The Absence Of Singularity

Your eyes are

The kaleidoscope of my dreams,

Aimed at stained-glass cathedral windows.

.

I can look into the storm-tossed,

Charcoal-grey-black ocean –

But it is nothing,

Compared with you.

“Some say the world will end in fire…

Some say ice,”

At least according to Frost.

But these elements are not singular;

They make love in the ether, and

I see them in your face.

I can feel the trace of your lips

On my forehead,

A meaningful imprint that

Refuses to wash away.

My hyperventilating heart

Will take what it can get

From this show called Life

As it rushes by, always in a hurry.

.

My lungs feel heavy;

A true mess of ruby and granite,

Straining through my pores

And filling my veins with cold and hard,

Like iron.

What this is

Is no 24-karat love;

You sneak up behind me,

Wrap your arms around me,

Pull the daisies from my tangled hair

And spin me ‘round and ‘round

In the humid air, laughing.

Or you would –

If your eyes, sometimes topaz,

Sometimes obsidian,

Weren’t filled with such doubt.

.

I don’t blame you;

I would doubt, too –

If I didn’t believe in beauty

And in happiness.

All Stations To Heartbreak

It’s always interesting, no matter who you are, when people seem to rise up out of your past like a spectre from a grave.  Even more interesting is when parts of you seem to rebound back and wave their arms in front of you, demanding attention.  It’s a truth we don’t like to admit – people don’t change much.  If you’re a jealous person when you’re young, you will likely be a jealous person as you age.  We can try to bury parts of our personality if we so please, but the more you suppress them…. well… it’s like holding a firecracker in your hand; you can close your hand around it and it will eventually blow your fingers off, or you can open your hand and only get burned a bit, but everyone else around you might be hurt, too.

I have been burying my feelings for so long, I sometimes feel like there is an animal inside me.  Sometimes when I’m laying awake at night, I can feel the animal pacing around, restless.  Sometimes the animal is content to just sleep peacefully.  Other times, the animal rages and lunges at my ribcage, leading to a – literally – physical manifestation of frustration.  It makes me sick.  I love animals, but this one, I wish I could just euthanize.

I feel like I’ve been forced to wait forever… and there is no immediate respite on the horizon.  Sometimes I have to take a step back and say, “Now Emily, you’re being ridiculous.  Are you in love with the idea of love, or is it real?”  My satisfaction is stunted so long now that I hardly know; that in itself is hardly a reassuring feeling, not to know yourself for sure.

I now understand Alice in Wonderland so much better.  I can understand the opium trip that led to such a great work.  I can understand the feeling of falling without a bottom.  I can understand that nothing seems to make any sense anymore.  Everyone proclaims Lewis Carroll to be so whimsical and fanciful… but life is truly like that book.  You might be upside-down and not know it; you might do something that makes you swell with pride, or something that makes you feel small.  Some days, I want one of those little bottles, “Drink Me”, so I could disappear.

You have to wonder if you love people that do not have the capacity to love you back… or even if maybe you never were actually in love, and it was just the idea of love that helped you wake up every morning with a smile plastered on your otherwise unremarkable face.  If it’s the second, what is the point of your life?  Can you just go away and fall in love again and be happy and forget all about the foolish notion that you’d ever loved before?

Sometimes I wish I could cry over things like these… but I’m not sure – I suppose it’s possible – that I may have forgotten how.  I can be on the verge… the very brink of crying, but my walls always seem to hold, even if I don’t want them to.

Maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe I do know what love is.  If I do, I am unsure of how to proceed, as there are so many paths to take – or wilderness to plow through – that I know there is no way to avoid heartbreak.

The Ocean Is Better In September

Yesterday I took a break from all my studying and running around preparing for various coming events and went to a beach house in Rhode Island.  The house itself was really nice – the path/road in front of the house looked like it’d been paved at one time, but was now completely obscured by sand.  Across the road was a bank of coarse seagrass and beach roses, followed immediately by the shoreline.

The really nice thing about this place though, was that on the entire road, all of which looked out upon the sea, was deserted.  Literally.  Every single house was empty; I guess all the rich people had left now that the weather didn’t suit them.

It’s different for me: I prefer an autumn New England beach over any of the white-sand-and-clear-water ones in Mexico during the summer.  Or whatever it is people like to do on the beach.  I don’t like to sunbathe and when you swim in the ocean, you usually step on something gross or sharp.  (Or with my luck, get stung by jellyfish).  But when the sea is choppy and gray and the sand is big and coarse and the salt sticks to your legs… that’s my kind of ocean.

Even though all I did was make a meal in the kitchen and read my Shakespeare assignment on the beach (in a hoodie, no less)… it was a successful trip to be sure.  All those beach bunnies are missing something essential about the beach.

Time, Time, Fly Away Home

Well, it’s been awhile since an update.  I am still alive – but for how long, who knows?  School has started up again… and the scary thing is, I applied for graduation this morning.  This Thursday, I will be submitting my final plan of study to my advisor, who will look it over and send it off to the department head.  Then this December, I will graduate from the University of Connecticut with a Bachelor of Arts in Communications.

I mean to say, holy shit.  Where did the time go?  I have to perk up my resume in the Undergrad center at UConn and then hand it out to possible employers at a job fair at the end of the month.  I could have a real job.  You know, the kind you get paid to do…

I am also going to be twenty-two years old around this time next month.  I waited so long for 21 that 22 just seems… odd.

