The Valkyrie

“The Valkyries of Norse mythology were women of vast prestige and power. They were one of the few factions of warrior women from ancient lore recognized as having any power over the mortal realm. Known as beacons of strength, they descended from the sky garbed in the feathers of swans coated with sturdy, iron chainmail, their faces protected by helmets and their spears held aloft fearlessly. Upon the backs of their ethereal horses they came from the heavens to the mortal realm, guttural cries at the back of their throats. When seen by the male soldiers on the ground, both awe and terror would sweep the battlefield – their role was to determine the fate of fallen warriors.”

Horse riding warrior goddess, since I heard ride of the Valkyrie, Wagner, I was…obsessed.  Everything about them fascinated me, everything about the ring cycle fascinated me, but the Valkyrie, exemplified who I simply was, deep down.  I had tried so many times to not a Valkyrie, kept my wings clipped too long for too many people, and Valkyrie’s well…they take a certain person to love them, someone who can handle the fire, they are not for everyone.

But it wasn’t just me, it was many women, women who you would expect the least who have a bit of the Valkyrie in them.  Today, watching one woman unfold her wings on the back of my horse made me grin ear to ear with knowing.  This woman, seemingly quiet, beautiful, with not much to say, no wild life or career to brag of; rather, she preferred gardens, her children and not traveling with her husband.  Not because she didn’t love him, only because…well…I understood.  Gardens and home…they called her, not the false glamor of an audience and stage.   Grounding…realness called her.  And watching this seemingly quiet woman’s eyes light up when I asked if she wanted to canter, then watching her hips move as she took stride, the wild feminine arise with sparkle and natural grace….well….I wish her husband had been there to see his Valkyrie ride.

Modern Day Courtesan-New Work

He was on his way, to collect.

She would give him exactly what he wanted, something that he could  not experience with anyone else.  How she could make him feel rain on his skin, remind him of the beauty of a fountain at night, it’s water all crystalline glimmer like falling stars.  She was the comfort of home and the exoticism of travel all at the same time.  She held wisdom behind her eyes, the kind that could only be learned in a dark night, when the world seemed to close in on itself in blackness.  It was mystery and danger and tasted like sweet wine.  He wanted her laugh, her youth, how magic floated around her, how she seemed not to care about his money, how she carried confidence and class.  He wanted it, and he had paid for it.  He paid for the realness he could not experience in his own world, he paid for depth of soul.

And she knew….she would give it to him, and like every other company he had acquired, he would never be able to fully understand her workings, but having her name in his portfolio, looked good.

She would marry him and it wouldn’t be for love.  She had love once, and it betrayed her.  One love, her heart held only one.   For others, it may be different, their hearts could hold many.  But not for her, this she knew, and accepted about herself.

So she would marry for purpose and in him she saw something bigger then what she could do alone.

She placed her hands palms up tracing the lines, remembering how her love’s lines fit into hers, and she could feel the Universe inside his hands, how soft they were.   She felt as though his hands were still in hers, but she realized, they were just the scars, the imprint of two stars touching each other, marks that could not be erased know matter how much she tried.

And she cried.

He would be here soon, to claim his prize, and she would show him music, and all the things he was missing….the dark deep waters of words, and he would smile and be awed, not understand a thing.  How could he, he never traveled beyond what was right in front of him.

And so, once more she locked her true self in, looking at her scars as the music brought forth all her grief again in a silent scream.

Then she wiped her tears away, and prepared herself…for the one who bought her.

 

 

Hope

Now we know why love and grief are one in the same.  And why we grieve…long after we’ve said goodbye.

For where love had trodden, in the secret places of souls. Where it has made its mark, and stiched itself into our hearts, there always will be hope, even when it seems most lost.

 

I dipped my nose in Hydrangea

I dipped my nose in the hydrangea breathing in its sweet colors.  I could have gotten lost there in the petals.

I was walking in the gardens of Ashland, Henry Clays home in Lexington, KY.  It is a beauty of a home. There is an openness and intelligence that resonates in the walls and the floor to ceiling windows.

I was already fangirling over a man that had been dead over 200 years.  The time and his life came alive with every story that the guide told… “and then he challenged him to a a duel…and can you believe the girls on my last tour did not know what a duel was?”  I sighed, of course I believed it.  A duel was so much more civilized then arguing over email or fake news.

