Sometimes life leaves you wordless. You drift in obligations or little multiplied tasks. You grasp for every syllable. You slide through the mud of lost words. Until you sit with yourself and listen. Your heart still beats. You pick up your pen and write your name. One word. The beginning of all that was lost.
All of a sudden we were stopped in our tracks, the ones that we were used to take. We stand on our own now, sometimes wobbly, sometimes strong. Hanging our heads would be giving in to the gravity. And we feel the yoke for a while, still, despite of it been swooped away from us. What are we without our tracks, our habits, our routines, our work, our bodily connections. A stark stillness settles. It could unnerve and perhaps did for some time. All we hear and see was filtered for so long by our rash daily schedules. Planning ahead was thrown overboard in an instant. Running after things was suspended over the abyss of standstill. Shuffled hesitation, ruffled emotions, swirling moods thickened in possible angst. Sheer presence in all its calmness resurfaced from the muddy lake of misconceptions. To…
The mystic blackforest
The sky threw a shroud
Too flimsy to cover it all
The colourful tree tops
That root in brooked valleys
Thread autumn to grey-cold
The gust of wind-strewn
Time-worm ochre, sienna
Tinged sap and wine
This is the fabric of fairy-tales
Through my eyes my soul flies to glints of reflection. A mosaic opens a window that is there and is not there. Drawn to an artists impression of a crowned lady. Connection in my heart to our lady. Angels flutter and kneel. The king, the queen, human beings and yet not so much. An image of believing, belonging and longing. Out of the blue I wish I could see what I feel what is real on a different invisible level. – 17th July 2018 by Andrea Connolly
We want to retain what we cannot. We feel the velvet of summer, the tenderness of living and the depth of warmth. Fragrance lingers but for a while. Our eyes drink and our mind holds dear connecting senses to heart. The heart of May. The woman in us, all of us, unfolding our gentle hearts and there is the gift of giving, the bloodline of love.