A Reprise

I am working though an idea I had about living without a computer. This week I am working through making posts from my Nook.

I am so in love with releasing my physical things. When I give away or sell something I don’t use, I feel even more freedom. I feel my life is changing quickly, and it’s exciting and intoxicating. One day Nathan will come home, and he will say, “Where is your computer? Where is your car? Where is any of your stuff?” And I will stop dancing with the faeries in the field for a moment and run up to him and say, “I have sold it on eBay. What I couldn’t sell I donated.” Because of what I’ve let go of, I feel so much more. At first it was hard to know what I would use and what I wouldn’t, but going ahead with it I’ve learned and become much faster at sorting through cabinets and drawers and identifying what I can discard. I have such a great urge to get rid of everything. I just have a sense that everything is going to change, and we need to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. We need freedom and ability to travel where we want. When I say “we,” I am talking about myself, but th

http://www.crystalinks.com/hopi2.html Leaving everything behind All possessions and their worries Destruction, complication and demands The society is over Going to where my heart always wanted to be finally Uncovered and vulnerable and now tested, nowhere to hide behind No more conflict Those who were greedy and selfish lost The society is over So much freedom and further opportunity to clarify my understanding No more worries about material things No more worries about clothing This is an endless summer where you are accepted as you are Leave everything behind Breathe, accept and forgive yourself Nature is the Mother, and she will take care of the damages you made Be still and watch her work Help her, and learn from her Eventually the damages will be repaired And the land will be natural again And we will be free

Art at Avoca Coffee , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr.

Blushing rose , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr. My blushing Knock-out roses are blooming profusely.

Peaches ripening , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr.

Cammie's Ice Cream Shop , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr. My favorite stop in Mobile. The vintage Dutch-themed wallpaper reminded me of the illustrations in my vintage Betty Crocker cookbook. The coffee-flavored ice cream I had was delicious.

Mobile Bay , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr. Lying in the tide, right where the waves turned over, and feeling a slight undertow ever so often as one wave advanced and the other receded at the same time. The salty, foamy water turning my hair into something I didn't recognize, an orang-ing, dry, straggling mass that hung over my shoulders for three days untended. Delightful crabs scuttling across the sand, white as bone or pearl.

Dauphin Island shore , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr. I want so much to believe that I won't disappear in the water, that I won't always be swimming against the tide. -- Darren Hayes It was easy to believe it in this place.

Dauphin Island shore , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr. Taken by the sea.

Tonight I resumed knitting my black shirt, sitting on the front porch. Then, I walked down to the pond and there I saw a large vulture devouring a snake. I uncovered many more thoughts, and half-finished thoughts, and more of what I don't know, about what is important to me and my feelings about people, and the earth. I thought about who and what I long to be.

I'm moving the story into a sort of rural, sort of urban steampunk setting, but I haven't been able to think of any good technology yet. I have been thinking about some high-tech steampunk farm equipment though.  The ringing of the school bell signaling the start of class could be heard throughout the entirety of the little town.  Antonia Primm, the new schoolmistress, stood nervously at the front of the room as the children dashed in, their disorder, laughter and general irreverence increasing her uneasiness. The former schoolmistress had, unfortunately, eloped, after over half a semester of wandering under the apple trees with a farmer, scrawling poetry in the composition books from which Miss Primm now must teach, and allowing her students to do whatever they pleased. The students had brought with them a wisp of spring pollen that brought Miss Primm dangerously close to a sneeze.  "Ahem." Miss Primm's brows raised, and with it her voice as she

This has been in my stickies forever. I haven't been able to find anything to add to it. "I don't know what it was," the one young lady said, trembling, to her companion. "In the woods, past the cemetery yonder, in the twilight was a girl's form. She was white as a pearl, with wind-tumbled black hair. Her eyes burned like coals. She was a ghost, a ghost, I tell you." "No," Mrs. Tibbet said calmly, pouring the tea. "That was Shirley Nightingale. Everyone around here knows Shirley. She is good and kind, but strange. She likes to do good things for people. She makes gifts for the folks around here and leaves them on their doorstep. But everyone knows the gifts come from Shirley. She has the strangest imagination. She makes wooden carvings of animals like no one has seen. Some folks say Shirley is a witch. But she's not. She's just a little touched." "I want to speak to her," Willow said, who had never exper

