Tirion Upon Tuna

My dearest Vana,

I will make some notes about Tirion.  My first thought is not about Tirion itself but you in Tirion.  Ever since I led the Eldar from Middle Earth to Aman, you have cared for them and loved them too, particularly the Noldor and Vanyar who settled in Tirion. Both you and I spend much time there helping them learn and care for each other.

            I enjoy meeting with you in your gardens or in my palace in Valimar.  Most of all, I like working with you in Tirion and on occasion living there in the rooms that the Eldar provide us.  We are then among the people we both love.

            Enough!  I will now write my notes about Tirion.

Your adoring husband,

Oromë

Tirion upon Túna

When Oromë had led the Eldar from Middle Earth because of the darkening of the lands by Melkor, the Noldor and the Vanyar settled not far from Valimar but east of that Valarian city. “To these the Valar had given a land and a dwelling-place. Even among the radiant flowers of the Tree-lit gardens of Valinor they longed still at times to see the stars.”  In cooperation with the Valar, the Eldar created a grand plan to let the light pour through from the Two Trees onto the their lands.

The first part of the plan was to clear a section of the Pelóri Mountain Range twixt Valimar and the Bay of Eldamar. The Eldar harvested lumber of all sorts: much pine from the upper slopes but also some other conifers and from the lower slopes several hardwoods including an abundance of oak, chestnut, and walnut.  These lumbers were stored in huge seasonings sheds for later use in the construction of their city.

“and therefore a gap was made [by  the Valar] in the great walls of the Pelóri and there in a deep valley that ran down to the sea the Eldar raised a high green hill: Túna it was called.  From the west the light of the Trees fell upon it and its shadow lay ever eastward, and to the east it looked toward the Bay of Elvenhome, and the Lonely Isle, and the Shadowy Seas.”

The Eldar mined the exposed slopes of the mountains on either side of the valley for metals recovering not only iron, tin, and copper but also more precious ones such as gold, silver, and a bit of mithril.  From escarpments to the north they quarried huge blocks of white marble and on the south they cut crystals from the great deposits there. Taking these building resources from the land, the Eldar took great care to preserve the natural environment for they loved nature so.

They constructed waterways and built ingenious devices to carry it up to where it was needed.

“And it came to pass that the masons of the house of Finwë, quarrying in the hills after stone (for they delighted in the building of high towers), first discovered the earth-gems, and brought them forth in countless myriads; and they devised tools for the cutting and shaping of gems, and carved them in many forms. They hoarded them not, but gave them freely, and by their labour enriched all Valinor.”

With lumber and metals and white marble and earth-gems, the Eldar began building first sawmills and smelterings, then workshops and laboratories.  Architects and designers and planners created plans for a great city. The Eldar were familiar with the structures, designs, and architectures of Valimar being it was less than a half-day’s journey to the west.  Their buildings emulated those of Valimar but with Elven flair and decorations of earth-gems that were so abundant.

“… Upon the crown of Túna the city of Elves was built, the  white walls and terraces of Tirion; and the highest of the towers of that city was the Tower of Ingwë, Mindon Eldaliéva, whose silver lamp shone far out into the mists of the sea.”  The Eldar built  “the high court of the King upon the summit of Túna; “

 “In Tirion upon Túna the Vanyar and Noldor dwelt long in fellowship. And since of all things in Valinor they loved most the White Tree, Yavanna made for them a tree like to lesser image of Telperion, save that it did not give light of its own being.  Galathilion it was named in the Sindarin tongue. The tree was planted in the courts beneath the Mindon. and there flourished, and its seedlings were many in Eldamar.”

“The Noldor were beloved of Aulë, and he and his people came often among them. Great became their knowledge and their skill; yet even greater was their thirst for more knowledge, and in many things they soon surpassed their teachers. They were changeful in speech, for they had great love of words, and sought ever to find names more fit for all things that they knew or imagined.”

The wife or Oromë, Vana, encouraged and aided the Noldor in many ways and pursuits of knowledge and kindness to those less fortunate. She supported the Eldar in the construction of buildings dedicated to learning with rooms for classes and laboratories for demonstrations and experiments. 

Dormitories were constructed to house  students and scholars and teachers coming from afar, such was the reputation of Tirion as a learning center. Vana inspired the Eldar to create a building for temporary housing of the unfortunate who lacked places to reside and to erect a hospital for the caring of the injured and ill.  Such was her kindness, caring, and leadership among the Eldar.

The Teleri came at last to the lands of Aman .”There they dwelt, … and could tread the crystal stairs of Tirion upon Túna.”

The Eldar live and work in a wondrous community upon Túna and Tirion flourishes.

__________________

Reference:  Tolkien, J.R.R., The Silmarillion. 2^nd ed., Edited by Christopher Tolkien. …

Five Years to Sheriwood

Once upon a time, for that is the start of all stories, great or not so great, in the real world, I choose to explore the new fad of Web 2.0. My research took in most of the offerings five years ago and there were not as many as today. One I peeked into was Second Life. It was getting unbelievable press five years ago - TV, news, magazines, newspapers. Everyone was checking out this strange virtual world and so I dove in.

Newbies were very ugly in those days compared to now, but I did my best and met some others who were here for research. It was amazing to meet people from all over the world with common interests and then something gripped me. It was the ability to reach out to others.

Dancing to the Elves

I met someone in a dance place that exists today (Phatt Cats) and he had the loveliest Elf ears. He brought me to a land many have visited. There I quickly became one of their administrators

I was able to take time to do the things I do in the real world here. I taught classes. I did wedding ceremonies; and unlike the real world, I learned EVERYTHING I could about weapons of the day

In our land this was medieval but there was a lovely component of Elves there. I arranged their tournaments that are still head. I wrote procedures. I helped with barding. It was a great time and I always love learning.

Commonwealth & Meeting Aule

One day one of my students, who I still know, asked me to come see a new land. He knew my passion was Tolkien and the land I was admin in was definitely NOT Tolkien. In those days the Tolkien enthusiasts were beginning to "self identify" by wandering to places of hope for Elves and so I came to a land called Commonwealth.

It was so inspiring for me. Nearly the first day I met Aule who was fiddling around in the library there. He gave me a little desk to sit and write at and mostly just chat away with him

My father died. I was devastated! Lost! Those in my home sim, where I worked so hard as admin had no time for me. I ended up in the fresh new sim called Valimar in my deep grief. I built my first formal rose garden and dedicated it to my father and to JRR Tolkien. Many came and sat there and rested

The land where I was admin would not permit conflict of interest. They intended to "rule all the world" it seemed and after serving them tirelessly for over a year and building their traffic, and having my wonderful wedding to Turner there (a marriage that attracted 75 people to a land that would only hold 50. We crashed so many times that day, but all my friends from Valimar came to join my land). But the competition was so fierce with my home sim, they banned me for disloyalty. I of course went to Valimar but was so hurt.

Valimar

Manwe watched me from the start and he had asked me to be the optimistic, ever seeing Spring, Vana and so I began to teach classes in Valimar and manage their events and administer the sim.

