Category Archives: The Arts

Love in Any Language

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Four months ago, I created my first video for DiscerningGal.com, where I interviewed award winning author, Evelyn Kohl LaTorre, for her first book “Between Inca Walls.” The second book entitled “Love in Any Language,” is the part two. In fact, when you begin to read this book – should you have read the first one, you will feel as if this books starts where the last one left off. And, this is the point. Many people were curious what happened to Antonio and Evelyn; once they left Peru. We are indulged with this beautiful story about a couple who’s marriage spans five and a half decades, as we speak. The book ends about three decades later and we are on our seats for the entire roller coaster ride.

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One U2 Revised

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One

Is it getting better?
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now?
You got someone to blame

Did I disappoint you?
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without

Did I ask too much? More than a lot
You gave me nothin’ now it’s all I got
We’re one but we’re not the same
Well we hurt each other then we do it again

One love, one blood
One life, you got to do what you should
One life, with each other

One life but we’re not the same
We get to carry each other

All I want is you and I still love you. An apology is all it takes to say hello.

Defeat: By Kahlil Gibran

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Defeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness;
You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs,
And sweeter to my heart than all world-glory.

Defeat, my Defeat, my self-knowledge and my defiance,
Through you I know that I am yet young and swift of foot
And not to be trapped by withering laurels.
And in you I have found aloneness
And the joy of being shunned and scorned.

Defeat, my Defeat, my shining sword and shield,
In your eyes I have read
That to be enthroned is to be enslaved,
And to be understood is to be leveled down,
And to be grasped is but to reach one’s fullness
And like a ripe fruit to fall and be consumed.

Defeat, my Defeat, my bold companion,
You shall hear my songs and my cries and my silences,
And none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings,
And urging of seas,
And of mountains that burn in the night,
And you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul.

Defeat, my Defeat, my deathless courage,
You and I shall laugh together with the storm,
And together we shall dig graves for all that die in us,
And we shall stand in the sun with a will,
And we shall be dangerous.

(For my love of you.)

Sunstroke: A Russian Film 2014

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Yesterday, I sat down to watch nearly three hours of this historic fiction that took place between the 1900’s and 1920. From the onset, there is a clear indication of something bad that is going to happen though we have no idea what it will be until they walk onto the barge. Even then, we don’t really know what is going to happen but we can suspect. You are not watching this movie thinking there will be a happy ending as it is somewhat akin to those who watched the Titanic movie. In 1920, it was the end of the Tsar. The entire family had been assassinated; including little children. The communists were most certainly not very humane in their actions. In the aftermath of annihilating the family, they set about to destroy the lives of their soldiers as well. They did not want one single person left behind from the old regime.

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For Strong Women: Marge Piercy

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A strong woman is a woman who is straining.

A strong woman is a woman standing on tiptoe and lifting a barbell

while trying to sing Boris Godunov.

A strong woman is a woman at work

cleaning out the cesspool of the ages,

and while she shovels, she talks about

how she doesn’t mind crying, it opens

the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up

develops the stomach muscles, and

she goes on shoveling with tears

in her nose.

A strong woman is a woman in whose head

a voice is repeating, I told you so,

ugly, bad girl, bitch, nag, shrill, witch,

ballbuster, nobody will ever love you back,

why aren’t you feminine, why aren’t

you soft, why aren’t you quiet, why

aren’t you dead?

A strong woman is a woman determined

to do something others are determined

not be done.  She is pushing up on the bottom

of a lead coffin lid.  She is trying to raise

a manhole cover with her head, she is trying

to butt her way through a steel wall.

Her head hurts.  People waiting for the hole

to be made say, hurry, you’re so strong.

A strong woman is a woman bleeding

inside.  A strong woman is a woman making

herself strong every morning while her teeth

loosen and her back throbs.  Every baby,

a tooth, midwives used to say, and now

every battle a scar.  A strong woman

is a mass of scar tissue that aches

when it rains and wounds that bleed

when you bump them and memories that get up

in the night and pace in boots to and fro.

