Wagging Away

I spent some time tonight going through blogs and thinking about stuff...I've spent a few years locking myself away and have grieved only one thing the most..the loss of my words...a comment on another blog left me grateful and humbled...when the mind finds a way to read, to write, to paint to dance to sing, it's a gift that ought not to be taken lightly. I spent a joyous half hour with my daughter tonight ostensibly helping her write a speech...what it helped was to free me from self-imposed cages of the mind. It's a hard habit to break when one pretends one does not need to write. especially when it is the one thing one cherishes the most...so I shall see how long my gratefulness and humility last...how long I can put pen to paper and try to write...not to publish nor be read but for windows to the soul and for the soul...a voice that begs to be heard apart from the recesses of one's brain....so write I shall till I can...for it makes me whole again...

It's a strange thing it is...kissing... I feel I am, at 40, very inured to the lure of a kiss...and from what I hear and the little I know, not many people are particularly good at it. On the surface of it, it's pretty gross...saliva, bad breath, germs, non-skeletal organs twisting in battle...it should be enough to kill romance surely? we kiss in anger, we kiss to turn off thought, we kiss to turn off and turn on...we kiss out of affection we kiss to cover up hate...we kiss to maintain distance, we kiss to obliterate it...it's a pretty darn amazing gesture actually... But somewhere in the deep recesses of the human soul is the need for that one perfect moment...we can live without it but we cannot live without the hope of it... So what is it about a kiss that draws us so...in that perfect movie moment, when somehow looking into another's soul can only be sealed with a kiss...a pouring in of one soul into another through breath...in that one-breath stealing breath

Funny thing they are, tears...for when you're happy and when you're sad... always there and only missed when they don't flow. For over two years now, I've not cried...at least not much and never for myself...I've felt no grief no anger no feeling... when they came I would look away and try not to cry...a weakness, a foolishness... except, the dam... it's broken... or certainly sprung a leak...uncomfortable...little dribbles at happiness, in full flow at grief, a wobbly smile at an emotional movie, sorrow at memories...I cry for love, for the lack of it..I cry for songs and for battlesongs...I cry for symbols of hope, for lost souls...I cry for myself...as I am for who I was and for what will come...I cry for what I want, what I have...I cry because I am loved and I cry because I want to love and yet cannot...I cry as I write, I cry as I think...I am brave and yet I am not...cowardly and yet not...soldier I am and victim the same...words that want to come but w