I'm sitting in a Starbucks, like I normally am when I am writing in this journal. It is kind of funny, I was just wondering to myself, do I like living in the country, or in the city better, and would it be all the same for me in a suburb moreover? I have found actually that maybe I have changed, that maybe my preferences have changed, that being alone or being in silence too much is actually very painful for me. This is so different than it used to be. I don't know if I suck at making conversation with people or what. I like to think I am always better than I think I am. It gives me confidence. As I was sitting here a man mentioned to me that I always used to hang out at the Starbucks on Green Oaks. Wow, that brought back such memories. Do you realize how many years ago that was? At least seven. We both expressed serious regret about that place closing down. I started scenes and characterizations there that I haven't been able to finish because the characters are "t

This is what I really want to do this summer, photograph historical cemeteries wherever I go. The feeling I get in cemeteries is like nothing else, and I really feel like myself there. I feel like I need to be there, and I always feel welcomed, and like I am visiting a place that other people seldom go, and I do feel a loneliness and a welcoming presence there. I have felt that way since I started doing it in middle school. I feel like in historical cemeteries that I do connect with people from the past in a personal way. For some reason a few weeks ago I just really wanted to start visiting and photographing cemeteries again, and I have taken hundreds of photographs since then. I don't edit and put things up very quickly, but the personal experiences of solace and history I have there are important to me.

Today I was overwhelmed with the need to work on my story (stories?), my fantasy world. There are so many options. There are two complete novels in existence. One half-finished, which is the prequel, and then the Cassandra story I've written sporadically on this blog as a postlude story. So that was going to be a five book series. Now that I'm reading Story Structure Architect I don't know if I need to combine these stories into parallels. Now that I'm really thinking about where the core energy and interest lies, it means I'm going to have to let go of some of the things about the stories, which is really painful. I really like the extensive flashbacks and the extra characters, but these stories are so unfocused and just whatever I like is thrown in there. I have to focus myself on the energies and not get caught up in the surface appeals. I made myself sit here for an hour and work on this pretty cold after probably a year of no editing or structure study.

The rain slammed hard against the thick, old window panes of my aunt's house. It was the kind of torrential storm that made the indoors seem safe, sheltering and warm. Then a crack of lightning illuminated a thin, white figure standing against the side of my neighbor's home. A tall, spindly figure soaked through. A thin, bare white arm plastered against the window pane. I rose to my feet and stared, my face to the glass as I observed the flailing arm. I ran to the kitchen. "Aunt Mary," I said. "There's a girl outside in the rain. I want to take her something." Aunt Mary turned from her preparations at the stove. "Don't fool with that girl," she said. "That's Shirley. She doesn't want anything from you. Everyone feels sorry for Shirley. But you have to leave Shirley alone." "She's trying to get into that house. They won't let her in." My voice had risen in disbelief. "Do you know why sh

I dreamed last night that I really ought to write in my journal. I don't know if I should relate the actual dream, or if I should relate anything at all. Everything around me is so unformed and undecided. I struggle every moment for grounding. It is impossible to say just what I mean (T.S. Eliot says ;) ) !! Not that my life is in crisis, but this is an interior struggle. I feel like my mind is ascending again, that some old things are falling away, that I'm realizing things. I realize as I write this that I'm in the last two weeks of Death. What I'm describing is actually my best understanding of the Death card (arcanum? sephirab?). Things are dying, things are falling away to be replaced with newness. Renewal is occurring, but I'm in the darkest part. I feel everything I touch is crumbling. Every idea I knock on is hollow. And the ones that aren't require the same thing. It's the same story. Giving up more of myself, admitting my personality is an illusi

That I won't disappear in the water. That I won't always be swimming against the tide." --Darren Hayes, Taken by the Sea There is no division between his words and my feelings. In this life I have met the same people over and over again. I confront the same forces again and again. When I was a child I had a parakeet who was beautiful and precious to me. She died in an accident that was my fault. Really since then I have never known such an intensity of grief and remorse. I truly, yearned to die when I had killed her. My feelings were so immense that there was almost no way that something couldn't be done about it. A few years later my stepfather brought home another bird, a cockatiel, a male, really, but when I held him and spent time in his presence, I knew he was the same bird that she had been. It was actually her. And I know it just as well now as I did then, years ago. And whenever I have wanted something, so dearly, it has come, and I know there is no w

I'm not getting smarter or "above" blogging or anything. In one sense my standards are too high, and I avoid posting when I am in a perfectionist mood. I fought that mood this weekend and won. I am sloppy, messy, irresponsible Amanda with the chores not done and I'm even procrastinating getting home. If I am perfectionist I'm not open-minded, and I feel shielded from the sun, always a little cold in shadow. I know in order for me to live I have to let go of keeping it all together. I just try to keep it most together, but my focus is not on cleanliness or order. My focus is on my dreams and my passions. My dreams and my passions for Southeast Asia are so intense. Last night I lay awake picturing the sun-baked pagodas lying in ruin in Pagan, Burma, and I could feel warm wind on my face and this expanse where I was surrounded by ruins untended, and there was no one but me just lying there in the grass. I pictured the sky as warm and sunny, but with deep clouds t

Tea Embassy, Austin, TX , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr. One of my favorite places was featured in this month's Tea Time.

