I had a wonderful day today. I woke up after almost 9 hours of sleep, at Dan’s house where we’d been for a few days. Sleeping even 7 hours is a feat I rarely accomplish, so 9 hours is amazing. We had coffee, and breakfast, and quiet conversation. We planned to get back to my house tonight. I had a date with one of my best friends here to meet at our favorite Italian restaurant for a glass of wine and a platter of antipasti. We ended up with a carafe, not a glass, and 3 hours later left there slightly inebriated, but it was great. She and I never run out of things to talk about. I came home, Dan was here. We caught up with each other, we played a couple games of cards, we made a quick dinner.

Then we sat down in the living room, in front of the TV. We realized that Game 7 of the Series was on, and Dan’s a baseball fan, so we agreed we’d watch it. Since we had about 25 minutes until the game started, he decided to play a gong for a while, so I sat back, closed my eyes and let myself go with it.

I was sitting with my hands in my lap. They were cool, and dry, and clasped in my lap. After about 10 minutes, I moved my right hand, which was clasping my left. I could not for the life of me figure out what I was touching. The gong was playing low, fairly quiet, and my hands, touching only each other, seemed disassociated. As if I were two people. One doing the touching, with both hands. The other one being the one touched by those hands. I felt the touch on the outside and on the inside differently.

I actually had to open my eyes and look to see what was going on with my hands.

I really felt out of my body. That’s only happened to me a few times, and it’s a very cool, albeit weird, experience. The duality, right there, then melding back into one, into me, all parts flowing back together. The gong is an amazing instrument, to somehow facilitate that happening. `

He tapered the sound off and stopped after about 20 minutes. By the time he got back to the couch, I had forgotten the weirdness with my hands. Then about a half-hour later, something triggered it back into my mind. I told Dan, who never does anything but support me. His response was, even before I said it, “Oh you were a little out of your body!” He gets it. It’s amazing to be with someone who gets that!

So, I had a wonderful, but slightly strange day. I would be happy to feel this way every day.

Love and light, everyone

Picture was taken by me.  My gong is on the right.  Dan’s is on the left.

The evening was starless
The palm fronds were a dark silhouette
Waving gently against a grey sky
As the balmy tropical breeze
Gently blew the warm rain
Across the bay.

I thought of you
Your arms around me
Your hand on the back of my neck
Gently stroking my hair.

I leaned into the strong circle
Of your arms,
Felt the heat of your shoulder
And there rested my head

It was a dream I dreamed
Under the darkened sky
Waiting for your return
I missed you tonight.

I hope your dreams are
As sweet as mine.
I’ll see you soon my love
When daylight breaks once more.

Bu Deborah E. Dayen

Confusion filled every pore and cell in Cal’s body as he lay in his bed, flat on his back, eyes barely open in the bright sunlight pouring in the room. Where was he? How did he get there? And, why is he just now waking up when the day has obviously been underway for hours.

Ok, he knew where he was. However, he did not think he was in his room until he opened his eyes. Until that moment he had been out on the sea, riding the swells up and down, breathing in the fresh salt air. He’d been with his old friend Rudy, who had just shown up on the boat (the way people do when you’re deep in a dream). Rudy was indeed an old friend, but the trouble was he’d died twenty years before.

His death had come as a shock to Cal. Rudy was the consummate sailor, who had taught Cal to sail. He’d infected Cal with his love of the sea, and the warm Gulf water. He sometimes took off for days, even weeks, by himself. He’d call Cal from Key West or Turks and Caicos, regaling him with his stories of daring, and stories of dolphins in the starlight, and cups of coffee as the sunrise spread its rosy glow across the water. A squall had come up as he’d made his way from somewhere in the Florida keys to somewhere in the Bahamas, a dangerous white squall where the seas rose and began breaking over the bow under the almost hurricane-force winds that accompanied it. The Coast Guard determined when they finally found his 40′ yawl drifting in the Gulf after days of searching, that his boat had capsized in the squall, sending him into the ocean while his boat flew away on the wind. His body had never been found.

Laying there now in the stillness, he could still hear his old friend’s voice telling him stories about what he’d been up to, his laughter filling the air like the wind filled the boat’s sails. It was such a wonderful dream, to see his closest old buddy once again. They had talked about real things, like Cal’s brush with cancer and how the experience had changed him. They even had a conversation about Rudy’s death, how Cal had missed him and sunk into a depression for a long while after. The depression had sent him out to sea, literally, where he found himself most at home.

Rudy smiled at him, “Well, this always was your place, wasn’t it?”

