Moons Wandering

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Have we forgotten … a boy appears , a boy with the stain of love marked with pale ink blue on his forehead , the aftermark of a Jerusalem Prince , a boy from the mountain that clasps the sky , a boy with magnetism bringing forth creatures from underground tunnels of hibernation . . . an invisable , natural force exerted onto Cemetary Road with no dead-end where he too travels with the ” anima-mundi” , the world soul connecting all living organisms on the planet . This boy of pure love abides close with Jack . The fourth peregrine falcon leaves the roof of Jack’s home to follow this boy until his return on the day when Francis completes the last page , intentialy left blank , of her third novel .

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He has not only been here , always still like the surface of the deep sea , since that profound day Jack picked up the hand of Francis telling her how beautiful he found it , but a very long time before… before Jack read “Old Yeller” , before hiding whiskey bottles in dog food bags , before passing people sitting on porches in folding chairs , riding fast his motorcycle in the dark , before listening to guitars speaking to him in human voices , before smiling at the older woman with long grey hair as she passes him at the Bliss Festival , a look shared in her eyes he never forgets , a foreshadowing of “focus half asleep ” for a future dream . And he exists here and there , there he is a shining Mars above as the moon follows the sun down . Francis can sense him , this boy , this skygod , as if he were the star at a theatre where the spirits of actors from the past hang out looking for bodies to speak through , his scent earthy , passing as if turning in his sleep , untitled like a thousand butterflies . Does wisdom have a scent , a field of musk overturned from a stone rolled away ? Three years previous , before loving Jack , Francis saw a fluttering from the corner of her eye when Jack entered the door of the shop she worked in to hang his delicate glass wind-chimes in the window , the roughness of his hands an anomaly . A large hand , wide , with a deformed finger , a reminder of an ugly scar on a beautiful girls face , that same allure of beauty within sadness she knew so well . And now , on this day in March , when the solar eclipse and the spring equinox are falling together , listening to love songs all day with a blush on her cheeks , she walks along the dirt road where once again the mink comes from beneath the wooded earth , outgrowing his crowded family of the long winter where the scene is black and white . Jack should be coming home soon from Traverse City . She ponders , looking for the dust cloud from his truck .

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A strong man is naked and honest , unafraid to be desperate , his heart torn out but still beating . This is Jack , fearless , with hands taking the intensity inside of him to create sunbeams in the wood , the tumbled glass , the hand carved boxes , the jars of syrup from the tapping of maple trees , an amber gold of silk threads woven into a Kings robe . The sun will soon be attacked by some mythological creature , perhaps the Jaquar or the Lynx , with a roar roaming even after complete darkness when the moon will completely block out all the Suns light for two astounding minutes in the Faroe Islands of the Danish Kingdom . Who is this skygod , this creator , sustainer , illuminator ? What exactly happened on the Mount of Beatitudes when the people of Israel asked Issa (Jesus) how to pray to the Solar God ?

” Oh Creator  (Abwoon) , the one who wills life to be . Who fills all the worlds with Sacred illumination . May your Holy Light illumine us . Let us be liberated from that which keeps us from our true destiny . For yours is the will to be , the Power to live . It is your Celestial song that beautifies all that renews itself from age to age . Amen ”  ( the original tone is a mantra call spoken in Sanskrit , the language was Aramaic , the language Jesus spoke )

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” You have the most beautiful hands ” , Jack calls out playfully rolling down his window .

” Can I call you my boyfriend now ?” , Francis responds with amusement .

” Quik , get in , we’ll go for a ride down the back roads to Empire Beach before the sun sets “.

The ghost that first travelled with them from Heartache Avenue has disappeared … the beautiful boy with a kiss on his forehead is there instead , the scent of birth and death , the scent of incense and myrrh , a Holy cloud surrounding as the little Hawaiin figurine on the dashboard dances on and on …

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Note : photos by Denise Thomasin Photography

 

30 thoughts on “Moons Wandering

  1. As always Meg, your literary abstractions – may I call them that? – leave me feeling tantalised, yet at the same time not wanting to place the whole into anything so mundane as to allow me to draw correlations with recognisable conventions of story, person and place. I have let go of attempting to fix upon any narrative thread, and must ask your forgiveness if one is in fact there over the series and which I am missing, yet I always feel compelled to read your pieces twice, sometimes thrice. Many congratulations on another fine piece of writing dear Meg. H ❤

    P.S. A common error, but the Faroe Islands are in fact self-governing and come within the Danish realm; they are not part of the United Kingdom. Please forgive me pointing for this out, though I thought you may wish to know.