I stopped and read a speech he gave after he was insulted by some Indiana Quakers.  “No,  sir!….I do not …”  good for you, I thought, utterly rude of them. Sounds like something I wrote once.

There is an energy and excitement about his words, vision for a nation, a passion for our country and government, rivals between himself and other founding fathers, such exciting men.  Movers and makers.

Thinkers and doers…not sedated by social media, and technology.

This period of time where you began your career at 14, books kept the mind awake, and life was lived fully.  Even with its hardships, there was an industry of mind and spirit, a civility or hear, that I simply don’t see as much today.

 

Sure…that’s a generalization, but to listen to the stories, ahhhh…the story of this mans life, and the women too, made me f eel connected.  His vision and idealism, still lingers and walks the grounds of Ashland, I am fortunate to take that same inspiration home with me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yankee Girl in Yoga Pants

I’m at the original Sanders cafe. Home of Kentucky Fried Chicken, the Colonel  the legend.  Just a yankee girl in yoga pants.

It’s a quiet cafe, lunch on a Friday, the local construction men are eating, not talking much, a stare and a polite nod of the head, as I get my unsweetened ice tea. Southern men really do have such a grace about them.

As I sit, eating which undoubtedly is great fried chicken, I’m reminded of my love of the south. I almost just kept on driving straight through to Louisiana, I longed for  quiet in a small town, a plantation, some hanging moss, and a Day lying in the grass at Jackson Square….or Charleston…next on my bucket list.

Somewhere slow where peoples words sounded like song.

I has was struggling with a situation, the details don’t matter…yet.  Maybe I’ll get more specific later in my writings in life.  It could be a book.  What you need to know is that I didn’t know what to do, and I was about to give up.  There was absolutely no one I could discuss it with, without being washed in a bucket of shame.  (Brene Brown…is a good writer to check out on this subject).

I had to handle this one…

Alone…without input or advice, no counsel, no help…just me and me…

And the only advice that came to mind was that of the fantastic JK Rowling, a fellow writer like me…with big ideas and a head full of story

I was set free because my greatest fear had been realized, and I still had a daughter who I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became a solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.-JK Rowling

So I ate my chicken,  and read the Colonels quote and realized…

I was going to have to do this…the hard way, that was important to me…not to give up, and take the easy road, but double down once more, get off the floor of my own shame and self pity, and Rise…once more …at 5 AM…and go to bed late and continue the ascent, with grit and hard work and a doggedly belief in myself and A power greater then myself.

If I put in the effort, he would carry me the rest of the way

 

 

 

 

Mason, Ohio Gives me Anxiety

The side walks began to disappear as large building after large building appeared out of asphalt.  They were huge structures, seemingly immaculate, but on further inspection there were cracks and trash in their corners and trash at their sides.  They held Walmart, Target, Costco, and the landscaping was Stepford Wife like.  All the same, all white, all, all sprayed with pesticides so my dragonflies and bees where no where to be found.

Mass consumerism was the theme of Mason.  Store after store.  Big TV’s Big Cars, Big Homes, big everything lacking soul.  The only way to get to anything was by car.  Of course my car was dropped off at the dealer for an oil change so I took myself to the only place I could feel comfortable.  A bookstore, and Barnes and Nobel was only a quick walk away.  Of course I had to make my way through parking lots and strip malls, but eventually I found myself home among my tribe, book people.

Of course, like everything in Big Bland Mason, it was huge, overly big but at least I was surrounded by words, the type of words that disliked big things as much as I did.

Suddenly, I became very aware of my desire not only to write, but to own my own small hide away bookstore.  A bookstore writers nook of a place, maybe somewhere in the OTR, you could walk to and read at.  I would have fantastic fountain pens and journals, music that made sense…like Phillip Glass or The National, not…whatever bland music was playing right now.

Why do we have to have everything supersized??

One of the book seller just wizzed by in a frustrated librarian fashion.  In fact, she wore a librarian skirt, and glasses and has long silver hair pulled back by a scrunchie.  She needs a small bookstore, or a library.  We need more libraries and bookstores…and people who don’t wear polos to speak to about music, and  books, and Narnia.

Ughhhhhhhhh….so I’m going to get some great tea…and write…and pray that the oil change finishes up quickly.  So I can return back to my small town, and my Magnolia house, and red chaise to dream of a better world for everyone.

A world with less anxiety brought on by big things.