Tuesday 18 May 21 It's Seattle, so naturally, it's raining. Seeking a surface on which to splat and drip and register a persistent voice, the rain beats on the deck above mine, giving the illusion of pattering on a roof. The sound is soothing as it keeps me contemplative company. It's midnight. The witching hour, some say. A waxing crescent Moon in Leo sends its magick* into the darkened sky, and shyly glides into the living room where I'm nested comfortably. A fulsome sensation of The Lost Love wraps around me like a blanket of energy, electrifying, protecting. Renewing old memories. Spinning new fantasies. Bed beckons. My inner child -- still actively resisting my adult will to resist indulgences -- begs for one more hour listening to the dark, and talking to the rain. After midnight, in the dark, with the rain is when I get my best ideas. And when I can most clearly sense The Lost Love. I don't want to miss it. Not tonight. Not after the surprising though silent connection this afternoon. When two began their love early in life, got separated for 50 years, then reconnect in the silver years, you take every offering of reignited interest no matter the form in which it arrives: physical presence, flirty texts, delighted phone calls, clairsentient / clairaudient /clairvoyant reception. to be continued ..... *Magick is spelled with a k to indicate the meaning of profound spiritual energy, distinctly different from the prestidigitation of a stage act.
Wonderful, keep going. I d say more but the rain scares me. I live in Oklahoma but at the momnent I'm off in the desert of west Texas and eastern New Mexico setting up a small general store to help out some of those who can not help themselves. It's a lonely life here all alone, sometime sharing the favors of some of the ladies in far off Lubbock or Midland. I'm at a county crossroads operating a small general store for the benefit of farm labors, and stuck here six or eight weeks at a time. One day soon I may place this as a story on the forum, perhaps in tall tales and fabrications. But for now only the lonely know for sure. Woking on the rough draft. You don't know me and I won't intrude your stalking again. It looked like the makings of something good. Cheers.
Hello @Bill Boggs. Thanks for stopping by. Your story sounds very interesting, and I'd love to know more. I hope you do post it. I'm so curious about how someone would get into such an endeavor and how it works and all. Fascinating. Especially the part about sharing favors in Lubbock or Midland. LOL Tell us more!
I'm working on a story. Don't know if this one will pan out or not. I'm now writing a brief self critique in wide pot in the road, but I realize I'm not goodc at what I do so I've got to think about it. It's good for my mental health., keeps me occipied for a while since I can do little physically. Manythanks for your comments.
Thursday 20 May 21 The Sun is setting. Effortlessly, it sinks into the tree tops, leaving a trail of pale pink and yellow light to pierce the air that awaits the sweetness of the dark. It was a busy day for the Sun. Many flares to spit out into the void. Lots of electronics to make wonky. Countless consciousnesses to unsettle by confrontations with Truth and Desire. The Lost Love felt such unsettledness today. The Sun made sure to have his attention, even in the shade of the patio on the edge on a dry, high desert plateau, tall unsweetened iced tea in hand, the feelings burbled nearly aloud. I felt the burbling. It rippled over the empathic connection that stretched between us like the string and tin can telephones of our childhood. Agonizing Desires two-stepped with ardent Truths in the intersecting tissues of our souls. He felt me with him, his Wanted One, across the distance. After 50 years, all forces in the universe, all gravity of Sun and Moon, are pulling us together. The Wanted One would be not escape this time, I felt him tell me. Not even for doubt, nor guilt, nor anxieties of aging. The Lost Love was finally certain of that. We have matured into honest self-understanding. Our unspoken trust of each other has not dimmed with time. Our unleashed enthusiastic determination for being heard and understood prompts confessions we each had been too insecure to make long ago. Consequently, the Stars are aligning. Our day was coming. And more importantly, our nights. Nights not yet enjoyed already are irresistible. Sun gave way to the dark this night while The Lost Love entertained neighbors on the still hot patio. I picture the dazzling smile and knowing eyes that pretend to focus on the others, and know he is thinking of his Wanted One. Obstacles may continue to separate and plague us. The virus has been the least of those. It doesn’t matter. This story still has years to go before the end. to be continued…..
Tuesday 10 August 2021 Time is not our friend. Not anymore. Neither The Lost Love's devotion to daily fitness nor his Wanted One's crossed fingers to ward of health calamity will mediate our individual genetic fates. The coming years will inevitably be burdened with diminished energy, bodily breakdowns, and vanishing memory. Already I worry about how often The Lost Love asks the same questions. Often I wonder if the repetition is just a way to re-enliven the past. Clinical alerts press my mind to consider whether I'm seeing warning symptoms of a developing issue. Then ego pipes up to suggest it is a way to test whether his Wanted One sustains decades of desire. Not wanting to imagine the implications of repeated questions, I shrug off the worry as just too many other people and activities and obligations filling his mind. But at our age, issues of memory and repetition are concerning. I try not to take it personally. But I notice. And wonder. My training and several careers of experience make me aware of the patterns people live. My personality, perhaps, prods me to be curious about what I see. Some of what I've stored in my own memory as his patterns have changed over the decades. Did I ever really know him the way I have believed for 50 some years that I did? The question haunts me. Cognitive dissonance happens when you finally realize that something you have always believed has never been accurate. This disorienting and dangerous mental state sits like a time-released curse, waiting to destroy confidence this relationship. The question has to be asked whether I would be as enamoured with The Lost Love now if I had seen some of his current patterns long ago. No answer is whispered from the soul. Unanswered questions, unmet opportunities, unfulfilled desires. It is the dance we do. It is the pattern we are living out this lifetime. to be continued ....