Namaste love tribe
Since I’ve fallen back in blah-gville. I’ve reconnected with my pre-2009 private self. Back before I decided to spend a few years using daily rants as a visualization tool to get me to New York City.
My time in Manhattan is on the decline. I’m not leaving tomorrow or anything, but my plotting and scheming game is on. I’m making plans, throwing darts, keeping secrets swallowed and grinning a lot in general.
During a recent impromptu trip to Spain, the most spiritually centered, global citizen I’ve encountered proposed forever.
How could I say no to that?
Interestingly, while I’ve had 1.5 husbands, neither of them proposed. It was more an agreement to bind to each other in a way we felt the state required. It was never about forever.
Certainly nothing like this. And this man, well – I’ll be keeping the details to mySelf.
But we totally need to talk about Spain…
I spent a week eating tapas, rolling through waves and drinking chilled Spanish reds. We smoked cigars and watched shooting stars. From the most southern point of Europe, I gazed across to the shores of Africa.
Between Madrid and southern Spain, we drove through mountains of olive trees and weaved along rocky coastline. I swam in two different oceans and heard Spanish spoken at lightning speed because, as my future husband advised, “We talk a lot faster in southern Spain.”
I stayed in three different houses, one with views of the sea from the bedroom balcony where the air reminded me of being home in Australia – scented with lavender and eucalyptus. I bathed in the Mediterranean as my man, a native of the land, approached me glowing in golden light declaring, “Stay with me forever.”
And that’s exactly what I plan to do.
In Spanish tradition, rings are worn on the right hand. A silver band represents engagement – gold is exchanged at the wedding.
Oh, and apparently I’ll be having something like that. Because according to my man. “You have never had this before, and I want to give that to you.” Continue reading
I’m back in town.
The plan was to hide in sticks-ville for my entire out-of-office time… alas, things are always beckoning me back to my favorite girlfriend of Manhattan.
I reckon I’ll stick around two weeks, then dip back out. The trees and sunshine are suiting me.
Also, my heart is bandaged after being diced. Repair isn’t the right term. Some things don’t exactly heal, getting better is a start.
In usual form, I wrote a poem about it. I promise I’m not usually so predictable… only when it comes to heartbreak and poetry.
state. we spoke —
i mean he
said things to(o)
my heart. that
you would never
when we combined
a new expression.
i never sang before
exhaling our whisper
and blowing out —
prior pictures of
The past week-ish hiding in the forest immensely helped my head. The roughly 14 days that led up to this particular stint was head spinning to say the least. A lot of life-culling has been taking place behind the scenes.
Regardless of consciously projecting love to whatever’s around me at any given time, I keep a small click close. When I’m not deliberately breaking my phone, there’s usually about six numbers in it.
It’s not that I’m misanthropic, it just happens that the worst I ever get hurt is off the back of human behavior. So rather than expose myself to the risk at close-hand, I admire from a far and silently blow gold kisses that I hope contribute to the creation of a higher state.
I’m steadying from a throat slit that came from left field. It was an inadvertent slash from one of the most wonderful people I have ever met. For a minute, I believed it was a divine addition to the soul circle keeping me together. The ones I share the best secrets with.
The person I fell in love with left as fast as they appeared. I shed tears and wrote a poem. I guess that’s what I usually do.
at the hit
like i cannot
be any part
of my truth —
way of false.