Who she was and who she is yet to be

Distance from the old formula and associations are sufficient now. Dwelling in the space in between. Who she was, and who she is yet to be. Two poles on the horizon and the space in between the woman who is no longer the wife has a world at her fingertips to unfold in. Unravelled from the restless space of restriction. Tattered and frayed on the edges, the warp and the weft still bold and reaching from the heart. This magic carpet of life still has some enchanted journeys left.

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The Hans Holbein Connection

On our second year in the Wild West I took a trip without the painter, back to the Sequoia's where we used to live. It was an epic journey, extended by fleeing Los Angeles within 10 hours of getting there. Thus extending my time in the mountains by 4 days. It was prime time for my architipal journey. The solitary mind was flowing script and having visions that were then fulfilled. The swiftest of which was manifesting a bear within an hour of having the day dream while sleeping in a meadow on some unknown hill that beaconed me off the road. Yep it was one of those adventures. A time of independence and fulfillment that was an alixier that I was yearning for. During this trip, among other things I purchased on old postcard from the Louvre of Hans Holbein's portrait of d'Anne de Cleves. A rather osteir portrait of a woman, hands clenched, rings on most fingers, and an indifferent look on her face. I remember flicking through the cards, regarding it, and then

The Currendero and the Curse

From my astrologers point of view. Mars in my 12th house ( along with Sun, Jupiter, Mars, Mercury ) means all my expression and anger is internalized - hence my love of writing& passionate angry men... and thus The Painter was the expression of much of my internalized forces. .... if you get that kinda thing. I really do. Especially after 12 years of a little Biosphere of my own - of two cosmic forces.. obviously not quite coming together. OR taking 12 years and considering the option... or in his mind.. at this time .. which may not be his mind.. 12 years pretending. Taking our combined charts, it was all forecast. Trouble brewing, powerful planets challenging the status quo. Things that could have stayed subtle and hidden become the catalists for deconstruction. Naturally I grasping on this as reasonable explaination for a change I didnt see comming. Powerless to it all, I watch my beautiful sandcastle wash away. Twelve years of heart matched alli

Fair weather friends

I am surrounded by fair weather friends. The slightest storm in a teacup and they flee like fleas on a wetback. Fleaing from adversity as if there were'nt an empathetic bone in their flexible body. 12 years of cocktail raising stands for nothing.

A Portrait in Time

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