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    • Hi Hariod , my thoughtful , loyal friend …I like your term ” literary abstractions ” …it fits ! I will turn it all into a clear ( strange) narrative at some point , it seems to always be tipping on the edge of a cresent moon for me yet I can see the ending ( hopefully a full moon ) of which I have already written the last chapter … The process remains mysterious ….you encouraged me once months ago to ” keep writing ” …and so I have , and I too have “let go” of all convention of plot , trying to improve the pure craft of writing words …thank you for the correct info on the Faroe Islands so I can change that ! I love you being in this “world” with me Hariod , so much …love xxxmeg

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    • What a gracious thing to say dear Julie …I’m so very grateful and for the light you always shine into my world and on all of our collective journeys …warm springtime sunshine wishes to you in Eastern Europe even amongst the white snow falling today in northern Michigan ….hugs of love xxxmeg

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  2. Amazing, Meg, just amazing. You left me enthralled reading with such intensity, seeing the deeper layers unfold quietly before me. YOU are beautiful, my friend, and it is with great honor I embrace you as that, friend. Bless you for this post. You have transported me into a Higher World. (((HUGS))) Amy

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    • Thank you Chris ….I was amazed when this video ” out of the blue” appeared first thing when I went searching for music to accompany writing ….I had seen it years ago . I’m so glad you liked it too ! I think these kind of otherworldly videos often remain in our subconscious and words must be brimming to come forth …. is that what writing is ?

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  3. Meg, “Moons Wandering” is absolutely stunning writing, you have created some of the most beautiful visual imagery. Your words and story fantastic, taking my mind to the most wonderful places, I just love this. The video also amazing! Thank you for a wonderful gift!

    Warm wishes,
    Pepperanne ♥

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  4. Another piece pulled fresh from the heart’s oven, that has risen perfectly into a golden delight. Your writing continuously forces me to discard my previous conclusions regarding the nature of beauty in prose. You mentioned above to Hariod the moment when you perhaps struggled to know how best to proceed. I’m so glad you did, Meg. I, too, am thirsty for your words. There are lines in your writing that cause silence to fall open like a sail and catch hold of the wind, and yet it remains a vessel that in its whole sustains a steady relationship to particular guiding constellations.

    From a topped-off heart,
    Michael

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  5. Lovely prose Meg, it reminded me of this tanka I wrote about remembering being on a beach as a child, and inspired by A Summer Night by Winslow Homer (1890) and Anathema’s “Thin Air”:

    “A Summer Night’s Thin Air”
    by Ry Hakari

    On beaches seagulls
    searching debris for sequins
    re-sequence reasons
    for ignorance, which isn’t
    blissful with forgetfulness

    of kisses promised
    on whims of winds round the bend
    drifting ocean mist’s
    Siren whisperings of love
    from imaginary friends

    that make impressions
    on children’s consciousnesses,
    because I’ve heard they’re
    our times greatest creatives,
    genius tabula rasas

    with pristine blank slates
    experience cultivates,
    painting or tainting
    canvas’s circumstances
    as masterpieces or scraps

    “Thin Air”
    by Anathema

    Love is free
    In time, in peace
    And now is here
    This life, this dream …

    You know how it feels but… is it all in your mind?
    When you know how it feels to be pushed and pulled through your life
    And sometimes it seems like there is life in your eyes
    And all that I know is I love you

    Yes I love you

    And it feels like we’re already flying
    But the air is too thin and we’re dying
    The clouds all around take us higher
    The world far below is on fire
    I hold out my hand just to touch you
    And all that I know is I love you
    A vision a promise of heaven
    A reason for being forever

    You’re just a whisper away

    We’ve come too far to turn back
    This is where we stand and face it
    This is who we are, one step closer
    Into thin air we will go there

    We’ve come too far to turn back
    This is where we stand and face it
    I feel you breathe
    You’re just a whisper away

    We’ve come too far to turn back
    This is where we stand and face it
    This is who we are one step close
    Into thin air we will go there

    We’ve come too far …
    This is where we stand …

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