Tonight I Tell A Story

Sadness turns into a story…if you let it. Once I knew a man. A brave warrior who believed in himself, who believed in what he fought for. We were given the gift of true love. What is true love? When lightning speaks, you will know. This warrior was decorated in war paint that told stories of valiant times. The whole world stopped when we shared life together. Together we understood how the moon and sun dance. We were confidence. We met the bear who spoke of retreat and balance. We met the whale who spoke of navigation and communication.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWe shared the end of the earth where the sea lays still for illumination of gold.

One day, the fire in his eyes turned to sparks, then the sparks turned to coals, then his whole body turned to ashes and he blew away with the wind. In my longing, I wavered and lost myself to holding on, and his war paint stopped telling stories and started crying out for attention from anyone but me. Emptiness and desperation became my downfall entering me into a vortex of waiting. Lust and suffering became his anecdote to stories he allowed to define him. Confusion overcame his world as he spoke of one thing, then did another. Worthless green paper took hold of his intuition and ran with his spirit, laughing at its ability to destroy.

holding-on-letting-goReaching for any way to make him feel what I felt only drove him further away.

I waited for my warrior to return, or to explain why he would choose to give up the only lasting gift this life bestows. Then he did. Often in the body of a bee landing on my hand. At last his voice came booming back through my body. He shared the love for me he knew in his heart, speaking of how he sees every detail of my being, and my world began to grow brighter. In the next moment, he vowed to never return. He expressed fear of regret and disorientation. When I promised to be a map, he spoke of wandering. When I stood by his side, he spoke of promiscuity.  When I reminded him we shared the same vision of perfection, he spoke of solitude.

atlas_and_the_hesperides-hugeHis love was gone and he now saw me as a burden desiring the dream we once shared to be kept all for himself.

As I fought for him to see all that he deserved, all that we deserved, all that was beautiful when we walked the earth together, his silence told my words they were empty. After my own fruitless battle, I thrust my sword into the earth and planted it as a tree. It grew into a shining, mangled spectacle of cold sharp edges and promised to never allow another to land on its branches. The first tree I could not climb, the last tree I would plant in the name of love.

smithsonian-metal-tree-LAnd so I stopped. And my whole world stopped.

And the sea no longer glowed of gold luminescence.

broken-wings-woman-sereneI would no longer live as a woman who knew true love.


They say it is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. I say stop living by meaningless words humans carelessly throw together to justify their suffering. Nothing ‘happens’ to us. The dark must be experienced to recognize the light. Stories that speak to my soul and set my heart free are words thoughtfully combined to create a omnipotent evocation of feeling.

woman at sea with wingsTonight I tell a story. A story that speaks truth, where the only happy ending is acceptance.


A wise man wrote:

“We see that the mountains always stay in the same place. We see that fully-grown trees, when transplanted, usually die.

And we say: ‘We want to be like the mountains and the trees. Solid and respectable.’

Even though, during the night, we wake up thinking:
‘I wish I was like the birds, who can visit Damascus and Baghdad and come back whenever they want to.’

Or: ‘I wish I was like the wind, for no one knows where it comes from nor where it goes, and it can change direction without ever having to explain why.’

 flying blue birdwind

The next day, however, we remember that the birds are always fleeing from hunters and other larger birds, and that the wind sometimes gets caught up in a whirlwind and destroys everything around it.”


Many years ago, the wind asked that I listen…

listen_to_the_wind_by_yourporcelaindoll-d524u5zSo I do…and always will.


In Order:抓住放手/   (Quote)


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