The Palace Park

The Palace Park

Monday, 23 September 2013

Throwing a wish out

Oh, darlingist ghost...what can I say? My sweet prince, my bluest phantom...people think I am morbid if I seem to dwell and foolish when I say 'I would love more children;  I would love to adopt.' I say this with feeling, with intent. It seems not enough. The biological intent of OTHERS continues on. The OTHERS, are --  I firmly believe -- THEY. And I only wish I could hear your voice questioning me about 'Who they' are...and yet whilst I write it, I lie...This is not all I wish.

...In the  mean time, my bluest prince, we have moved. Of late we are in New Orleans, a city that fulfils every fairy- and cautionary- tale I could spin you and your sister the Squid, she of which is currently with my just seemed safer, with so much uncertainty and inconsistency on the horizon.

We are now living in the space of other people. In other people's space. And it is in what should be a perfect brick and concrete haven that I realise the bottom has long fallen from under my feet. Conversations escalate with an intensity that shocks even us. And we ARE the conversation: we are the sound, the shape, the anger, the love, the hate that erupts forth.

In 4 weeks time, I go to a meeting where I am to have achieved things.

All I can do is say I saw a film once where a man walked the Campino de Santiago in memory of his son. #CampMighty2013

The rest...well, your sister is a brilliant beacon and is her own light.  I disclose her travails when and where appropriate. She is mighty and fierce and there is no line in the sand, fairest one. Helena Handbasket is a force with whom even your mighty papa does  not reckon.

And yet...she doesn't yet know about you but knows of you. I wish I could explain the way her head tilts at times for words and music that move at a timbre only she can hear, in that moment, of another's time.

We are at the moment in a city of great beauty, sadness, and at a major crossroads, in major physical and literal ways that even make even me cache a cautionary eye and I all I can keep saying to myself is 'Go forward. Go on.'

Tuesday, 9 April 2013

Grove Road is as busy as my old street ever was but the house is set back off the road a bit more and it is a whole house.  I came up to London yesterday, leaving your sister to wear out your dad and walked up Bear Road to Carrow Bridge, the long way around to the station, just because I could. I wondered if Julian of Norwich ever walked this way before her vow of silence, before taking her contemplative vow of silence, before writing the LONG TEXT.  I wonder that I've finally found my way to live near her grace, after years of being pulled ever-so-lightly to Norwich.

'What,' she might say, 'is a nice Jewish gal like you doing in a place like?' But no , it seems far more likely that she'd say 'Oh, you're here! How lovely...'

We've left London and where we go now, well, only the wind and the stars know, ultimately. But you're with us, my fair sweet prince.

This is now a moment of trotzdem a zum leben sagen.  Indeed, 'yes' is but a 3 letter word and one to use more often than I have in the past