Sunday, September 11, 2016

The Fifteenth Remembrance

It's September eleventh again.

I know. It's surprising to me as well. I seem to write every year about this particular tragedy and this year is no different, I suppose. But this year I won't be naming the names, nor sharing pictures, nor ranting about how meaningless the changes made since then to fight the war on tourism have been, Not this time.

This year, please let me say this one thing:

I love you.

Simple, right? Just like that. Here... here's some love. It's for you. No box, no bag, no bow, no packaging. Just my love. Leave it there, take it with you, or stare at me while you question my motives. It's yours, so I'll leave what you do with it all up to you.

No, I don't want anything in return for it. I'm sharing love with you because you might not have love right now, or you might be having a really hard time in your own life, and a little extra love might make the difference.

See, THIS is what I think we all need, especially on days like today when we had an event that impacted so many lives. I think we all need a little extra.  I think the world in general could use more love and less hate. More tolerance and less judgement. More kindness and less greed. I think the world needs us: the artists, the musicians, the lovers, the dreamers (and me... sorry, Kermit). I'm pretty sure if I open my heart wide and give all the love I have inside to you, then my heart will make more of it to share. Neat trick, that. I believe that the best Magick is that which creates, not destroys, and I mean to create more love in my life than I ever dreamed possible. Today. Right now.

And while I'm giving you this unconditional love, I'll be remembering the particulars of my day fifteen years ago. I'm sure you can remember, too. Please don't forget because when we forget we disrespect those who willingly or unwillingly gave their lives.

Here's my love for you. It's boundless.

With all my heart, I remember. For all of them, I'll love all of you.


Saturday, August 13, 2016

Four Months

The pages of my calendar slip away so deliberately that I think there must be some kind of conspiracy against me keeping track of time.  I look up, it's been less than fifteen minutes on the clock. I go back to what I was doing, feel the weight of time, and check again to find that it's been two weeks, or tow months, or two years. Time is not something I watch closely. It is a companion, oft forgotten, and left to grow feral along the side of the road. It is not something I keep a close eye on.

Let me leave you this:

Four resonant strings
Accompany the singing
Playing my life's song

Where is my muse? Why can't she pop up when my heart is full and I am loving uncontrollably? Why does it take something to pull the drain plug on my soul in order to get something worth writing?

I'll ponder it some more, I think.

Let's hope it's not another four months before I write again.


Sunday, April 17, 2016

Let's Begin Again...

“Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

     It's so hard to get back into the swing of writing. I've been away so long, and the Muse is tired of my bullshit. I re-read the list of half-started posts sitting in the list and I just want to delete the entire bunch.  But I will not because that would be like eating my own children. Delicious, but riddled with guilt. Well, at least for a little while.

Instead, I'll start yet another new entry even though I've not published a new Angus piece in far, far too long, nor have I written a meaningful holiday post, completed the Doctor Who fanfic I've got in the can, or much of anything else. Yes, a new post is in order.

Some haiku?

the keys click away
fingers the conduit to
my mind's eye speaking

thrice I have begun
unfinished business waiting
my Muse slumbering


I challenged someone I respect to write more in her blog. In response, I agreed to write once a week as well. So, if my Muse won't visit, perhaps another inspiration can apply leverage to my slumbering thoughts. I am looking forward to seeing what she writes. One of my problems with writing is that it is far, far easier to produce when there is difficulty in life rather than bliss. Things have been marching along fairly well in the chaotic maelstrom I call my life, but the Muse has found fairer havens for her work.  Darkness, sadness, anger, and fear are far better driving forces for quality work in my neck of the woods. Joy? Not so much. But I'll have to learn, won't I?

Actually, I had a conversation like this one fairly recently. How does one tap the light in the same way we tap the darkness? How do we access the same emotional sharpness when things are a less focused? How did the greats keep their Muse engaged? It will be an interesting journey to discover the lighter, more positive side of writing (if I can), or a lesson in stirring the demons up.

As I've said before, I'm intimately familiar with my monsters. I keep them close just in case I need to stroke them a little. Even monsters need to be loved.

SlĂ inte mhath!

Let's get writing.