The builders attracted to this challenge of Tolkien's imagination, have never again been gathered together and Valimar rose up out of the pixels. It was breathtaking and once finished in a fit of Manwe’s temper it was destroyed and then rebuilt

My Turner, my partner and I were always busy there. One day my Turner (who btw was Sauron) got into a RL argument with Manwe. It escalated beyond belief and Turner and I found ourselves banned!

I remember the pain of that day so well It was my third huge loss, and Aule, as always came to me and he held me until the pain went away and reminded me to not lose my vision for Tolkien.

The Park Bench

But I was so tired by then. There was a park bench. One made of twisted branches and rough planks that sat in a sim called ElvenGlen. It was part of Elf Circle, the place where I learned to use weapons initially. I sat on that park bench day after day. I didn't talk with anyone. When I came in world it was all I would do -- just sit on this silly park bench. Many passed by. Many knew me.

One day the owner of the quarter sim came and sat on the park bench with me. He shared that he was giving up his land. He was very tired and sad, but financially it was very difficult for him. I LOVED that special place. I told him I would pay for it for him, but he left and handed the land to me. Now what was *I* going to do with a quarter of a sim?

So I continued to come in and sit on that park bench. One day Bon/Vana came. She had been Nieliqui, Vana's daughter in Valimar with me. She started sitting quietly on the park bench with me. Then Elder Valla. Then another called Karenna. One by one, people who knew my vision began to come to that park bench offering their allegiance--not to ME--but to a vision I hold in my heart to honour Tolkien. Then Vala came and I knew there was hope.

The Planning Began

We set up this big stone table with cocoa and tea and lots of things to eat and every day we would meet and discuss the works of Tolkien, and plan. We planned every brick. We choose colours and shapes and prototyped builds and scripts. We spoke of music to inspire and ways to help others get hooked on Tolkien.

The owner of the sim (not the 1/4 parcel) told me about a way to get a sim. And best of all it would be at a discount. Sims are expensive and my friend introduced me to a character called Vander. He was going to have 50 Sims, build the biggest empire in SL he said. He was pleasant and delightful and he wanted me to be with his group because one thing was sure, I could love his people and help him grow and for my work, he offered me two Sims.

Passport Plus Three

So I went there and began working in his four Sims. It was amazing and busy and so much learning. One day I came to the Sims and found I could not enter...that it was closed to everyone. Banned from my own sim, again! However, I knew that Vander did not own the Sims but rented them. Being a bit cleverer than most imagined I was, I had made friends with the owner.

The Sims we had built were unexpectedly beautiful. Bon did much of the work there and I'm not sure they will ever be matched. So I took over the tier for four Sims (the tier btw, because it was rented, was twice what a normal sim was). I was quickly having to skip meals to pay for them, but it was worth it as I began to plan for the new Tolkien lands. Sadly the costs overwhelmed me and three of the Sims had to go. It hurt me so much. Nevertheless, I clung to Passport, the last of the four Sims with all my might.

One day, Bon and I were in Elf Circle. She was showing me this amazing tree house she had built (the one in the Forest today actually) and Manwe came near and told me how sad he was I lost the Sims. We discussed it and I somehow hoped he would want to help. Silly me.

But he did tell me something that surprised me that day. He told me that I was the most difficult woman he knew, but that he admired me like no other because of my passion for the vision that he could NOT carry.

Loss of Passport

He was Manwe. He watched me always he said and could not imagine I could still remain optimistic. One day I could no longer afford Passport and my heart was sad and Manwe came and offered me the role of Vaire – he had “sold” the role of Vana to another for their support of his new empire.

Bon and the others were growing eager to be building OUR dream. We still had the quarter of a sim and by now they had planned EVERYTHING and they just wanted to see the vision live. So I bought two Sims from Manwe's group, at a premium as well (the tier was also twice a normal tier) but in the end I thought it WOULD be worth it once the Forest and City arose out of the flat land that was delivered.

Bon and Valla and Vala and a few others raced around like silly chickens getting things packed up from the ElvenGlen land. We learned to respect and fear each other sometimes but we never fought. We just knew we were stubborn for our own ideas. So we discussed every detail around the stone table and in our Sheriwood group working site. It was an amazing time.

If you have not looked at the tribute board for awhile, I commend the paintings on the end near the City. It holds some of the early paintings of how we started. It was and remains one of the most amazing experiences of my real or virtual life.

The Tribute Board

Like any dream we cannot hope to dream in isolation. The Tribute board also holds the images of nine wonderful people and I promised I would also details these and I will add four new portraits to the Tribute board soon...
The names on the existing Tribute Board are: in order from top left to right and top row to the third row:

1. Valla, one of what we called the Three Graces, she is the most wonderful at creating and maintaining our databases and she mothers everyone, especially the shy ones still today.
2. Bon is another of the Tree Graces with me, who built the Forest and Pass, whose imagination is driven to use the limitations within this virtual world to make REALISTIC places live with simple prims!
3. Vala, our Finwe, who we rarely see, who spent a minimum of eight hours a day for every day for over a year planning and building the most mathematically-precise land in this entire world.
4. Forest, who is our Irmo and also rarely seen, built the small, intimate old Elven village in the City, with is different perspective a perfect contrast for Vala's perfection and purity.
5. Trinity & Allellia, two lovely people who helped with our events initially, but had other things draw them away very early on
6. Rill Oyen, who was my Orome when I was Vana in the old Valimar. He KNEW how to do events as no other ever has since. He got partnered and could not help like he could before. He took on the challenge of managing all the legal and business aspects of the Sheriwood Foundation, which was both expensive and tedious and remains so to this day.
7. Ries Kurka, who was passionate to be part of this, but had a bit of an unexpected temper and left.
8. Crabbi Babii, who remains close today, but as a special angel in the background and mostly on SKYPE these days.
9. Jeb Hennesy -- one I met many ages ago, who helped by donating our equipment for our hospital and birthing ward. His expertise with ancient medical equipment is still unmatched in SL

That is the nine. Some of them have even paid a tier or two along the way. I could add a dozen new names, but those on that board have been with me and this vision for the long haul and no image would go there without time in service. Two of my driving values are loyalty and trust.

Additions to Tribute Board

To this board I will soon be adding four more images as soon s I get proper paintings of them:

1. Anaire – who has came quietly to the Forest and just as quietly was rightfully handed the role of Keeper of the Keys of the Guides. She has served more time than most and continues to still today. Her journal is a delight and her sense of direction and humour are a blessing.
2. Vanwen – who is a builder and scripter and has a most delightful twist of humour. Who can wield a sword with the best of them and who also became the leader of the Rangers naturally?
3. Aule – this man has ALWAYS been with me. And like a second skin, I sometimes do not acknowledge him enough. He has heard my disappointments, held me while I cried and wanted to quit, more than anyone would ever expect. He has refused to hear a negative word from me and always loves me unconditionally; and is always there to help me when I am lost or confused or just tired!
4. Nerdanel is quiet and manages the hard things and leads and inspires others to do the things they think are not possible for them. She came to us under protest and stayed.

With tears flowing down my cheeks, I must say this place exists for and because of each individual who loves Tolkien and our vision, but some have had to be here to hold my hand when I thought of just giving up. So if your image is not there, do not be concerned.