A strong woman is a woman who craves love

like oxygen or she turns blue choking.

A strong woman is a woman who loves

strongly and weeps strongly and is strongly

terrified and has strong needs.  A strong woman is strong

in words, action, in connection, in feeling;

she is not strong as a stone but as a wolf

suckling her young.  Strength is not in her, but she

enacts it as the wind fills a sail.

What comforts her is others loving

her equally for the strength and for the weakness

from which it issues, lighting from a cloud.

lightning stuns.  In rain, the clouds disperse.

Only water of connection remains,

flowing through us.  Strong is what we make

each other. Until we are all strong together,

a strong woman is a woman strongly afraid.

*This poem that is one of my favorites. I think all women who have faced trauma in one way or another should read this and feel comforted by her words. It really captures the essence and beauty of a strong woman.

Your Soul

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In my heart, there are tears.

Tears of joy,

Of sadness,

Of Pain,

Of love lost.

In my eyes, there are mirrors.

I can see in and out.

I can see you and me.

I can see that you do not see me.

In my ears, there are waves.

I hear music when we make love.

The rhythm of your laughter

Vibrates my soul.

In my nose, is your scent.

When you are near it is next to me.

When you are far it follows me.

On my mouth is your kiss.

I taste your passion at night,

When I am alone.

The Journey

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Let me in, let me see what is inside

Let me feel that place where you are trying to hide.

Two wounded souls from different places in time

Coming together without a map or a rhyme.

As you suffer in silence, I fly around in the dark

and search for words to help you embark.

Stolen moments meet us half way

to carry us forward thru a whole new day.

Two lovers gather in the evening silence

Yearning to touch and find their way once more.

They seek solace in the arms of each other

Hoping to find what they are looking for.

The past sits on the edge of reason and doubt

While it waits to be soothed and coddled.

Confusion lurks and passions await

Time moves on in haste.

The bed feels empty; the mind is reprieved

By a thought or a gesture that provides some relief.

I wait and I ponder and I wonder as I wander

The roads are clear but the climb is steep.

The painting is finished but the oils have yet to dry.

The journey is in motion and there is still more to do.

The dancers step forward and take their cue

While the room lets out a sigh…

The sounds are released and they move

Two people together, aware of nothing

But the instruments guiding their way.

As it is…

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The Truth

Is that we are who we are whether we like it or not.

The Dream

We wished for came true, then we gave it back.

The Mountain

Was tall and slippery, jaded and painful; yet we climbed and stood on top.

The Journey

Continues while we look back and take inventory, keep walking even though we limp and set goals even though the old ones have not been reached.

The Choice

To move ahead while you drag your feet behind makes sense because you follow intuition.

The Answers

Are not clear and may never be, though we must live and seek as though we will find.

The Faith

Waivers when we don’t get what we want. It is clear that we have a belief but not in ourself.

The Time

Has come to let go and be.

The Message

Is not here even though it has told you many things – that you already knew.

The Point

Was to remind you.

copyright 2005

Down By The Lake

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Standing on the dock, looking out at the mossy green basin, she discards her clothes, and jumps in.  Half-way across the lake she looks up, and notices there is no gate in the distance.  Just as she is beginning to gage her sense of timing to get to the other side, a motor sounds off to the right from the lagoon.  Dr. Lion comes toward her or “Guru” as he likes to be called.  She calls him nothing. 

He has respect from his colleagues, for his papers on depression and isolation.  He alludes to having traveled extensively, to lecture about the pressures of society. No one is allowed access to the institution, without his express permission.  Dr. Lion is viewed by his clients with fear and trepidation.  Like a drill sergeant, he demands that they live by his rules.  There is a list next to each bed: 1. Rise at seven, 2. Ten minute showers, 3. Twenty minute breakfast, and it goes on to account for the day with twelve more items.  When it was time for therapy, clients would sit on the metal chairs, in order by appointment; they were alphabetized.  No talking, no listening, the room outside his office must be silent.  Each client is allowed to read the books he has chosen for them.

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