One Hundred Kisses

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Francis’s heart went “boom” and the fifth falcon with diamond drops of rain glistening its wing left the copper roof , circled and flew from the east to the farthest east creating a shadow as it passed over the tombstones on Cemetary Road . ” Boom , boom ” , what caused this abrupt beat transforming them all as if they were drinking a portion ? The fox , the horse , the doe of the morning , the mink gazing and gazing , the skull of the Earth counting and counting the days , days of ballads , of jazz , rock-n-roll , of rhythm and blues , days of symphonies , soundtracks , days of songs . Listen , listen , there’s the hip-click to the off beat , that syncopated accent of the off beat … the Holy Stream of sound , the world about to burst open from its slumber of ignorance , of pain , apathy and destruction , a yearning in the land . The falcon flashing by trees that took a hundred years to grow , tearing across towns where men lived their whole lives . The mighty bird keeps right on going to the booming beat , drawn to the sound like crows are to shiny objects and children are to secret ceremonies of their own . He flys on his way to the distant Egyptian tombs where the heart is the source of human wisdom .

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The sun is finally out , the lake has gentled again after the storm . The boy with the kiss on his forehead has whirled by on his bicycle , his hair blowing in the balmy spring air . It’s time for a feast Francis thinks , a season for tasting velvet nights and smelling the promise of dawn . She sits looking , looking over the hills about to bloom wildflowers , the strange boom of her heartbeat bringing up the past of childhood when she thought she could jump off the tree stump and land in the clouds . She remembers now hiding behind the louvered doors of her bedroom closet as a girl reading ” Betty and Veronica ” comic books , making paper dolls , hiding her orphaned objects in small silver boxes her dad had brought back from Detroit . These objects so precious , intimate souvenirs picked up from sidewalks and streets , becoming companions , mysterious yet ordinary things . Memories of her birthdays, her 13th just after President Kennedy was assassinated , when she was given a pink Zenith transistor radio , how she retreated to that safe closet and heard the Beatles ” I Want To Hold your Hand ” for the first time and how saturated her body felt with a simple joy and wonder and hope after all the destruction in her country , a huge room of confusion on the verge of an opening to something beautiful , something healing for an entire planet , her radio having incredible power as she listened to the lyrics of “She Loves You ” under the covers at night .

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But for a nine year old boy living in a small northern hamlet it was another world . A mother telling him his father would not be living with them anymore . A memory of the day his father went into the bar , leaving him in the car with the top down as Jack happily sat in the drivers seat on his bluejeaned knees , just able to reach the big silver steering wheel , pretending he was going down hills and curves , traveling fast . Playing with the radio dials as he hears the beat of the country singers wafting from The Hard Times Bar and Grill where his father sits drinking beer . The day his mother told them about the divorce was his older sisters first day of junior high and it was his best moment when he said to her , ” please don’t cry , please , it’s your first day , wouldn’t you like to take your shoes off and wear your flip-flops “?  Things had changed , somebody lived here once but no more , should he act like nothing’s wrong ? And from that time on , Jack embraced change as if he were clutching onto his fathers soft flannel shirt . . . the beat of his life finding glory in the change of his many sufferings , changing course from boyhood , bad boy , drinking too much , divorce , heartache . Will you bring me happiness or will you bring me sorrow , a question he asked for a long time . . . and then , ” boom ” , a new street sign , a new road of peace like coming into an unknown and unexpected birthright . For years he had wished it . The once scarry beard shaved to reveal a clearly handsome face .

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Here comes Jack looking for Francis now . Open the gateway . Here is the landscape he once thought only he walked on . . . the tree trunks filled with eyes . He loves seeing her on the grass or sitting on his sofa in gypsy frocks , or in his bed or walking down his driveway . And Francis , well , she hears something in his voice , the way it is said , a certain tone and her heart goes ” Boom ” and she knows it’s not only her heart that’s involved , but every creatures . ” I’m kissing you , I’m kissing you , boom boom , ohh I’m kissing you “.

” Francie , I’m hiding the ladder so you won’t leave ” Boom , boom .

And that last peregrine falcon on Jacks roof , well , she remains watching there at the top of the pinnacle under a white sky . She is like a chord change of breathtaking beauty , a sprig of white ginger caught in her wing feathers from that little Hawaiin figurine on Jacks dashboard , a golden crown of turmeric anointing her head .