To conclude, the work from the vision that I guard against all who might wish to deteriorate or compromise it, is not easy. It was never supposed to be easy, but to see so many individuals joining our group and to know they respect what we have built; that they want to LIVE these first seven chapters of JRR Tolkien’s mighty and foundational work with us. That they appreciate The Silmarillion. This is the joy of the struggles.

To imagine that one day JRR may walk in here and recognise where he is and who he is talking with...that is the vision we all hope for here. I am unable to fully express my gratitude to you, except by saying, "Thank you!"

Origin of Dwarves

">Aule and the Dwarves

(As told by Valier Yavanna)

This is a story about the need to be patient and also of the forgiveness and love of Iluvatar for our efforts.

My beloved Aule loves to tinker. From the day we stepped into this strange and beautiful world, he was focused on building all sorts of amazing contraptions. One day, I found his workshop door closed. I would never invade his privacy and left him to tinker in peace, yet he was in there many days.

I paced and prayed and wondered what would possess him so. I also wondered if he had slipped out when I had not noticed but then I would hear banging and his normal laughter, so knew was fine.

It was the very early time of the world’s history, so I also was busily singing seeds into existence and left him in peace. One day, I was chilled with delight to see Iluvatar appear in the courtyard where I was working. He looked at me with His loving eyes and stomped, for it could only be thought of as stomping, he stomped right past me. He stood for only a moment before the rough hewn door of Aule's workshop and pushed the door open. He walked in and closed the door with a great bang behind Him before I could even glimpse what Aule was building.

Suddenly voices were raised behind that thick door and I could hear Aule and Iluvatar arguing! I had never experienced this before and felt deeply grieved in my heart. I stood and appealed to Iluvatar in my mind, asking for Him to be patient with my beloved Aule. But the shouting continued and the sound of Aule's hammer striking something. The door even seemed to expand and contract with all the emotion behind the door. Then it grew quiet.

I continued my prayer and waited. In a short while that seemed more like an eternity to me, the door opened. Iluvatar walked out, His face a bit red and shiny, but He smiled at me in a strange way and then was gone.

I was unsure what to do and stood transfixed at the door of Aule's workshop waiting for some direction. Aule's voice, ever so quiet spoke to me and bid me to enter his workshop. As I walked in, there around his feet like a cloud stood seven very strange creatures. They clung to him as if for dear life.

I looked into Aule's eyes and saw something I had never seen there before, fear and.... regret. I walked to him and moved the creatures to the side, as I enfolded him in my arms. He was shaking and his face wet with tears. I held him and waited.

This is what he shared with me. He had grown tired of waiting for Iluvatar to create children. You see Aule loves teaching even more than creating things with his hand it seems sometimes to me. And so in his impatience, Aule had worked tirelessly to craft, with many elements and devices, the seven creatures encircling his feet, and now mine. He found behind the closed door of his workshop a way even to animate them so they SEEMED to live, yet they did not actually. For life belongs to Iluvatar to grant and Him only.

He was revelling in delight at his creation and would have been teaching them from that moment, but that is the moment when Iluvatar arrived. And behind the closed door of that workshop, Iluvatar confronted Aule with his betrayal.

You see beautiful First Children, Iluvatar had and has a plan. He understands the value of perfect timing, because He created time and perfection. Yet because Iluvatar entrusted many special tasks to His Valar and Maiar, He also trusted them to follow His time table, as He trusted them to sing the harmonious tunes He had taught each of them.

When Iluvatar confronted Aule He was about to destroy the creatures. The stubby little awkward-looking creatures... Aule begged Iluvatar to forgive him for not trusting Him. Aule offered to take his own hammer and smash the work of his hand into dust to make up for his lack of trust of Iluvatar.

Iluvatar, Aule told me, stood and looked at him and Iluvatar's eyes filled with compassion and love for Aule, for it seemed, according to Aule, that Iluvatar could "feel" the love that Aule had for these seven creatures and took pity on him and the seven.

Iluvatar told Aule to drop his hammer and wait. The Dwarves understood that they were about to be destroyed and clung to Aule for they already loved him.

Iluvatar then said to Aule: "Thy offer I accepted even as it was being made. Doest thou not see that these things have now a life of their own and speak with their own voices? Else they would not have flinched from thy blow, nor from any command of thy will.” For I grant them life, not just the ability to move at will.

Then Aule cast down his hammer and was glad that Iluvatar had compassion on his creation. But Iluvatar spoke again: "Even as I gave being to the thoughts of the Ainur at the beginning of the World, so now I have taken up thy desire and give to it a place therein; but in no other way will I amend your creation. Your hands have made these creatures in such a way that they will find special work.”

For Aule sensed they would come in the days of the power of Melkor, he made them strong to endure. They are “stone-hard, stubborn, fast in friendship and in enmity, and they suffer toil and hunger and hurt of body more hardily than all other speaking peoples; and they live long, far beyond the span of the race called Men, yet Dwarves are not eternal.”

Iluvatar, continued, “They shall sleep now in the darkness under stone, and shall not come forth until the First born have awakened upon Earth. And until that time thou and they shall wait, though long it seem. But when the time comes *I* will awaken them, and they shall be to thee as children.”

And then Aule took these Seven Fathers of the Dwarves, and laid them to rest in far-sundered places; and then returned to be with me. A wiser Valar to be sure.

That, dear ones, is how Dwarves came into being. I only wish Aule had been here to share, but it still hurts his heart.


(Quotes from JRR Tolkien, The Silmarillion, Chapter 4)

How A Sim Is Lost to LL

A public service message to all of those in my virtual world:


First off, Lindenlabs would never ever discuss any information about another Avatar account and surely not about finances with anyone.

But if Lindenlabs was not being paid tier and they were going to close a sim, this is what would happen.

1. Lindenlab would try to cash the tier payment. Most pay by credit card or Paypal, so LL will simply try to source the cash fee.

2. If there is no money to access the OWNER of the sim only would receive an email informing them that the tier is not there yet for LL to collect and that this needs to be fixed.

3. If there is no response and if the money is not available to them a second time, LL will send another email to the OWNER of the sim only, informing this a second time that LL has not been paid and that they will try in another couple of days.

4. LL will then try again. If the money is not there for them to take, they will block the OWNER’s account.

5. They send a third email telling the OWNER that their account is delinquent and that they need to get the account fixed before LL will reactivate the OWNER’s account.

6. At that moment, the OWNER is able to go into their account only by going to www.secondlife.com but will not be permitted to go in-world. And this is the only way the OWNER can fix the problem and will need to there establish new payment arrangements for LL to access the money. (by adding a new credit card, by changing their PayPal account or by putting Lindens into their account to cover the amount of tier owing.

7. If that is not solved within 2 months, then a Linden will come to the sim and warn the sim manager (in the case they are not OWNER) that the sim is going offline.

8. And then it will disappear to dust. The sim is gone.

9. The ONLY concession the manager or resident can get from LL after that point is by sending a ticket for Linden to reopen the sim for a couple of hours so the manager or resident can take their prims

10. If LL opens the sim under these conditions, they will give you a couple of hours or a day at the most to take whatever you wish and then the sim will disappear forever.