Last night I could not sleep. I got up and went downstairs to the kitchen. Jenny tried to follow me, but she was plainly confused. Eating something at 2 a.m. is not really part of our routine. I ate, and I drank a cup of tea, and I was really awake. I went and read Shirley  for two hours. I realized I am coming really close to the end now. I have enjoyed this novel so thoroughly, but to tell the truth, I am really anxious to start some other novels soon. I have such a long list. Lately I picked up my old American Romantics textbook and became fascinated with James Fenimore Cooper. And I also realized I need to re-read all of the Poe. Shirley  is captivating. Bronte's text thrums with passion. It is not for everyone. Sometimes I wish she would have left off the last couple of sentences explicating a point. Speaking of Bronte! I found my hardbound copy of Jane Eyre . There was only one of them, and it was over a week ago. I was going to buy it today, but I got out of work

I have changed my journal template into something so cold and professional that I really cannot even bear to look at it. I would like to return to making my own journal layout from scratch, but there are some new style technologies I need to catch up to, and this isn't the point in time for me to be scratching at web code, though I have been doing good about learning other things. Actually, I have had a vision about combining this journal with The Magic Circle . That journal is still in my old layout style and cannot take advantage of any  new web features, but I feel like these journals are sisters, and actually, there is a third sister, that is becoming so real and so essential to my self-expression I am thinking of bringing that journal into it too. They need to be three separate journals, but I would like to see them joined, affiliated, or even on the same page in two (or three) columns. Is that mad? But Blogger took away FTP posting, so combining these journals on a sepa

My heart yearns, and it reaches. I find myself in a place where the only truth is silence. I feel like I have ascended upward into another room, and this room is empty because I have not yet populated it with thoughts and feelings. But I could not stay in the previous room any longer. Something made me move. It would be wrong to say it is ambition, or that this room is better than my previous room. It is more like the other room is just not mine any more. It is an old thing, a memory. I yearn and reach toward life, and in the old room there is not life. I feel like I spoke of this before, but I don't have time to go through this journal and find it. I have a feeling I said it a couple of years ago. Maybe more, maybe less. Time is frightening. It's grave. I will come across something perhaps I have not updated for a year, even though it will seem like mere weeks. Or two or three years will pass. Today is gray and lonely. Somehow I am not hurt by it though. Somehow I feel

With infinite care Oriente leafed through the old diary, which had been lovingly hand-sewn with thread. Pearls or some sort of bead had adorned the cover, but they had long since been lost. She laid aside the journal with a strange feeling that transcended the clinical atmosphere of her work room. It seemed profane to touch the journal with white cotton gloves or view it beneath a dim fluorescent light. She had never believed in ghosts or considered their existence in a meaningful sense. But she felt that someone was speaking to her now. She was a stranger to love or friendship. Those sentiments, she felt, belonged to a gentler time, like the time when this girl had lived. This was a fast-paced era, not a time to write one's heart into a journal or literally fade away from love. And this was not a time of friendship. She considered herself a listener of friendship. She had overheard many friendships, and she had been invited into friendships with other women. When she looke

Roses , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr.

First light , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr. It looks like today may be as yesterday was. I noticed this morning the moon is waning at about 50%.

Morning , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr. I've never seen so many blackbirds around the house before. Their cries sound like hundreds of rusty hinges all at the same time.

"Yellow Woman and a Beauty of the Spirit" I thought hard about re-recording this, because at times I feel like I'm being too forthright. ;) But I decided to keep it for the passion and sincerity, and of course there is Olive's cameo.

We would be in perfect sympathy, perfect understanding.  It is the tragedy of my life to have missed her sweet presence by mere months.  If I had come those months ago before the Markgraf had become engaged to Adelia, would he have married me?  Delphinia ceased her scrawl, laid down her pen and took up her cane, and paced the room. She might have wished to guard her private words from the sights of others, but she was too distracted to think clearly. The open pages lay on her desk as moments later, she pulled her shawl from where it lay at the back of a chair and wound it around her, stepping from the room. Like an unloved person the natural scene outside had grown starker and crueler at winter's onset. It was impossible to behold the gray, still scene without a shiver. It was pitiless without even one shriveled brown leaf clinging to a branch. It was tea time, but the sky was already darkening. Lamps were lit in the hallway. Up ahead in the gloom Delphinia could see

I don't remember at all! I'll just have to make something up.

Diary 2012 , a photo by ladyhildegarde on Flickr. Started today!