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” Oh my heart which I had from my mother , oh my heart which I had upon earth ” ( inscription found on tombstone on Cemetary Road ) . . . from Chapter 30 of The Book Of The Dead

Exit Music playing

CAST :

Jack as himself

Francis as herself

SUPPORTING CAST : ( with graditude )

Hariod Brawn – contented ness.net

Michael – Embracing Forever

John Flanagan – johnpoetflanagan

Cyan Ryan – 21 Shades of Blue

J. D . Riso ( Julie ) – Wish I were Here ( LaVagabonde)

Vanessa – vanbytheriver

Christine Robinson – Before Sundown

Sue Dreamwalker – Dreamwalkers Sanctuary

Jo – Restlessjo

Inese – Inesemjphotography

samesizesoul – The Emptiness of Longing

Christy Birmingham – Poetic Parfait

Christina Strigas – Writing & Poetry

Chris – chrisnelson61

Diana Wallace Peach – Myths of the Mirror

Laurent Domergue – Laurent DOMERGUE

Tony Single – Crumble Cult

Aquileana – La Avelaia de Aquiles

Marga Teichman – Life as Improv

Tia – Unbolt

Mino – Mihran Kalaydjian

Holly – House of Heart

Ellen Stockdalewolfe – MOONSIDE

Tom – Tom Clausen

Amy ( Lady Pink Rose ) – Petals Unfolding

Pepperanne ( Pippa ) – field of thorns

MUSIC SCORE :

Ashes and Snow – Feather to Fire

Olsen Olsen – Sigur Ros

Practical Arrangement – Sting

Imagine – John Lennon

Chateau Lobby #4 – Father John Misty

PHOTOGRAPHY

Ken Scott

Vivian Maier

Sorolta Ban

Aela Labbe

Denise Thomasin

Special thank you to WordPress ( blog design )

” If the doors of perception were cleansed , everything would be seen as it is – infinite “.  William Blake

Note from meg : this was my 100th post and the last and 6th in the series about Jack and Francis which began on Feb. 12 with Something Happened , Jack and Francis , Leelanau County , White Spots of a Fawn , Moons Wandering and finally , One Hundred Kisses ….Thankyou to all of my friends who made such kind comments and kept me going ( mentioned in the credits ) and to all who read and ” liked ” ….from my heart with love xxxmeg

51 thoughts on “One Hundred Kisses

  1. So much beautiful imagery here, Meg. Jack clinging to his father’s flannel shirt, Francis’s childhood memories, the Beatles’ redemption, hiding the ladder so she can’t leave.. all brilliant. But mostly, the power of a renewed relationship, so eloquently expressed to the tune of a perfect Desree track. Pure goosebumps. Once again, a truly lovely work. Wishing Jack and Francis a lifetime of happiness. xoxox Van

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  2. I love each and every one of your Jack and Francis et al posts, Meg. Each is like discovering a pack of receipts stashed in a coat pocket from trips taken once (lives, I guess you call them) through a timeless domain. Your details are exquisite, like going to a restaurant I normally can’t afford and recognizing a nuance of flavor I’d never known existed… And the human hearts remain ever at the center. Beautiful!

    Love,
    Michael

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    • Dear Michael …. Your comments always leave me breathless and the love that you add to my posts ( especially Jack and Francis ) is felt in many ways and at many times … I am humbled and grateful and inspired ….boom !
      Love xxxmeg

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Oh, Meg… It’s the sweetest place in the whole world! I would love to leave my heart here forever… ❤
    You're a miracle! And you're my favorite director from this moment 😛
    A sequel… I hope, coming soon!

    Always with love,
    your Tia

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  4. A superb “end” to an exquisite tale of hope. Some of us feel, or have felt, like we’re wandering alone in the wilderness of existence. Your words are a reminder that there is another out there, orbiting ever closer, until it’s time for a beautiful collision. Until our perception is cleansed enough to see him/her. Thank you thank you, lovely soul.

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  5. A wonderful piece, Meg – part story, part ‘stream of consciouness’, but always absorbing. I always like to read your work several times to get its full flavour, which is why I’m not the first to comment, but absolutely love it!
    Thanks for being creditted in the ‘cast’, and also for the rightful quote from Blake (often mis-apropriated).
    Take care. Chris

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  6. A beautiful walk into the past, many memories though a different cast of characters well drawn and alive! I can’t put my finger on the feeling your writing evokes in me but it puts me inside the scene you have set very vividly. Couldn’t figure out why I was mentioned but a big thank you! Namaste, ❤ ellen

    Liked by 1 person

    • Such a lovely comment dear Ellen …your encouraging presence and comments were felt by me in my writings of Jack and Francis and your voice added love to this series and so you and the others have shined as a ” supportive cast ” as if in a movie all part of ” one ” …to be part of this collective consciousness has brought me joy , hope and love and I am just so grateful ….xxxmeg

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  7. I am unclear on the how of just what you do, but I do know that I fell in head first to the words that became an alternative world, where I am not watching but living within the being of another. In this experience – too – is the experience of time as it is within experience infinite, expansive, endless, repetitive, and also so painfully finite – I feel achey inside for something I cannot name, but richer for having had the courage to jump in and live it.