11. Finally, LL does NOT offer the manager/resident the option to buy the sim (even at an increased price)

12. LL will just flatten it and sell it again to the next buyer.

13. They do not care because the sim is resold empty in the Lindenlabs land shop. So it is 2 months and the sim is gone.

Tortoise and the Hare-The Moody Blues

How can it be that the tortoise wins the race, when it always looks like the hare should? In reality the hare is the "histrionic" entity and the tortoise is the "perfectionist" entity. Somewhere in-between the two is another animal, perhaps a dog that is ideal.

Dogs are lovely; they are cute and they can be slow or fast, emotional or rational. I'm not an taxonomist (one who classified species) by any means, however, I sense things and believe we fall somewhere in between the hare and the tortoise when we are most healthy – physically and emotionally (especially emotionally, because we are deeply affected physically when we are not emotionally healthy).

The Hare

Think of the hare, the easiest one in the Aesop’s Fable to identify. Rushing around, looking for all the world like the potential winner. Adorable and soft and fluffy and almost irresistible!

People love standing next to the hare – if they can EVER be found to be standing still -- listening to him/her, following their desirable lead. The politically active, the one in the know, the one TO know. Always with an opinion, always seen more right than not. Active, fit, healthy in mind and body.

In reality the hare is prideful and unaware of the world around them because they SEE themselves so out-in-front they miss the realities of life. They wear blinders to block out the reality they somehow sense is all around them and would defeat them if they would only stop long enough to realise reality. They are stressed beyond measure trying to stay out in front, too.

The Tortoise

The tortoise has always been the winner, but in some ways could the tortoise win only because of the hare’s lack of focus on where the bloody finish line is? The tortoise-perfectionist checks everything? Every footfall? Every word? Every commitment? No wonder they are perceived to be so slow.

Their progress depends more on time than on activity. And their progress depends on making “perfect” decisions (and receiving approval), when reality is full of so many decisions. Progress is more by accident than design, as when they are confused they keep their heads in most of the time trying to reason it all out before they take their next step.

Yet the tortoise wins, not by purposing to win, but by plodding along afraid to turn to the right or left or experience anything other than what seems perfect at the time.

The Canine

So let’s look at the canine, the dog, the puppy. Eager, random and quick sometimes; slow, specific and particular at other times. And always with a smile, enthusiasm and hope in the heart.

They see a goal, a finish line and consider it, not for a treat or praise, but to see if it is worthy of pursuing before one paw goes in motion. Once decided, they look around them and inspect their pathway, smelling out the best way to pursue their goal. Until they are certain, they wait. Then begin after they are happy with their choices.

Speed is not always their strategy, because they seem able to sense danger and are wary of something that seems unfamiliar and that might deter them from their goal. They may wander in big circles, seeming to waste energy, yet they use their nose and nous to scope out danger and fun along their pathway.

Another thing that commends the canine is that they are not always interested in winning, but in having fun and enjoying every minute. Even their sleep can be delightful to watch as they sometimes yip in their sleep, pursuing either hare or tortoise down rabbit holes and into hollow tree trunks to “round them up” for some fun, against both the hare’s and the tortoise’s better judgement.

Virtual or Real

In our virtual life, it seems the differences and realities of real life are also, not surprisingly, dramatised into bigger-than-life challenges sometimes, so it is easier to observe yourself and others and see the behaviours more clearly.

I mean, think about it, sometimes you just sit back and watch things unfold so smoothly and you can SEE dangers and clear pathways in a more reliable and more focused way in the virtual world -- just because it is right there before you!

I think, no, I hope I have been mostly a canine in my life, but fear I’ve tried on both tortoise and hare too often. How about you?

Pain & Misery

I still love the man I married once upon a time, when I was only nineteen and running away from all the bad stuff that my short life had thrown at me. Of course I still love him, although I do not like some of the things that happened, yet love is not something you just turn off and on...well perhaps something is wrong with me ‘cause I’ve just never figured out how to stop those feelings.

Why would I still care about him? Because I always will and now his life, you see, has taken many strange and painful turns. He’s faced more pain than I could ever imagine with serious health challenges and he remains my friend. Recently, he and I were talking about a mutual friend who had lost their brother and he said a most profound thing,

“Pain is inevitable; misery’s a choice.”

So pure. He hung up the phone. I hung up the phone. Yet somehow my hand stayed on the receiver as I was gripped with the pure simplicity of these six words! Of course we ALL know this. We are not foolish, yet how easy it is to forget this simple, simple statement.

I keep a yellowing index card right here, taped to the books that are holding up my laptop. I keep it there so I can see it every moment I am sitting here “living” my other life. It says, “It’s YOUR choice!” And no matter how often I read that card, many times I slip into a helpless misery or surrender to circumstances.

The virtual world I inhabit at first seemed simple and pretty and fun and crowded with music and beauty. Yet, as in all life, there are dark things that look like they are safe and places that are beautiful, like a Pandoraian paradise, filled with the most vicious of creatures.

Then there are the politically astute and those who are pretenders who do so much damage with words, whispers and doctored “quiet messages” no one hears but those favoured ones read. This world of many layers is a world where damage can begin and never be controllable because of the wildfire nature of unchecked suspicion and the candy like addiction to casual rumour.

How tragic a virtual life can be when hearts behind the screen are disregarded in an all out determination to simply win at all costs.

• Friendship
• Sincerity
• Communication
• Integrity
• Humility
• Compassion
• Grace
• and Love.

When these are forgotten, joy turns to chaos; fun to work; love to suspicion and pain to misery.

How to guard against it? Thankfully, in the virtual world, you can truly rise above it and fly away; on the worst of days you can log off and step away from this machine that now links us together with others and take time to stop multi-tasking long enough to think things back into reasonable perspective.

In the real world it takes a different, but similar, strategy. Nevertheless, sometimes in the virtual world the pain is so real it is a struggle to guard against a nagging misery. That’s where friends come in.

Until you meet real friends
True friends,
Friends who appear before you to embrace you
As warmly as in that other world.
Friends who stay with you through
The Dickensonian “best of times and worst of times”.
Friends, just like those gold ones your Mom/Mum told you were out there.
Friends who accept you with sympathy, empathy and grace.
Even special friends who hold you
Through the pain to keep the misery far from you.

No matter what world you inhabit, one thing is certain – you can’t do it alone. Whoever wrote, “No man is an island”, was right!

DEVIOUS TRUTH & WHITE LIES

“What is truth”,
he asked the Man standing in front of him;
a gentle person condemned to death
by the politics of the day.
Nothing he could do would save the Man
and he never got his answer.

So...
What is TRUTH?
How do we know it when we see it?
What does it feel like?
Is it rational or irrational?
Is it situational or sensational?
Can we measure it or weigh it?

Does EVERYBODY but Mork, of Mork and Mindy, lie?

"Do you like my new gown, honey",
She asks, all hopeful and fragile?
It is appalling to me;
To her a work of art and effort.
What do I say?
"It is interesting." Is that a lie?
"It is colourful."
Hopefully it is at least that.
Or that will definitely be a lie.
Is it of good form or workmanship?
"You always take such care about how you are dressed."

Inflection.
Sarcasm.
Cynicism.
Tone.
Colour/Viaz in a voice.

