Rooted in a "celebration" of the first successful celebration by the newly landed anglos and the aborignal americans.

Today - this day has been morphed into one of excess - and the traditional 'kick-off' to the holiday season.  Inundated with advertisements for the next must-have Christmas gift or decoration, images of plenty and long lines at the airport. Football and food.

There are so many other inferences to this holiday - it becomes overwhelming. Family far away or non-existent; a new place and limited connections here; the realization that something so simple as going to a store is now changed into a major ordeal - with people all focused on the "perfect gift" that will astound, amaze and bring gratitude for as long as the wrappers lie on the floor.

Today I think will be more of a time to be thankful for the connections I do have, realize that a roof, food and health are more than many are blessed with....and hopes for peace and plenty for all in the coming year.

Happy Thanksgiving to all...but try to make every day one in which you remember and give thanks to whatever gods you choose....

posted by: Ceiladgh at 11/22/07 06:36 | link | comments |

Take the tiles...

Toss them into the air... and see what words can be created. One day you create something ethereal and profound...other days you end up with oxen.  Heavy, slow and rather bloated.  It's rather the same with questions, some days and topics come more easily than others.

Why is it that I cannot put to voice all the questions that occur to me during the day or night? I've attempted writing, playing with phrases and sentences: that Rorschach method that I use.. one word to another.

Free-forming thoughts, feelings and emotions doesn't seem to work. Nor does time with the little yellow guy, even with the bubbles and lavender scents.  Nothing is working to remove this jersey barrier from my brain to my tongue.

There are times when I think that I will just make the effort and say it - all in one blurt...not expecting an answer - but hoping.  But, I know myself ~ and that just will lead me to perseverate and burrow deeper into the hole of wondering without being able to ask.

So much unsaid, but the words are not forthcoming on either side.  Feels like time to free fall into the abyss of questions, trust that an answer will come. Only to close my eyes and jump.

posted by: Ceiladgh at 11/21/07 19:31 | link | comments |
immediate rambles, on words

After Summer Fell Apart ......

I can’t touch you.
His face always returns;
we exchange long looks
in each bad dream
& what I see, my God.
Honey, sweetheart,
I hold you against me
but nothing works.
Two boats moored,
rocking between nowhere
& nowhere.
A bone inside me whispers
maybe tonight,
but I keep thinking
about the two men wrestling nude
in Lawrence’s Women in Love.
I can’t get past
reels of breath unwinding.
He has you. Now
he doesn’t. He has you
again. Now he doesn’t.

You’re at the edge of azaleas
shaken loose by a word.
I see your rose-colored
skirt unfurl.
He has a knife
to your throat,
night birds come back
to their branches.
A hard wind raps at the door,
the new year prowling
in a black overcoat.
It’s been six months
since we made love.
Tonight I look at you
hugging the pillow,
half smiling in your sleep.
I want to shake you & ask
who. Again I touch myself,
unashamed, until
his face comes into focus.
He’s stolen something
from me & I don’t know
if it has a name or not—
like counting your ribs
with one foolish hand
& mine with the other.
     ~~Yusef Komunyakaa

Somewhere in the searching I was doing to find a poem to just capture my mood and pull me from this bit of writer's block > I found this.  Enjoy.

posted by: Ceiladgh at 11/15/07 19:09 | link | comments |
on words

The high whine of the leaf

blowers, blasting the fallen into piles: only to be swept up again by the soft breezes blowing through ahead of the possible rain.  Like herding cats that job, never ending as the trees are releasing their dresses slowly; an elongated striptease of lace-patterned oranges fading to ochre, slowly drifting to the ground.

Hornpipe melodies tapped out by skittering leaves, dancing willy nilly in front of the breeze, listen carefully and you hear the melodies piped in by the faeries.  Fanciful tales from childhood, told around an open fire.  Oral histories of a sort, those tales of wee folk both good and mischievous.

Still warm, despite the appearance of autumn, clad in the ash yellows, oaken oranges and maple leafed reds.  The evergreens provide a contrast, shifting from kelly to forest to a green so dark it is almost black.  Bas relief of leafless trees, skeletal displays of grace and beauty in repose.

Not my favourite, but wondrous scope for word pictures and images.

posted by: Ceiladgh at 11/14/07 18:40 | link | comments |
momentary fancies

The question hour begins...

Not too horribly reminiscent of the PM Hours of Parliament , but a series of 'must asks" nonetheless.  Trouble is, I am horrible at asking questions - be it a general sense of not wanting to intrude, a reserve inherent in my personality, or a fear of the answers, I just do not know.