“Yours too….” Rudy replied, his voice tinged with sadness and introspection.

Yeah, it was a place they both loved. Cal always felt closest to whatever consciousness had put him there. It allowed him to climb out of the depths of sadness and grief, once again feeling grateful to be alive. He loved the feel of the water beneath him, the sight of the wind filling the sails, the rhythm of the boat’s rise and fall in the swells. Rudy knew, having spent countless hours on a boat with Cal.

Finally, Rudy said he had to go. He reached into his pocket and then held out his hand. “There’s something I always wanted to give you, and never had the chance.” He opened his hand, and Cal saw the beautiful nautilus shell, it’s edges trimmed in gold, that Rudy used to wear on a gold chain around his neck. Rudy always said it reminded him how life expands, and renews over and over again. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember ever seeing Rudy without it. Rudy took Cal’s hand and put the shell in his hand.

“I gotta go, buddy, but think of me when you wear this. I’m always with you, no matter where you are.”

And with that, Rudy was gone, and the shock of his leaving, Cal realized, was what woke him. He breathed in a deep breath. He thanked whatever powers that were for letting him see and talk to Rudy once more. What a great dream he’d had. A smile slowly crept across his face, as a tear rolled down his cheek.

He was awake now. He was aware of the sunlight pouring in the windows, and of the palm fronds swaying in the breeze. As he began to move, he realized he was grasping something in his hand, holding onto it so tightly that his fingers were aching. He slowly opened his hand. In a mixture of disbelief and complete awareness, he clasped the nautilus shell, trimmed in gold, to his heart, whispering “Thank you Rudy. Thank you.”

Stream of Consciousness – Serious Writer’s Block

Writers group, Hypatia, is meeting next Sunday. I am having such a hard time writing ANYTHING! What is happening to me? This used to be my go-to. Like I could just sit down and write. Poems used to flow out of me. Pain and joy used to flow onto the page. Whatever I felt at the moment could be put to words. Not so lately. I haven’t even blogged in over a week. WTF?

So, I’ve been looking for prompts. Googling prompt sites, signing up for emails for prompts. Scouring the recesses of my brain for ideas. Finally, I talked to Dan. Here are his ideas.

Write about your new neighbors. Two couples, each with a small child, sharing the basically 1 bedroom house, one bath house. (There is a small room in the back, which I suppose could be a 2^nd bedroom if necessary.) They use this house as a getaway, they live in Miami, and drive up here on the weekends. But no, I met them, and they seem like nice normal people and I don’t want to make up a story about them.

Write about how asylum seekers can now claim asylum in Mexico, so they don’t need to walk all the way up here. Um, NO. Because of all the obvious reasons, not the least of which is my total distaste for anything political, and my total disagreement with him over our border issues.

Write about the affair DJT is having with Elizabeth Warren. NO? How about the one with Hillary? No? How about Warren and Hillary? NO? Why not? Because…. I am bad enough with fiction.

No political stuff? Ok, write about the banyan tree in the back yard. Trouble is I have written a poem about it, way back when I first got here, and don’t think I can do better than that.

I told Dan that I was so glad not to live in his head. Full of ideas, streaming out in non-sensical tangents.

He was obviously not helpful. I am back looking for inspiration, right where I was.

I scanned, briefly, the “book” I wrote about my abusive marriage and epic divorce. I was thinking I could just take a chapter from it. No. It is too triggering, and while I’m glad I wrote it, every time I look at it, (which is about once or twice a year) I don’t want to read it. I don’t want to rehash stuff that I finally managed to banish to the deepest recesses of my mind, and to actually forgive him for. Especially now, knowing how ill he is, and was, and ever shall be. I warned him so many times he would die old, sick and all alone because he pushed away everyone who loved him. And it turns out to have been prophetic, he is all of those things. I feel for him, but I don’t want to ever engage in that again. I wish him well, and I wish he leaves me and my son alone.

Not something I want to write about.

There were a few men after him. Way after, like 7 years before I even wanted to date. One I thought was significant, but now I cannot for the life of me understand what about that man so charmed me. UGH.

Then Dan. That story is still being written, but it’s a lovely story, so far, most of the time. However, it is not something I wish to share, at least the deepest part of it. It’s personal. Besides, everyone knows and likes him in Hypatia. So I don’t, and won’t, write more about that relationship than I already have.

So, ok, men are out as a subject.

I told Dan I was give up on trying to write and was going to go outside, climb up in the boat, and deal with the head which needs cleaning, and empty the galley maybe. Boat has been in my front yard for 2 months. We worked on it for about a week, but it was so hot and/or rainy, we just stopped the work, waiting for cooler and drier weather. But there are no stories worth telling. Boating turns out to be a whole different experience at 68 than it was at 50. We are done with the hassle.