I love your gown.
I LOVE your gown.
I love YOUR gown.
I love your GOWN.

Can I know in truth?
Can I stand in truth?
Or Swear in truth?
Will I live in truth?
Or die in lies?

Do you know?
Can you tell?
Really?
How?

Maybe I want you to know.
Maybe I don’t.

Motive plays in truth.
LOVE my gown (because then you love me)

Can we take the truth?
Or are lies more comforting?
Even when we know they are lies.

Omission?
Commission?

Sometimes telling the whole truth,
Is not all the truth, but enough.
Sometimes telling the whole truth,
Is meant to damage and/or confuse.
Sometimes telling some of the truth,
Confuses or diverts or delays truth.
Sometimes it is just lying.

Recognition?
Heartbreak or hope?

Does the daisy lie or tell truth?
He loves me,
he loves me not,
he loves me…
Please do not tell me.
Soon enough I will know.
Not soon enough I will be ready.
He COULD love me, you know.
Couldn’t he?

Dreams?
Illusions?

And what of my dreams?
Dashed by truth?
You are too short.
Or too ugly.
Or you have a bum leg.
You are not smart enough.
Or then again, you are too smart.
Too qualified.
Too unqualified.

Gossip?
Grapevine?

The method of propagation.
The strength of deceit.
The weakness of truth.
Around corners and under bushes.
The whispers flow like the
Inevitable strength of omnipotent waters.
Non can stay its hands.
As they strangle truth
Almost to death.

Yet…
Like Tinkerbelle
We long to rescue.
To save.
To bring life.
And hope and good.
And we DO believe and trust,
That truth CAN overcome deceit.

But we must always wait for truth,
To overcome deceit, it seems.

The Great Song

Told by Aule to the Noldor

========================================================
Nerdanel asks, “My lord Aule, do you know any stories that will strengthen our hearts?”

AULE shifts the drum pattern again... a twinkle in his eye and a quirky smile on his face and he laughs out loud, “oh, heavens.......there was a part of the Great Song.... near the beginning. Wait, you know what I am talking about? The Great Song? Ainulinalë, in Quenya?

Ah.... then I shan't pay attention to the teaching, but the stor. As I said, then, there was a part near the beginning of the Great Song where it seemed that the music simply became a driving rhythm and that all of us, Valar and Maiar, and even the heart of The One, seemed to hold the great theme in suspension... like the glow of a distant light that is still beneath the horizon... pregnant with anticipation. And while this one note hung in space... the rhythm....

AULE plays a simple pattern on the drums... ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪

And the melody had paused, but the song became... simply .... how to say this... "a will to become"? The rhythm, however, didn't stay the same. We built it by pieces from the root up..... ♪ ♪ ♫ ♪ making each line more complex than the last... ♫♪r♫♫♪r and... while is was exciting as it built... my people... the Maia who I loved... each began to riff, improvise and whirl wildly with the unfolding tattoo....♫....♪♫å♪♫...

They were not always in time. Sometimes it was a battle, I think, which meter would be the one that prevailed. But that battle was only a variation against a variation of the driving pulse that under grid the Great Song.... .♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♫ ♪

Then the song, of course, went far beyond that...in time... but that one moment, we understood something - that each different drummer -- whether he played a tabor or a kettle or pattered with light feet or clapped their hands -- truly was playing both what was in their own hearts AND what The One had given them to play.

AULE pauses speaking as the drum he plays talks.... ♪ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♪...

Your feet... your hands.... you heart.... your lips..... have their own song to proclaim. And that song may not harmonize with every other song around you... but, in a short time.... the songs and beats unite creating, in variation against variation, deeper harmony. And back then, when the Great Song was the wild whirling of the unformed world... we each simply played what we had and let our ears guide us to harmony... .♫ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♫....

AULE laughs.

I suppose that is the end of that story.....but I have to remind myself.... whenever I see to Elves or two Fae at odds....they are only singing the songs they have... and that harmony will result when they hear each other.

You Fill My Eyes

You fill my eyes
You hold my hear
I look at you
And every childhood dream comes true.
Every longing of my life is fulfilled

There is no room for cynicism or doubt.
Caution has flown away
As if it was never my constant companion.

I want you!
Not like a dying dove seeing no hope of rescue
But like a strong and mighty falcon in sudden sunlight
When she is better suited for the clouds.

I have known beauty before
A child, just new to the world
A rose so red and fragrant
The morning palate of wild colour with the sudden sun
The freezing fog covering the night

I cannot remember when such beauty as yours
So strong, yet fragile all at once
So possessed me to this reckless madness.

I want to embrace you like moss does river rocks
To kiss you more longingly than the fig vines
as they twist to find the sun.

I want time to wait in my impatient stupor of love
I fear to speak your name
And yet cannot stop speaking it.
Some wisdom or pain or vision fills me with warmth.

I know this is a transforming love
Because my heart is gone
Torn first in two
And then pieced together by your hand
And held there
In your grasp alone for all time and beyond.

This is not romance, sudden or long,
It is far beyond the fleeting wonder of my hope.
With an icy chill I fear, as once I never knew how
That my rapturous feelings will only seem
The wild love of a passing passion.

And like a transfigured saint,
Who longs to stay right here forever
I dare not tell you my heart
Lest I frighten you like a skittish doe at dawn.

Time has passed
I have cursed my cowardice so long
As to wonder if what I felt has really happened at all!

Finally I feel content, knowing
That I can still feel what I seem to have always felt
No matter how timidly I pursue my dream.

I ask if I may come to you still
Fearing you will say no
Now, it is enough to have loved you
All in an instant
Filling my emptiness with all of you

Knowing that somewhere
you walk on this earth
And that I will somehow find you
In another instant
In another world
In another time
A time that endures forever.

Or that is the dream, I still dream....

His Piano - Her Heart

His beloved piano.
She would watch him
Sitting for hours
Frustration melting
His fingers dancing over the black and white keys
Slowly his heart settling
Resolving
Determined for another day

His piano -- his most special possession
His other love gave it to him.
Wherever he lived the piano was the first object he put down

Now it was Nerdanel that was his beloved.
He would watch her as he played
He would speak with her as he played
She would sing to him as he played
Always he was happiest when he played

They built a quiet place
Hidden from drama and darkness
Fear and frustration
Each laid down something precious for the other.
She a fresh baked bread
And a bed to dream upon.
And he carefully sat down his piano.

They played side by side for hours.
No one knew.

When they were tired they would play.
When they were sad they would play.
When they were afraid of tomorrow they would play.
Side by side they would play.
A melody so well balanced and intricate with emotion.
His left thigh touching her right thigh.
The sixth sense of proximity reminding them of their love
Still they played and played on.
Side by side they would play.

The music streaming from their fingers
As tension disappeared like fading moisture on a rock in the sun
Individually they concentrated on their part of the music...
They barely looked at the other unless their hands touched
Then a quick look to acknowledge the other
A furtive smile before resuming with just one beat of change.

They played on
Side by side they would play.
Then one day he was gone.

