Writing found in my mothers Suitcase

by megdekorne

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Near The River of Wonder I walked , traveling all this way without shoes. A porcupine tree branch tapping , tapping on the window , flashing in the sun , these are the first voices heard , a sound like people talking in whispers , a  sound stunning its way around in my mind too strange to believe . Only night and day , one night , one day , becoming my entire life as the moving sculptures of Christs apostles on the astronomical clock in Praque click cryptic with dials and mechanisms into a world so sublime where a skeleton , the figure of death , waits slowly , so slowly , to strike the hour . Is my friend La Vagabonde near ? ” Night and Day ” could be the title of a poem by Chris Nelson  or William Blake , or a sign over a cafe in Paris , a bookstore on Orcas Island , a collaboration unbolted by Tony and Tati , a song by Ewian or Pink Floyd , or even the name of a tango dance applauded by the spectators in the square of Puerto Vallarta . But it is for me the name of a most curious decor , the velvet decor of my own life , a blue decor of an endless sky held open by a curtain of tassel trims sewn with threads silken of nostalgia under which peacocks nest where I am touched in a womb like the heavens touch a single star . It is a spinning , puzzling , absurd decor , mysterious where all makes sense .

The hour of motherhood , only one soft sweet peculiar moment , a moment in the snap of a camera , images ( every time I can , I stare at them ) covered in glass , delicate and shimmering , spilling their hearts into my mouth , my breath joining the budding branch where a dove is cooing , where linens sing flapping on the clothesline sending off-beat melodies towards the yurts on Mount Bohemia , connecting with the hum of the electric station not far from that rusty windmill laying broken on its side still able to plink like a xylophone and even further on  the beat is giving rise to the howl of the tall Egyptian pharaoh dogs with wide apart eyes gleaming on their foreheads from the rays over the pyramids epicenter . It is a loud ornate place where ” all boundaries are conventions waiting to be transcended “, a world that rhymes with me , rhyming into almost insanity. This is the way it is . Why are birthdays so important when every single second is one ? When day breaks and night departs , I know I’ve been here a long , long , long time . . .

photography by Denise Thomasin

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34 thoughts on “Writing found in my mothers Suitcase”

  4. Meg, this is both deeply personal and universal at the same time. I found it sinking into my soul each time I read it – one of those pieces that affect you before you realise it. Thanks for the ‘name check’ too: unexpected and in such exalted company! Take care. Chris

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  5. What a beautiful write dearest Meg. It brought a familiar feeling and tears to my eyes. You are such a beautiful soul and it pours through your writings. I loved the selected clip too and I think I should see this movie now. Blessed be dearest and much love to you and yours 🙂

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  6. Captivating and excellent writing, I love the way it was summed up completely with the words, Why are birthdays so important when every single second is one ?.
    Excellent perception on life and the video a perfect accompaniment.

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    • A www Julie ! I feel your nearness and my gratefulness spins with the dials on that amazing celestial clock you must gaze your eyes on with amazement in the city where you abide ….you are in this page with me and the others , thank you ….love , megxxx

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    • Noelle , your dear comment touches my heart , I so appreciate your kindness and love that you liked the comment feed from others …these creative and soulful connections all really matter and are golden threads appearing thru the ink on the sentences I write ….love , megxxx

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      • I believe that completely. I believe we are weaving webs around each other, far more powerful than all the violence the news makes us think is all that is happening in the world. I think these connections are actually what is truly going no, it just doesn’t make for dramatic TV.

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      • Love you, too, my dear friend. So awesome to have connected with so many beautiful people in the blogosphere. Often people say we are more disconnected because of technology but I have not found that to be the case. Now I find I can find like spirits anywhere in the world. Has changed my life in so many ways. Sending love and peace….

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  11. ”Night and Day” is for me the name of a most curious decor , the velvet decor of my own life, a blue decor of an endless sky held open by a curtain of tassel trims sewn with threads silken of nostalgia under which peacocks nest where I am touched in a womb like the heavens touch a single star …. ☀★🎇 ~~

    Beautifullly penned… your writing has a magnetic power, I felt I was in a sort of daydream as I read your words, dear Meg… thanks for that… sending love and best wishes. Aquileana ☺

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    • Dear Aquileana …your love and best wishes are so sweet to me and I’m moved by your presence , I learn so much about symbols and myths and dreams from reading your gorgeous site and you have entered into my musings many times , thank you dear one …..love , megxxx

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  14. I’m so happy to stop by and be greeted with your soul shining out of the screen!!! I love this piece…so deep…so wonderful….the pace of which matched with intensity. Dear Meg…I wish you peace…and love…and all good things in the year that is on the horizon!! Much love ❤ ❤

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