Beyond school, I’ve picked my Girl Scout troop back up (they get cheekier and taller every year…) and also started helping with the Friends of Hale youth program at the Homestead.  I don’t feel too bad taking on something else, since I’m only in class for less than 4 hours a week this semester.

The only problem about getting so involved in Homestead things are the emotions it brings back.  As soon as the leaves start to fall (and they have) I get all confused and distraught again.  I know that once winter leaves its lovely blanket behind us again, I will be fine – but it’s so hard to wait for winter to come again to wash my conscience clean.  Don’t get me wrong, I am loving having these meetings every Sunday, cracking jokes, dressing in costume, smelling the Farmer’s market, and laughing with a wide variety of people.  Even my tours have improved since my internship this past summer (I got to travel and collect primary source documents to put together Revolutionary War profiles for a friend and re-enactor – and got class credit for it!).

I love the autumn; it’s the most romantic time of year.  The Homestead has a lovely oak tree out in front and when everyone else has left for the day, I love to lay underneath it and let the leaves fall down around me. In my blue and white linen dress, I imagine I probably look pretty authentic doing so.  History is as beautiful as nature, I don’t care what anyone else says.

Love = Selfish

It is selfish to love. People die every day.  People go to prison. People move far away.  People just disappear after awhile, somehow or other. Therefore, it is selfish to love because when we love someone, it encourages them to love us back… and we all disappear eventually.

Solar Avatars – An Essay

Below is a short essay I wrote for my Celtic mythology class last semester.  I wanted to record it somewhere so I have it for future reference.  There are also some interesting factoids in it…

.

A very common motif that appears in Irish and Welsh mythologies is that of the sun king, or solar avatar.  Three in particular stand out over time: Lugh of the Long Hand, Cuchulainn of Muirthemne, and Lleu son of Aranrhod.  There has been much speculation that Lugh and Lleu might actually be one in the same person – at the very least, they are both certainly connected with Lugus, one of the more prominent Celtic gods, portrayed as a craftsman with solar connections.

Lugh of the Long Hand appears in the stories of the Tuatha de Danaan.  The Tuatha de Danaan is synonymous with “People to the North” and also analogous with the Celtic gods.  Lugh’s father, Cian is one of these Tuatha – bestowing Lugh with a godly lineage.  Several times in the text, Lugh is also described as being exceptionally beautiful, as well as – oddly enough – very bright-faced.  During Lugh’s heroic phase of life, as he leads an army against the Fomorians, it is remarked that the brightness of his face was so great, you almost couldn’t look into it without hurting your eyes.

Cuchulainn of Muirthemne appears in the Tain and is another clear example of the solar avatar, even right away when he is born three times – indicative of triad power, in a culture where 3 is one of the most significant numbers possible.  Add the “hero halo” he is described as having whilst in battle, and the associations with horses at his (many) births, Cuchulainn may as well have a sign with an arrow following him around, letting readers of the Tain know he has solar avatar connections.

Cuchulainn is also a great example of the role of the sun god in Celtic summer-winter myths, which are relative to anxiety about the return to earthly fertility.  A summer-winter myth begins with an enemy attempting to “keep the world in winter” by undermining the Earth Mother, generally represented as a young woman.  The role a sun god plays in a summer-winter myth is that of the potent masculine figure either restoring the Earth Mother, or trying to control her sexuality (if the second, the sun avatar is in store for a great personal tragedy).

Cuchulainn’s story fits perfectly into this mould, in that he represents the solar avatar that defeats winter.  Medb, leading the army against him, represents winter/the Crone and her army is her wintery force.  Cuchulainn, as the sun, keeps his fire burning all winter in order to reignite it to its full force in the Spring.

Lastly, Lleu, son of Aranrhod, appears in the Mabinogian.  He plays a small role in the text, but his connections to the solar avatar are hard to ignore: he too, is described as being “bright” in appearance.  In addition, he was born of an obscure father alongside his brother, who incidentally, is a sea god.  He overcomes much adversity – mostly put in place by his own mother – and eventually takes a flower wife, Bloduewedd, which indicates a strong connection to nature in that Lleu literally marries nature.

All three are examples of solar avatars.

Pandemonium In The Undercurrent

I’m sitting here on my bed with a variety of thoughts running naked through my head like those crazy soccer hooligans that jump the fence to run across the field at World Cup games.  It’s that loud.

I’ve tried to concentrate on my Biology homework, but no dice.  Instead, I’m sitting here eating feta cheese (don’t judge me) and praying to who-knows-what that classes are cancelled tomorrow because I haven’t been able to concentrate on ANY of my reading for labs tomorrow.  Outside, I can hear the snow plow going by (finally) and I’m listening to this awesome sitar player on my laptop.  And typing this.  Obviously.

The frustrating thing is, I can’t actually write any of my thoughts on my public blog due to the chance that someone from my workplace might read it (doubtful… but better safe than sorry).  However, what I’m feeling is something kind of like this:

So you get the general gist of things.  It’s amazing how it’s possible to act normal – calm and collected, even – when there is a maelstrom of grit, ice and something like shame whirlpooling through my arteries.  Bedlam; yet, persistence in the face of looming tragedy.