The piano sat in their room
Quiet now
Each day she woke
Her eyes travelling to the piano first
She feared to touch it
Diamond-like motes of dust settled onto the surfaces

She resisted touching it,
Somehow unsure if it would play music without him to draw it

One day she could resist no longer
She sat there
The stool feeling as supportive as ever
Her hands folded one in the other one
Palms and fingers curled up
And that was all she could do that day
She sat there for hours
Thinking as hard as she could of each moment
Each Song
Each hope and dream they played
Believing he would somehow materialise

But he did not.
And she got up
And walked away.

She did this for weeks.
Sitting there
Day after day
Every morning
Every afternoon
Every evening
Till so late she had to sleep.

Holding her hands in her lap
Remembering his gentle touch and soothing words and his music
So numb and lost.

One morning she sat there.
She folded her hands in her lap
And waited for him once more.

Her fingers moved
And rested on the keys.
She began unconsciously to play his favourite song.
Then she played her favourite.
Then she played their favourite.
She listened as she played these shared favourite tunes.

Hoping in the playing he would be drawn back.
Play as she might and watch as she would
He did not appear...
She played on and on into the night
Into the next day, possessed with hope.
Playing till her fingertips passed blisters into bloody.
She played.

Then she stopped.
Her hands bleeding.
The keys covered in her blood and sweat.
A tear formed in her eye.
It rolled quietly and hopelessly
Very full and pregnant this tear
It fell in slow motion
Onto the white key near her exhausted right index finger
Where it landed, a little white spot shown through the blood.

Another tear rolled unstoppable from her eye
Hit another white key and a new white spot was seen.
Tears began to flow swiftly from her eyes.
She drew her hands, still bleeding, to her face
To bury her shame from herself for her disappointment.

And the tears flowed.
They flowed longer than the music had.
The keys showed white again
And then the piano began to fade.

She sat up slowly
Her eyes wide with the insistent tears that continued to flow
And watched
As the piano turned into a pale phantom.

She could not move, only watch.
Each part faded like the dusk fades into blackest night.
Her tears grew more heavy.
Her heart began to hurt
And she knew her heart was fading too.

It stands there still, that piano
Or the white wispy form of it
A phantom, weary from the patter of tears and hope.

Every day she wakes to stare at the piano.
Every day it greets her as this pale phantom.
Every day she wakes to touch the space between her breasts.
Every day her heart greets her as a pale phantom.
Now hope fades with each passing moment....
Until only death can bring her peace...
And she no longer plays his music or her music or their music.
She only stares at the fading piano.

For Nerdanel from Feanor 7 May-09

They looked at each other, and saw heaven in the depths of each other’s lightened eyes
they stared at each other for a moment, sighed feeling a pressing in their hearts, and then closed their eyes
their eyes were drowning in a bitter sweet confusion, afraid to open again.
They were beautiful,
too beautiful,
but incomplete
...
they had velvet dreams living in the limbo of fear and desire
they looked at each other, and feared the worse....
that they would tumble on madness, ...
that they would fall hopelessly in love...
their hands touched, felt the warmth, the Elven scent of roses
skin on skin,
it was the beginning of something they could not understand
....
they knew that if they let their bodies feel one another,
they would never be strong enough to walk away.
They were living under the fake lights,...
for ages...!
performing and playing characters,
they almost forgot who they were
sometimes the people around them brought enough rejoicing...
sometimes it was just too cold on the set, and inside of them...
then their eyes met one another...
then their eyes met one another...
and danced a crying Elven tango....
even when the two elves did not understand their senses,
defying them, and winning...
The words their mouths wanted to say, were hurting....
suffocated and imprisoned,
like a cursed warrior after the war.
: ....
they looked at each other,...
then looked down...
they were beautiful....
too beautiful
: ....
their beauty was like a sharp knife cutting the veils in pieces,...
and revealing the sun...
the freezing cold would be finally over...
if they let the sun touch them whole
no masks
no fear
no shame
The people around them knew it all along....
it was meant to be pure and ravishing ...
it was meant to be the dawn of a new world...
if they let their eyes dive into one another....
a little bit closer....
and wipe the tears from their eyes with the flowing feathers....
and their crying love ...
forsake the siege within...
: ....
The words their mouths wanted to say....
were coming to life...
that night had to be the night of forgiveness....
for their useless hurt and wasted time....
that moment had to be the beginning of forever...
when they reached out their hands, ...
with no fear ...
the two hearts collided...
absolving the familiar matter....
forming a single one.
....
the restrained sighs would be replaced by moans of endless pleasure
the clear words their mouths wanted to say all along....
were now
released for the first time
"Gen melin! Gen melin!"
"I love you! I love you!"
....
Wiping away the tears from their faces,...
and breathing deeply...
: breathing each other....
no more hurt.
"Hush now don´t cry my angel!"
"Nelladell nîn."
: "Angel of mine."
....
whispers "for you , my beloved Nerdanel !"

Dont Believe Everything You Read Or Then Again....

A man went into a diner one morning (they didn’t have cafes in those days, nor latte either) looking through a pile of magazines he found in the seat beside him, he found something like a TIME magazine with a feature story of how bad the economy was with tips to survive the storm.

He went home and called his parents to warn them, sold his home and car, moved in with his parents who passed away from the fear of living through another depression.

He hunkered down into his job, told everyone there of the depression on the way, made no suggestions at work and only did what was required of him and nothing more, for fear of losing his job.

Lost his job because he did not meet his agreed performance targets (we have always had those in one way or another). Got depressed and spent his time wandering around the town spreading the news of the terrible economic situation with his friends and all who would listen to him.

The town went into an economic downturn and most lost their jobs. The gas stations closed cause most people didn’t drive their cars if they had them, stores closed. It was an awful time.

Then one day months later, the man went back to that same diner, with enough money to buy a cup of coffee. He spoke with the waitress (they were allowed to call them waitresses in those days because politically correctness was not invented yet), asked her for a pot of coffee and took extra cream and sugar while she was there (and hid them in his jacket pockets).

He asked if there was anything to read. She said there was a stack of magazines he could look through. He found the one he had read that fateful morning and began to carefully review the article again.

The waitress came with his coffee and looked over his shoulder and said, “Yes, it is amazing how people actually survived the Great Depression back in the 30s.

Someone died and left all these old magazines to me and it seems people enjoy reading about how hard it really was in those days. Anyway, is there anything else I can get you with your coffee?”

================================

There are days when being possessed by the need to write seems crazy or hopeless, when words come like extracting the proverbial wisdom teeth, when there is no reward, even a thank you, let alone pay for what you write.

But the pen remains mightier than the sword, mightier than the banks and mightier than our fears.

Think right now of the most difficult thing you have lived through. Remember how you felt as you faced this "challenge" (everyone calls it that thinking it will take the sting out of reality and well, I shouldn't be all that different in naming it)?

You never thought you would make it...but you did. You've come a long way and you are still here and tomorrow, as another character from another great book once said, "Tomorrow is another day..." and the hard things, well we can always think about them tomorrow.

The virtual world I live in, allows me to consider more positive alternatives and to fulfil dreams that sometimes the real world is not able to give me. So I enjoy the hope I can find, the posibilities. I hope you do too.

Of Hobos & the Value of Gifts

For me it sometimes takes three hits to get my attention.

