock.  Years of practice took over, and soon there was a success.  One fetter fell away, and the second hand was easier to free.  The feet easier still, those fetters joined the others in the deep.  Twelve sets of fetters littered the pool floor.

She let the air out slowly, hovering in the silence.  This was her favorite part, the quiet and cool and the brush of rose petals.

Finally she came out, climbing out of the pool, her attendants coming forward with towels and a hand up.

“Someday you will fail,” the king said.  “Someday we will figure out where you hide the lock pick.”

“But it is magic, your majesty.  Magic!”  She rejoined.

“Something new for tomorrow, I think.  Perhaps a box.  With swords.”

She bowed.  She already knew what she would do.

 

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I had a hard day yesterday.  Today is not much better, but I wanted to update.  (I have the next update, for today, half written.  It’s a tiny piece of fiction.  I just wanted to separate these.)

 

There are many beautiful words.  Susurrous.  Ebullience.  Alabastar.   But it is the context that makes words truly beautiful.

I love you.  I wish I could help you see how beautiful you are.  I am here.  You are not alone.

In pieces, these words mean nothing.  Together, they mean everything.

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Or, shush, let people enjoy things.

I don’t like how this day makes people feel – the false expectations.  The feeling the media seems to throw over you – that if you do not have anyone today, there is something wrong or you should feel bad. I also hate the false expectations placed on people who are in a relationship…the stress.

We allow ourselves to be told what to feel or think to give us emotional expectations –  though how can we fight it?  We are indoctrinated from our earliest years, it seeps into our hearts and souls before we even know to fight it.

But, the other half. What I like.  I like celebrating.  I like there to be an excuse for people to hang out and be happy and love each other.

I bought mum and me books and tea and ordered our favorite candy – chocolate covered cherries.  I used today as an excuse to indulge myself and treat my mum.  I read a book – Charlaine Harris’ A Bone to Pick and sewed on my brown velvet doublet.  I am so excited about the doublet, it will have coppery trim to bring out the brown in the doublet – it is about the shade of dark chocolate – and the sleeves will be lined in red taffeta with pearls – doublets often have removable sleeves (I say often…probably supposedly 98% of the time, but I am hazy because I don’t really want to know, because if I really knew then I would have to do it the right way.)  and these would then be reversible.

So, instead of thinking about what I lack, I thought about what I had and took care of me and mine. It’s been a pretty good day.

I hope yours was even better.

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