City of many seasons

There must be
something
powerful,
and beautiful,
something rather enigmatic,
about seeing the city
that you live in
turn so many shades,
show so many colours,
reveal various personas
as the seasons wash over it.

In that place that you call 'home',
sober autumns might be followed by
a bright white Christmas;
and scented springs followed by
a vibrant, raging summertime!

But, what if the same can be said of
the person that you love?

What then?

Sober moments, rare and fleeting might be
followed by blinding cold,
the winter of your Love.
Fragrant love-making, impassioned or sweet,
followed by the storms of a violent retribution.

They say that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

Either way, the seasons still wash over it;
over that place you call home.
And rest assured,
the Master Painter forever waves
a kaleidoscopic paintbrush
over that city
of your dreams.

i am you, alright...

you are

that fresh breeze
playing with the curls in my hair,

that tinge of sunlight that
leaves gold dust on my skin,

that rustle in the wind
of the grasses before
the summer rains...

that dainty twitter
of love birds
meeting each other after
a time.

you are
that moonlight
dancing on the surface
of a crystal pond,

that gleam in the
gems that glisten on
my earlobes...

that sound of
life just awakening
to its wholeness.

you are.

i am.

and i am you.

but you are.

evolutionary, my dear

Minds are important things. I just had an evening visit with friends. And we got into this long winded discussion about minds. And survival. Of the fittest, that is. Fittest mind? Fittest soul? Not fittest ego, mind you.

Well it started out because we decided that we should measure some amount of emotional growth or change in ourselves. How, we asked, should we attempt to measure such a thing? Memories gave us a starting point. Then, as we moved along the years bringing us to a kind of resting point in the present day, all we needed to do was look back down the mountain we had climbed and to reflect. Sounds pretty easy hey. There were tons of moments for a laugh or a nice smiley memory. And since life never really lets us forget the stuff we'd rather not remember, yea there was room made for even that.

So many good memories. So many coincidences. So many mistakes. Thank heaven for mistakes! (They say some people marry others mistakes:P) Okay bygones. I can only think of one a relatively long time ago, and even then its only me making fun of things. Life is too short for regrets and what ifs. It is. Or it isn't. Thats as plain as day.

But one thing stands out for me in all of this. People need emotional compatibility. And intellect does not equate to emotional evolution. I have always been intrigued by a sharpened mind and a caustic wit. It takes some doing to be quick on your feet regards life, etc. And adding to that, a deep consciousness of self and humanity. Not ranting raving shows of purgatory. Just real humane respect for self and others. And a conscious disregard for naivete that makes one open to all forms of gross manipulation when you least expect it. Is that too much to ask for? I guess in some cases it is.

And in some cases... My mind, muse and fingers at keyboard are enticed to play a festive music to the stimuli of words and to tap-dance in tandum to the wit and mastery of The Mind. Green Geisha, I need your platform for further posts :P

Crazy weather, weather crazy

I love the rain... it reminds me of being born.. again and again... of the cycle of life, and the ways in which the innocence of children can be a storehouse of learning for us adults. I love summer, because of its warmth, that eternal feeling of being embraced with the kiss of sunrays leaving you just a little pink... and I love the breeze that works its way into my room when im writing... playing a little distracting game with me and the muse... teasing just enough to get some amount of free writing out in a mere five minutes.

I love my freedom. My family. My books. My car. Yes, that too. I love being a girlie girl. And I love being South African. Oh and jelly tots. But for now, I love the rain. Its great for writing. And painting. And baking, believe it or not. My shortbread biscuits just came out superbly today!

This rain has memories for me. It reminds me of coffee shops and colourful umbrellas. It reminds me of yellow butterflies. It reminds me of spontaneiety. It reminds me of me...

Ode to the Odor

this odor of distrust
is like the stench of tyres burning
in an abandoned warehouse;

this odor of regret
is like the taste of cardboard
on my salivating tongue;

this odor of irritation
is like the feel of sandpaper
on my bare shoulders,
making me squirm,
scratch,
and then
shudder
in disgust!

its this thing...
this odor of something tasteless
now gone bad,
making it an unworthy guardian
of too many odor's...

distrust, regret, irritation,
all clambering for the attention
of my senses, at once
heightened by the mark of
the archer.

just like that

i am feeling an overwhelming sadness tonight. and i dnt know what to do about it.
im typing these words. and feeling a sense of relief in seeing them on screen. pretending that this way, the sadness will dissolve. but its not.
i still dnt know what to do about it.

im drenched. i dnt think i can afford to lose more salt right now.
but its all not always easy to find answers to everything.

maybe sad is healthy. i dnt know.
i dnt know if anyone knows.
but i know that i dnt.

on writing and being a writer

I am writing again. No, I mean, really. I ramble a lot, here at this blog, and pretend for the most part to be a writer. And I get away with it. Its a wonderful world. And its pretty amazing how impressionable people can be. Especially me. But in all honesty, I have neglected my apparent latent ability to pen real prose. And so, I have decided to go out on a limb and actually make this commitment to write! It feels good. It makes me feel in touch with myself. Again. I miss the ocean, its smell, its lure; but I am glad to be, once again, grounded in this city of immense energy. The beat of Africa's heartbeat is right here, at my doorstep. Laced with an arsen of crime, ebbed by a sensual flow of ingratiating traffic and filled to the brim with people from every corner of the continent and the world, this is Johannesburg. I find myself standing in the midst of it all, sometimes alone on the battlefield and at other times surrounded by a delightful sprawl of sunflowers.. The promise of a wave of words is at once ominous and exhilarating. And I am ready to be dive right in.

PS: In taking on this little adventure, I have officially given myself permission to write badly, just as long as I write, as I must! Will slice and dice when theres a full bag :)

PPS: This post is a note to self, a place I hope to be able to return to, when Im drowning and not able to see the wood from the trees at any point. And for any potential panic attacks. And. Yea. Whatever unforeseen. Sigh.