Today, someone wrote me an email and asked me to start the New Year off with something new for my blog. As you will notice it has been a long time. My heart has been heavy and my Muse was destroyed to dust in front of my eyes, never to enter my virtual world again. Such a great loss I was not sure how to move in any direction, so choose to just stand still and let the dust cover me.

Second, something a new friend and told me recently I thought I would write again. He said that I live in the past....this stung me and seemed unfair. I am a writer, a journalist, a chronicler and editorialist who uses the past to stand on as a foundational step for seeing things today. But I try to take feedback like that the he offered as serious as important. So stopped to think about what he might be meaning and if this was actually a good or bad thing.

My conclusion is that I am better for a past of challenge and pain, than if I had had a lovely, protected, safe and pretty past...so I thank God/the gods for their constant and consistent hand in my life and that things have not been easy. I also am grateful that I remember these things in the hopes of not making the same silly mistakes again.

Third, as I went for my race walk this morning, I thought about a blog segment I have been meaning to write for a long time and having watched a video yesterday that had my mind moving in that direction, today was the day. Oh the move was called, Hearts in Atlantis. So here goes.

Of Hobos & the Value of Gifts

When I was about six years old, my Daddy took me on a long trip (only 70 miles in reality) to visit my Grandma Harris. I loved her and every summer I spent at her house for weeks on end.

Daddy and I would prepare for the trip for days, and Mommy would help me pack and eliminate the many extraneous things I would sneak into my little brown and tan suitcase with the brass clasps that would pop open with a special little noise when you pulled aside the little round lever.

We would work together to pack a lunch and lots of koolaid in a thermos (and a fresh bottle of Pepto Bismal for my car sickness). Daddy and I would pile into the car and set out on our next adventure.

The Stranger

As we rounded a bend, there stood a man on the side of the road with his fist out and his thumb pointed in the direction we were going. I thought this was rather strange. Then my Daddy slowed down, stopped the car and began to back up. I thought this was a great adventure and was suddenly alert to something we had NEVER done before.

A man’s face appeared at the window and my Daddy spoke with him. His voice was so deep I thought it was magic. I had been laying on the front seat with my head resting on my Daddy’s leg and now set up properly in the passenger’s seat as any grown up would. Daddy turned to me and said it was alright and that we would be giving this gentleman a ride almost all the way to Grandma’s house. How wonderful!

The man opened the door and I scooted over and he sat beside me on the front seat. He was not dressed very well, there was a strange smell about him that was musty. His clothing seemed not to match in anyway and everything was frayed and tattered, yet somehow clean. His skin was all dark looking and sort of looked like snake skin to me...with a pattern in it with his wrinkles. He had very deep wrinkles, especially when he smiled.

Boring Grown-Up Talk

He was pleasant as he spoke easily with my Daddy about stuff that was not of interest to me, so I began to count the telephone poles to see if I could beat my record and keep track of where we were as we travelled.

There were four little cities we would travel through that I came to memorise for one coming after the other: Crestline, Bucyrus, Upper Sandusky and then Carey. I had taken this trip many times in my young life and knew that when you got to the tree that the Chippewa Indians had bent into a special pointing shape (by taking a young tree and bending it and tying it with heavy ropes), we were almost at Grandma’s.

Now What

As we turned another bend, my Daddy stopped the car and the man turned to me and said he was thankful to spend time with me; that he thought I was a sweet little girl (everyone my entire life seems to think I am “sweet” and someday I will understand what they mean by that) and that he had a gift for me.

He put his old, tanned, gnarled hand in his pocket and pulled out a match box. I knew I was not allowed to have matches and thought this was not a very good gift for a little girl, but knew to say thank you anyway.

He placed the little “Red Head” match box in my hand and said, “Open it and see what is inside.” When I slid the little inner box out, there were a bunch of sort of purple beads. I looked at my Daddy, hoping he would tell me what this was and how grateful I was supposed to be for something like this.

My Daddy looked at the man and smiled. “Tell her what that is, my friend” he said.

“In this little match box are magical seeds. You remember the story of Jack in the Beanstalk, don’t you? Well these are also very special seeds that some (Native American) Indians gave to me. They will produce a crop of corn for popping. You do like pop corn don’t you?”

Well, of course I liked pop corn, especially in the big aluminium bowl that Mommy used to put it in and drizzle the butter and salt all over, then shake it up into the air to miss it well. But now I would have special pop corn that I grew myself.

The Precious Gift

I looked again at the seeds and closed the box carefully; hoping not to lose any and knowing Daddy would tell me how to plant them so they all grew into great bunches of popped corn.

The man left the car and closed the door and wandered away down a little lane way. My Daddy turned to me and asked me if I knew what that man was? And I said no, he was just a man.

He said, “That man is a hobo and he has no home and no family and no friends and no possessions but what he has on right now. So the gift of that popcorn is very precious indeed, because it represented all he has in the world.”

We planted those seeds in the spring. The popcorn from those seeds was the best tasting in the world. We harvested the seeds and replanted every year of my life while I was living at home.

The most important thing for me, however wasn’t how tasty the popcorn was. Instead, I thought of that man the rest of my life every time someone gave me a gift, thinking about the fact that it has nothing to do with the grandness of the gift itself, but the value of the heart of the giver. That Hobo had a most generous heart.

Best Wishes to You for 2009

The holidays have passed now and I can only hope you got something as valuable as magic popcorn to think about for this New Year.

The Beginning, Not the End

The Executioner's Song

“Help me,” she whispered into the sooty, black air, “Help me!”

Her legs lay as bloody pulp.

He watched helplessly, too far away to stop her jumping, and rushes to where she will never rise again. He leans over her and cradles her upper body in his arms, wiping the pouring sweat from her face, listening to her gentle gasps for breath. His eyes brim and overflow with tears as he holds her knowing shock is beginning to claim her inexorably.

Her hands flutter at her sides. She motions with them of her need and whispers with her weak and broken voice, “Take them off. Please, just take them off.”

Sobbing now, he knows what she means; he knows what she has always wanted but was afraid to try to do. He lays her softly back down, tearing off his own jacket to fold it so it will cushion her head.

His hands move to the red ribbons of the Red Shoes. They are already torn and broken, the blood seeping around the bony shards poking from her flesh. With the deepest of sadness he loosens the bits of ribbon and carefully slips off each of the damnable Red Shoes.

As he has done his entire lifetime with her, he unconsciously wraps the tattered ribbon around the pair of slippers to hold them together as a pair. He moves to look closely at her face again and to show her he has done as she has asked.

Her Farewell

She takes the slippers from his hands and rests them between her breasts as if they are a child who will suckle. She folds both her hands over the Red Shoes. Her eyes flicker. He panics for a moment until she opens them again; unlikely as it is there is a deep and mysterious satisfaction in her eyes and a beatific smile takes her lips.

She sighs and reaches one icy hand to his face and cups his cheek, pulling him to her for the last kiss.

Imprinting Of A Fairy Tale

As long as I have memory, that scene and most every detail of the 136 minute movie, “The Red Shoes” with Moira Shearer wil remain burned into my life -- imprinted so deeply I no longer realise they are there. But they are.