     Perhaps I am stuck on the "what should be" rather than the "what is".  What should be is that faeirie tale fantasy, Barbie car and everlasting fun and frolic.  What is, very simply, is real life...with all the interrelated moments of sadness and joy, moods and bad days that wear on and are oft misplaced.

     This move has been a wonderful change, in as much as I despise change, this one has invigorated my senses and opened possibilities not seen before.  Problem is, I don't know if the view is the same from the other side. 

     So...just ask...simpler said than done.  Things have changed, asked questions gone unanswered. Well, one question.  Then - a day of silence.  Barely a dozen words spoken. All day.  My fault, I know that, but one of those things that just threw me back to old days of silence. Long hours of not speaking with anyone, let alone one I cared for.  Silence is not hard for me to accomplish, I can go hours without using my voice: remnants of only-childhood and an all too vivid imagination and hordes of books.  Exterior silences.

     Unfortunately, interior silence is one that is harder to accomplish.  The thought train continues to rumble on, like the little engine that could ... up and up and up over all the whats, whys and why nots.  Everest-like in size, and nearly as formidable. Fear of falling into a crevasse, stumbling blindly over the edge, or causing an avalanche...not sure how I would manage those events.

     So, for now, I think I will just ponder the questions, and try to keep my exterior voice working.

posted by: Ceiladgh at 11/12/07 18:16 | link | comments |
remeber when, house and home

It feels like

the end of things. This sadness and hard to say goodbye.  I despise goodbyes.  It's even worse when I don't really have a plan or a date as to when I shall return for a visit.  Try explaining the concept of uncertainty to a 4 year old. 

Spent more hours than I had originally planned on at my god-daughter's house.  Well - I had planned to spend about 3 hours tops, was there almost 6.  Went to the temple.. spent a quiet moment in reflection with the chanting of the monks providing a lovely background resonance. Was sent with peaceful and prosperous thoughts for the move, and wished a safe journey.

Back to the house for food, conversation and more food.  Cress soup, papaya salad, egg rolls, spring rolls, duck, veg, grilled lobster with ginger, more soup, pea pod shoots - and my favourite - the fruit sponge.  Food was just everywhere: bowls and plate and chopsticks abounded.  Played games with my god-daughter.. talked to her of where I was going... showed her pictures on the web. 

Normally J is a fairly confident and happy little girl.  But, to be fair - she was just learning that I was leaving - and her Uncle (her father's uncle actually) was returning to Laos before the weather changed too much - and he has been about and her special playmate for the past 6 months.  At four - every goodbye is either forever or a week later they realize that everyone has gone.

Needless to say, lots of tears were shed.  How to explain that I was crying because I would miss her - and was going to miss this lovely family that welcomes me with open arms every time I arrive - and not really sad to be leaving?  She clung, and cried, and begged me not to leave her.  Then she went to the angry phase where no one would suffice but her mother - and when she had stopped the crying ... I kissed everyone goodbye and left.

Two blocks away, I had to pull over as I couldn't see for the tears.

I AM excited to be making this change... I just wish I could bring all that is familiar with me.

posted by: Ceiladgh at 10/14/07 19:42 | link | comments |
life is, house and home

     Nothing but pennies in my pocket

 Nothing but faith to keep me warm
    But, baby, then I'd be broke without it  
Tell me, how much for your love                                   

    Hoping the melody will leave you                                   
You walk to where I might not see you                    
    Reach out to the wind
Looking to catch it for a minute
    But just to hold it not be in it
I've been where you've been
            ~ In My Pocket ~~Mandy Moore

If I were to reach into the proverbial pocket.. there would be nothing but a dusty linty Altoid and some more cotton fuzz.  And a penny.
Drained. Thoroughly and completely.  What feels like thousands of pounds just resting on my shoulders was finally lifted off today, and I have only a list half as tall as I to accomplish before I head off.

It was so much simpler - but much more nerve wracking, when all I did was visit.  Changes could be gradual, moves less swift and defined, every moment precious simply for its brevity in the span of things,  Yeah, saying goodbye always was horrid, and the two hour flight back seemed to set up this whole backward slide like that of Snakes and Ladders. 

What will be the sensations, how quickly will it change - for the better?  What sort of shape will I be in on arrival --tired and stressed? Ecstatic? Excited?  Will the overwhelming magnitude of that which is done over-run - and send me into that tailspin of mute?

I am excited. I am terrified. I am anxious, and yet somehow that steadiness and surety relieve my nerves.

Am I to always be this dithering mess of contradictions?

posted by: Ceiladgh at 10/14/07 00:18 | link | comments |

In flux ....

posted by: Ceiladgh at 10/10/07 18:02 | link | comments |
immediate rambles, house and home

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