…with an unbearable sweetness

Originally posted on An Upturned Soul:

3 weights


“She was breathing deeply, she forgot the cold, the weight of beings, the insane or static life, the long anguish of living or dying. After so many years running from fear, fleeing crazily, uselessly, she was finally coming to a halt. At the same time she seemed to be recovering her roots, and the sap rose anew in her body, which was no longer trembling.”

― Albert Camus


The three weights in this photograph… I found them amongst the bits and pieces left behind in my new home by the previous owner.

Were there other weights to be found, were these part of a bigger set, or was this it?

Do these represent something?

Are they perhaps each a burden put down so that someone could move on… and pick up new weights more meaningful to them now?

We sometimes carry with us heavy loads which no longer…

View original 305 more words

Waiting: a Drabble

I thought the in between times would feel flat, numb, vacant. I am looking out my screen door on a hot night studded with stars. I can hear an old fan hum as it tries to cool off my stifling hot bungalow. I’m smoking a Lucky Strike with a tumbler of whisky and ice held against my hot cheek. It is 1952 and I am waiting.

These in between times are filled with silence and heightened senses and listening for the sound of your footsteps and the careless slamming of an old screen door as once again you come home.

My Shadow Man Become My Sun

I have been thinking
about forever
Even while
I feel time running out

Some days
I drag my fingers

Through the babbling brook
That makes up my memories
and capture one
for a closer look
It’s a kind of magic
To stop
For just a moment
To read
Your own story

You are
In every story
I write now

Even as
My babbling brook
Cries out to me
I know
Time is nonsensical

I have witnessed
the Earth
orbit the Sun
and return home
in the time
I have known you
Loved you

And yet,
you feel
like my life giving star

The one I orbit
My true north
My only home

As if I had always
Been waiting
For your part
In my story

As if those
I capture
For looking
For seeing
For telling
Always had
In the shadows

My shadow man
Become my Sun

“I am incapable of conceiving infinity, and yet I do not accept finity. I want this adventure that is the context of my life to go on without end.”
— Simone de Beauvoir (La Vieillesse (Vol. 1))

Begin Again

I was resting
Against a damp brick wall
In a deserted dark alley
Looking into his dark eyes

By the light of a lone street lamp
I watched them soften
As they found mine

We have had too many silences
Filled with doubt and mistrust
And fear
Too many nights of too many words
And too little love

But tonight
in a damp dark alley
With only our eyes
doing the talking
And the softest of kisses
We begin again

More Memories of You

If I close my eyes
I can still feel your arms around me
Feel your hand linger on the curve of my ass

And I smile


Robin Dalton:

So very stunning.

Originally posted on submissiveslant:

‘I was born sick
But I love it
Command me to be well
Amen. Amen.



lyrics: Hozier, ‘Take me to Church’

View original

Birds In Flight

We are sitting
under the stars

For months
we have been
seeking enlightenment

plan after plan

Throwing bits of paper

until they were caught up
in some cosmic storm
wreaking havoc
on our hearts

Turning our voices
Into discordant clanging


Our voices


and quiet

And in the quiet
I watched a heron
fly gracefully
above us
and land
softly at our feet

Our fingers stretched
Searching for the other

And in that moment
all I could hear
were our soft breaths
and our steady hearts

And just
as the heron
spread its wings
to lift off
from our place
beneath the stars
I knew

Our love
is made of
soft breaths
and steady
beating hearts
and clasped hands
and the miracle
of birds in flight

under stars


Helping Others. Helping Heather.


, , , ,

I don’t talk much about my health on this blog because I mostly use it as a creative outlet these days. I know, however, that a lot of you remember how I struggled in the early years of my diagnosis and evern now what a precarious journey my life is with chronic illness.

However, a friend sent me a link to a Facebook Page for a young woman who was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia five years ago. She lives in Georgia. I was lucky when I was diagnosed because I was living in the United Kingdom where they have single payer medical coverage, the NHS. Illnesses like Fibromyalgia and CFS/ME are exclusionary illnesses which means you must be tested for a gazillion possible sicknesses and diseases just to find our what you don’t have. It’s a very costly process. Once you have your diagnosis the next step is trying drug after drug because nobody is the same. No one’s experience of Fibromyalgia is the same and no one’s experience of the alleged cures or symptom relief is the the same. Her husband has created a moving video of their plight with medical bills and increasing debt and the real possibility that they might lose their home.

They’ve created a crowd funding site on YouCaring: Help 4 Heather

Heather’s experience and bravery struck a chord deep in my heart and I felt a real need to reach out for some kind of assistance for them. I hope you’ll try to help them by donating whatever you can and by continuing to share their story and their links.

Thank you.

You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you. ~ John Bunyan

CandlesAs far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.~ Carl Jung


We live only to discover beauty. All else is a form of waiting.”
— Kahlil Gibran

I believe this. I think it’s why I try to find beauty in everything.

Tonight I am sleepless and sad.

But what I hear are the song of the crickets.
So loud it slips through my closed window.
I know there are trees outside hovering
in a protective stance over this house I am in.
And I can feel the steady beat
of my heart and know it still beats for you.

And if I am very still
I can hear you whisper Good Girl
as you part my thighs.

And all of existence is made beautiful by two lover’s sighs.


Random Acts of Dreaming

I slept for hours this afternoon and into the night. A sleep forced upon me without my consent, heavy with dark, strange, uncomfortable dreams. Dreams of a vulnerable me relying on people who shouldn’t be relied upon. It’s a common theme for me.

I am renting a room in a quiet suburban neighbourhood. It’s almost three in the morning. Through my white linen curtains flashes of light suddenly explode, followed by popping sounds like fire crackers. I want to believe it was a random act of celebration.

It’s so very quiet now.

While I dream of you and stars falling.

West Sussex ~ Photography by Robin Dalton

West Sussex ~ Photography by Robin Dalton


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 57 other followers