The original story was written in 1845 by Hans Christian Anderson and, having never actually remembered reading it, I just did (you can find it here) . It seems like a warning for all little girls to be in church every Sunday actually.

Yet, when made into this powerful movie, the theme changed to a backstage look at the fascinating world of ballet. Moira Shearer plays a lovely, yet somewhat fierce looking ballerina, who is given no choice by her dominant and single-minded impresario, Lermontov and gives up everything in her life, especially a romantic involvement, in favour of her illustrious career.

So she dances. The red shoes become her symbol of success from a special ballet that is written for her. Yet, the shoes enchant her life just as deeply as those in the original story and her career is blessed on every side.

Her love life does not exist for want of time to nurture it and as her success grows her heart grows increasingly sad and cold from the pressure of practicing and performing for her ballet director and Master.

Her Last Choice

One day her love comes to her and asks her to choose between him and the Red Shoes. Of course she does not know how to take the Red Shoes off. So he leaves her standing in her dressing room, about to dance a special performance.

She hears the curtain call by the stage manager and trembles. She looks slightly mad, enhanced by her stage makeup. She glances in the mirror of her dressing table, straightens her hair, pinches her cheeks to add colour and then walks slowly out of her dressing room.

She turns to walk to the Green Room to await her curtain call but stops and slowly turns the opposite direction. She begins to run toward the tall French doors leading out to a luxurious balcony. She runs right to the edge of the railing and stands still, listening for something.

She hears it in the distance and carefully climbs onto the top of the stone railing, balancing there carefully and waiting. Waiting for her executioner, as the little girl in the fairy tale finally did.

There poised on the railing, her hands raise above her head as if to dive into a lovely pool of refreshing water. She raises up on her tip toes, still encased in the controlling Red Shoes and watches her timing as the train begins to pass under the balcony. She leaps in perfect harmony with the train’s approach and lands precisely under the engine, yet between the rails, all except her legs.

Not a Simple Film

Many books have been written about the hidden meanings in this film and for me it remains my dilemma. But who can help me take off these shoes? Or will I have to dance forever until I find the executioner for release?

She Says - He Says

She Says

You are so far away
I wish you were closer...
You don't know enough of how much
But you can't

He Says

It is as if I am being given a peep
Into a beautiful room
And the door is slammed shut

She Says

Just come inside first.

He Says

I suppose in a way
This is a new world
We have to find a way
To live in it

She Says

I must fix this somehow

He Says

It’s ok
Just be you

She Says

It is not enough!
I so need to rest in a safe place...
I need to run away and find something lost

I want to be comfortable
With a mystery that I cannot see
I desire to share more of me with ... another
I desire to be cared for
And be needed

To give what I can
With what I have and am....
Not materially
But out of a heart so bursting with this ...
Drive

He Says

That’s poetic

She smiles and says

Thank you...
It has been a long time since I wrote anything ...
Just so much struggle lately

Someday ...

Some days I feel like Cinderella in a amazingly beautiful fairy tale, but I remember that most fairy tales don't always have a "happily ever after." Perhaps today is different.

I have a special friend who shared this film with me today and she said it reminded her of me. Now isn't that something?!!

Hugs....

Looking for Something

She groaned, "Oh my lord,
why am I so stupid sometimes?"

"Oh," said he, "you are not, my lady!
You are only like me.
You expect the best from people --
and you keep on believing."

"Perhaps, then," she said,
"that is why I like you....
you seem to understand."

He said, "It is the way we are, my lady."

She wonders inside her heart
how "they" might be "we".
Words touch her....

Hopeful.
Optimistic.
Unrealistic.
Silly.
So very vulnerable!

"But there must be something I am missing?
Why do I always keep searching
for something", she sighs?

"You ARE searching....
Yes, this is true,
but perhaps not for what,
but for who.
Because it just might work this time",
he grins and holds her as she weeps.

'Maybe," she says.
"Yes," he says.

"It just might work,"
they say spontaneously
and together.

He touches her cheek and whispers,
"Yes, it just may work, my lady.
It just may work."

Pulling Back the Covers Just A Little

When I was a very little girl, perhaps five or six years old, I went to bed one night and as I turned over I looked around my room and there standing at the end of my bed was a big white ghost!

I was so afraid. What do you do when you are only little and a BIG ghost is in your room?!!! I stopped moving. I tried to stop breathing...thinking this big bad thing could not seem me if I didn’t move or make any noise.

My eyes would have been as big as saucers as they remained fixed on this phantasm right in front of me. Staring at it, hoping it couldn’t see me. The feelings remain strangely close still.

I slowly, ever so slowly, did what any little kid does when confronted by a ghost at the foot of their bed....I pulled the covers over my head and flattened my body to, hopefully blend into the mattress so well I would be “invisible”. And I lay there for a child’s eons, which was probably only a couple of minutes in real time.

Then I very silently lowered the sheet to see if the ghost had moved. No! Still there and the covers pulled instantly back again making sure that everything was smooth and ghost-proof with none of my fingers showing, of course.

Escape Plan

I could hear my breathing as I tried to hear if the ghost moved. No sound. Then I knew what to do. My heart was beating so VERY hard. I smoothly scooted to the very edge of the mattress. This was always my contingency plan anyway, having imagine ghosts entering my room for ages and having worked out several exit strategies. Reaching the very edge of the mattress, I slipped off the bed, ensuring I stayed fully covered by the protective sheet and rolled so carefully under the bed.

I sighed a sigh of relief as I lay there on the hard, cold wooden floor. Waiting for the ghost to realise I was no longer there and so he should go away. (Wonders why ghosts are always male to her?) Another eon passed. I was sure those were ghost shoes I could see.

NOW what could I do? Well there was my secret weapon...the most powerful weapon I knew of. Could I use it? There was really no choice for a little girl really. I screwed up my face, cupped my hands to both sides of my little mouth and shouted at the very top of my voice, “DADDY, HELP ME!!! THERE IS A BIG GHOST AT THE END OF MY BED!!!”

To the Rescue

And it was only a moment, or so it seemed, that he was there. And I will always remember peeking out from under the bed after he climbed the fourteen, uncarpeted, grey stairs to my room and watching him hesitate at the door way to see the ghost there. He began to wave his arms and tell the ghost to go away and leave his daughter alone.

I was so excited and so proud of how brave he was. And I climbed out from under the bed and ran to him and jumped into his big strong arms and let him comfort me. And I cried and he wiped away the tears and told me that no ghost would ever come in my room again because that naughty ghost would tell all his friends.

And he put be back into my bed and covered me up and tucked me in perfectly and kissed me and sat with me. And I fell asleep.

Ghosts of Today

He was right, you know, but sometimes ghosts find me in the new places I roam to as a grown up. And they stand at the end of my bed and whisper to me that my Daddy is gone and can no longer protect me. And I wonder what my contingency plan can be.

And do you know what? My Daddy, who is watching me from Heaven, always knows when this happens and he always sends someone to chase away the ghosts.

Sometimes it is my brother and sometimes it is someone who cares to love me -- but they are always fearless and so strong and they comfort me when I am afraid and tell me everything will be alright and tuck me in perfectly so I can sleep again.

I wonder if everyone has a ghost that stands at the end of their bed? Do you?

Remember When it Rained?