Leda and the Swan

I guess I’m fighting with a bad bout of depression lately. I’m just so isolated and it gets to me some days more than others. That’s partly my fault, and I plan to go see Ali and see if she needs help with the cats soon. But for the most part I just feel frozen, and any attempts to break through are thwarted.

I wish I knew my way back.

Leda and the Swan

by W. B. Yeats
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
                    Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

Forgiveness – nsfw

I haven’t written for a few days. I was supposed to write about forgiveness, and I’ve given it some thought, but I still don’t know what to say.

I know that being angry hurts me, not the person/people I’m angry with. Normally I don’t hold onto that sort of thing for long. I’ve never been one to hold a grudge. Either we talk it out or it fades. I don’t even have anger for my father any more.

However, there is an incident, or series of incidents that I haven’t been able to let go and I’m not sure why. It’s been years now, but it still makes me mad when I think of it. I guess part of it was surprise. My aunt has always claimed to be such a religious person and even though I’ve seen and heard that she doesn’t practice what she preaches, I didn’t know she was so malicious. Her daughter has always been a cunt, if you’ll excuse the language. That’s really the only way to describe her. And then there was the other daughter, who I was once friends with. To find that she had made up this story about my husband and I and then lied to the family about what happened during their discussion didn’t really shock me at that point, just added to it. It was the other two that I cannot forgive. I wouldn’t need to forgive them if I knew I’d never see them again, but unfortunately, they are related so I will see them around my grandmother at some point. If they start pretending to my face, I will call them out on it. I will not put up with their lies. I told my uncle the whole story, the only one who bothers talking to me. Everyone else believed the lies my bitch of an aunt and cunt of a cousin were telling. My aunt sent out my response to the cunt without what she wrote to me for reference, to try to make it look as if I attacked her out of the blue. And she never bothered telling anyone that I had apologized, but kept it going while accusing me of not dropping it. If there is a God, she will have a hell of a lot to answer for.

Ah damn it. This isn’t talking about forgiveness, this is just making me angry again. Apparently I just can’t, or I don’t know how. I think it’s because the  lies they came up with were so outrageous, so incredibly far from the truth, that I was stunned. I have never spread my business across the family, and that included my grandmother. I know how they gossip. So apparently they just made up their own. Damn it. I have to stop.

I’m sorry.

Dia de Los Muertos

Oaxaca was beautiful. We arrived early so there were no tourists. The first hotel we stayed at was less than satisfactory, but when buying a room online, you take that risk. The zocalo was a few blocks from where we were staying and we took to wandering down there every day. That’s the center of town, by the huge cathedral. There were a lot of churches, each one of them beautiful. This one was massive, with courtyards opening onto the zocalo. The zocalo is a square, lined with various shops, and we took to eating our meals there. Musicians of all sorts would gather in the square, some of them pandering to the restaurant patrons while others gathered for practice. There was a park in the center with benches to sit along, and in the center of the park was a tall pavilion where teenagers seemed to gather. Underneath was another store. The food was wonderful, fresh and abundant, although we had a time deciphering the menu. We quickly found that most of the residents did not speak English and I fear I’ve forgotten most of the Spanish I learned.

We had planned to get married there, but could not find a priest who spoke English so we put it off until we returned. We spent our days wandering the churches, the shops and the huge market. We visited the local ruins and were blown away by them. We spent a lot of time in bed, laughing and making love, and when we wandered, we always touched. When our first room reservation came to an end, we moved to a much more satisfactory room right along the zocalo. The bed was better, the location, the service, everything, so we stayed there for the remainder of our time. Brian, being a workaholic, could not resist doing some work, so I wrote and read while he did his work. We had plenty of time, a little too much for him.

Tourists came in on Halloween and stayed the next two days. Altars were set up everywhere, each more elaborate than the last. The zocalo was transformed. Tents were set up for an altar competition. A huge part of the courtyards were given over to sand decorations. Those had started early, so we would check their progress each day. They were huge and elaborate. Too big to really photograph properly, so my photos are of details. I would have needed an aerial photo to capture them properly. They were amazing. There were parades on the 31st and 1st, leading through the zocalo and into the streets. Many were dressed up, and they carried someone atop their shoulders. There was singing and speeches, which I could not understand, but could still appreciate. Everything was so beautiful and everyone was in a festive mood. The smell of flowers hung over everything. Tuberose is one I associate with Mexico, and it’s one of my favorites. Then there were marigolds, marigolds everywhere, and calla lilies. These were the species calla lily and they smelled wonderful.

We visited a couple of the main cemeteries. One had a stucco wall with recesses, each holding a candle and a name. Inside the cemetery, the individual graves were all decorated and personalized for the person who had died. We wandered around the cemetery in the dark looking at the graves. It’s a joyous holiday, but also solemn, because it is still for the dead. Looking at the graves, you are reminded of that. You are reminded that each one of them is for someone who died and is mourned by the living. We went to another cemetery the next day and in the daylight you can really see how much detail was put into the decorating. Some of the individual sand paintings were just as well done as those in the zocalo.

We also visited an incredibly large tree located nearby. The Tule Tree is supposed to be one of the oldest and largest in the world. I can believe it. Unfortunately for me, it is fenced all around it. I understand it’s for the tree’s protection because someone always has to be an ass, but I wanted to feel it, and the fence ruins photos. We visited a nearby village where they make black pottery and saw how it was made. It was a wonderful experience and I was incredibly happy.


779024-R1-17-17A copysmIMG_8848

IMG_8283 smcopy

Love Sonnet

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

– Pablo Neruda

This is one of my favorites by him.

Dia de los Muertes

Happy Day of the Dead!


I adore this holiday, and intend to write about it. Today is the day the dead children come to visit, tomorrow the dead adults. It is a time of celebration and reunion, remembering and honoring your dead loved ones. However, today I am unfocused and irritable. I could not sleep last night so it was after 4 before I finally drifted off. Writing about this beautiful holiday deserves better, so I plan to write about it tomorrow. For today, have a couple of photos I took while in Oaxaca.



(My etsy shop is here)