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    • Marga ….so much love to you and humble gratitude for your beautiful dialogue within our collective journey that you so eloquently voice …I am touched by your feelings …so much , thank you , boom , boom …love megxxx

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  8. Meg, sweet Meg! This is easily one of your sweetest posts yet. it is such a wonderful way to celebrate your 100th post. Thank you for including me in your supporting cast along with your other supporters. We adore your writing and this final installment in your series provides a lovely conclusion. I enjoyed the array of images, from the Beatles to comic books and the falcon. Hugs, so many hugs! xo ❤

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    • Dear sweetness …Christy , thank you so very much for being such a dear and lovely cast member , your kind heart matters to the entire world and I remain grateful to WordPress for our initial connection ( I feel like we are a flock of sparrows flying all together under the heavens ) hugs and love megxxx

      Liked by 1 person

  9. ” It’s time for a feast Francis thinks , a season for tasting velvet nights and smelling the promise of dawn . She sits looking , looking over the hills about to bloom wildflowers , the strange boom of her heartbeat bringing up the past of childhood when she thought she could jump off the tree stump and land in the clouds .”

    Wow, that may be my favorite passage from this series Meg. I loved it, it was so personal to you, and I felt I was vicariously living another life at times while reading it. You are an excellent writer my friend 🙂

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    • Hi Ry ….you dear friend have added so much to this story , the videos you posted and the many insightfully beautiful comments always your own voice so differently creative …I marvel at your writings so I say with a tender heart , thank you ….love megxxx

      Liked by 1 person

  10. Meg…. this has taken my own breath… as my heart Booms! in unison with the story of Jack and Francis…… How eloquently you write.. Like a magical fairy tale.. But your descriptive style lends the reader to visit the realms of imagination once forgotten..
    As you bring back the memories, thoughts, feelings..
    Boom! you hit me in my heart-beat.

    And I am so pleased to be part of the cast Meg…
    You make me want to dig out a piece of my own once upon a time story gathering dust in my archives.. 🙂

    Needless to say this was brilliant! 🙂 ❤ xxxx Hugs to you xxx
    Sue

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  11. Brought tears to my eyes, reached right in to some tender place in my own heart and pulled something out, what I’m not sure yet, but it surely touched me deeply… and I think of all that the heart endures and and how the heart loves so much in just one lifetime.

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    • Dear dear friend ….thank you so much for your lovely , beautiful and kind thoughts …you have been with me from the first posting when I became a writer a year ago ….words can’t really express my gratitude of love …boom , boom , dear Janet …I love you xxxmeg

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  12. Meg, this has been an absolutely lovely series about Jack and Francis. I have thoroughly enjoyed your beautiful writing style and storytelling. You have tugged on my heart a number of times with your words. Thank you for the mention, truly the pleasure has been all mine! Thank you!

    Always warm wishes,
    Pepperanne ♥

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  13. Somewhere between a place called Nostalgia and the wild and romantic coastline of a forgotten land there’s a little hamlet called Meg nestling in the valley. There are no roads to this hamlet, and it can only be approached through an ancient forest which has but few track-ways, most of which, at some point along their way, have become absorbed into the creeping growths of the forest floor. In the distance, one can spot the smoke rising in wisps from the chimney’s of Meg, and smell it in the air at times if the breeze so permits. Every now and then, a group of people set forth to find Meg, venturing into the forest, becoming disoriented, then once again discovering a lost track, the scent of wood smoke, or recalling once again something familiar yet without name. No one ever makes it to the hamlet, and as dusk falls, each head’s back home, pleased at their endeavours for all that, and knowing that tomorrow they shall return once again, as of impulse, yet to similar effect. Each wanders back to the edge of the forest with a wistful smile upon their faces, half a pleasure received, half a knowing that the unconsummated mind brings all the more delight to other senses. A journey without completion, a century beyond time.

    H ❤

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