Thinking about selling this house….I still hate to, I still love it, I love the location and I believe Dan does too. But it needs another bathroom and about 500 square feet to be comfy for two people. And the banyan tree would have to come down to do that.

I could write about the holes the rats chewed in my duct work, which I just got a quote on in the $1000’s to fix. Actually, not fix, but replace. But we did find out that there are companies that can rat-proof a place for about $1000, at least that’s what this guy paid for his own house to be done. And I wondered if we do that can we then put an addition on my house and live here pest free for the next 10 years or so? The idea of moving two houses into one is daunting.

I guess I better go put some clothes on and clean up my kitchen and then go out to the boat and see if I can do anything with it. I have a feeling that it will be too hot by the time I get out there, so I’ll put it off for another day. So easy to do that. I get an A in procrastination of jobs I don’t want to do. At least I don’t have to mow the lawn this week.

At least it stopped raining, like totally stopped. And I need to get some exercise. Maybe meditate. That always at least centers me. I could bang the gong too. Or not bang it, but play it. Maybe that would take me somewhere.

Nice that a life is so good, on such an even keel.

Fall has come to Florida too. Not just to New England, with its riot of colors on every hillside. But also here, where the palm fronds still wave, and the trees are still green. So how does it manifest?

The overnight temperatures instead of being in the low 80’s are in the low to mid 70’s. The humidity, instead of being 70% is mostly below 60%. The clouds, when they form, are fair weather clouds that float above the Gulf of Mexico like cotton balls in an aquamarine sky. The rain becomes a rare event, and the grass doesn’t need mowing constantly.

It is subtle, as I suppose it should be. In New England the colors of fall, the early frosts that turn to beautiful days in the apple orchards are a promise that life will return after the winter forces rest on all that lives. It is beautiful, but still…..I’m happy to know I can go to the beach still, where the Gulf water is still in the mid to high 80’s and the sun warms the days still to 90 or so. I can still wear shorts and flip flops.

It doesn’t even begin to be chilly here until maybe January. Then, for maybe 6 weeks, I have to switch to jeans and closed-toed shoes, and maybe even a light jacket. That north wind, of the polar express up north, can reach us, and drop the temps into the 50’s occasionally. Mostly 60’s, and that is a relief, really. A respite from the intense heat of summer.

Today is my 3 year anniversary of moving here. I think I have assimilated to the pace of life here. I have manifested the dream I dreamed about before I retired. I have an amazing man in my life. I have a very close circle of good friends. I have a cute little house, though it has its issues. I have survived a hurricane and other weather anomalies. We added a boat to our lives, but I think that part is over. It is just too much work, especially down here. I loved having a boat in my earlier life. Now, it is just a source of work and anxiety.  As I see many of my friends paring down their lives, simplifying, I realize that’s just a good thing to do as we age.

Our social life is a lot of fun. We have good friends who play music at the many venues here. I have my writer’s group, which I formed, and which meets at my house once a month. Someone was asking about it the other day, what we write, etc. After explaining to her that we write whatever we want, that if we have a prompt, we are not mandated to write about it if it doesn’t resonate with us. I told her we all read what we write, and usually share a couple bottles of wine, and a couple joints while we do it. So that in the end, the 8 of us are a little drunk, a little high, and full of laughter and love and stories. I also have my spirit girls, who don’t indulge in the wine and weed, but do engage in bonding, in our shared stories and commitment to trying to raise our consciousness. We meet every other week and rotate the meetings to each other’s homes.

Then Dan and I have the gongs. While sound healing is really my thing, it is also something he has embraced, although the spiritual aspects of it are still not within his grasp. He’s willing and open, and maybe one day the epiphany will strike, but until then, as long as he’s happy doing what he’s doing, then I’m happy.

While Connecticut will always be home to me, Florida has also become home. And, Connecticut grows fainter. It is where my son was born and grew up, and I still have many close friends and memories there.  But you know, my life doesn’t intersect with theirs very much now, so they are fading a little with time.

Still I am blessed. Surrounded by grace, grateful that I am in a place that brings me joy every day. Grateful for my friends and family, and particularly the man I love.

Love and light to everyone.

My

Heart

Aches for

The touch of

Your hand on my cheek

To wipe away the tears and dust

A FIB  is a poem which follows the Fibonacci sequence, found in all of nature.  Each line has the total number of syllables in the two previous lines.

By Deborah E. Dayen