SPRING

 

Spring
New Beginnings
Fresh Starts
Work together
Work apart
Progress
Hearts grow
Learn more of what you know
Grow and grow
Happy Spring

Laura

The Annual Awakening

 

It’s here again, Spring. The season of dramatic transformation of icy Winter into the earth warming into Spring.

Gardening tips hit the wavelengths. Seed planting starts. Allergy medicines are back on the drug store shelves. Empty landscapes show a little green here and there.

A chorus of birds singing joyful melodies, worms exiting the once frozen earth. Breeding season. Pink blossoms, yellow honey suckle, red crocus, blue tulips, purple lavender perfume the air.

Humans becoming exercise warriors after a winter of indoor games, picnics in the park, occasional snow squalls. There are farmers markets and outdoor festivals uplifting spirits.

The natural world is resilient, dying and renewing every year. Springtime is a reminder of the earth’s resilience and our own. It’s a time of Spring cleaning and spiritual renewal. A time of hope and new beginnings. Welcome Spring.

Georgia

When Spirits Dance

 

Spirits dance through us; their presence is woven into the very fabric of existence. Their spectral bodies remember what it was like to have been on this earth— sunlight, salt, love, freedom. We the living carry spirits in our bones and blood. Ancestors, ancients whose names are forgotten, spirits of place, spirits of affinity, spirits of local culture, spirits we adopt just because we like them. Sometimes spirits place their hand on our head because they like us. There is an ancient humming between their world and ours. Echoes of past worlds we only heard stories of.

We remember them in quiet sacred moments. We dedicate our very existence to their brief, fleeting dance. We light candles, incense, offer flowers and water to our personal deities in the hopes of bridging the gap between realms.

The spirits, seen and unseen accept our offerings with a flicker of the candlelight or the faint smell of roses. They are too perfect for this world.

There is an invisible dance, secret steps between spirits and humans. The spirits whisper truths and courage and warnings, if we listen.

At times we are in the wrong place at the wrong time or so we think. In times of fear, we call upon these invisible friends. The ones we heard of in childhood tales and guardians of long-lost doorways. This is not a rupture in reality or an ordinary mental escape. Spectral hands call us to see the past, present and future and all eternity with joy for them until we join them someday.

Through these mutual interactions we honor their memory, keep communication open and remember that life has many realities. Our spirits want to help us and guide us but they are very polite and will not intrude on our decisions unless they are obligated to keep us safe for our life’s journey.

My life beats in rhythmic dance with theirs. I welcome their intrusion and honored to dance for them.

Georgia

Alley of Whispers

 

It was a cold, dark, smelly part of town. No one goes there unless they are desperate, lovelorn, lost.

“Come in” said the old man with aged eyes and wry smile.

In I went, heart pounding, not even sure why I was there.

“Thanks” I said.

I saw antiques, pocket watches, ugly old jewelry, books, chairs covered in carpeting, yesteryears forgotten stuff

“How can I help you, young lady?” the proprietor said.

“I am here find true magic.” I replied with childish confidence.

“Magic? I am not sure what you mean” the small man’s voice trailed off.

“It is known that you know the secret to where magic begins and I can find answers to impossible questions.” I said as if I really knew what I was looking for.

“I see,” the man said. “How do I know you are sincere in this search?”

“Can I be honest with you and you will not reveal a secret I have? I said cautiously.

“Of course.” replied the man.

“Some nights I turn into a cat, other nights I turn into a sheep, occasionally I turn into bat.” I was nearly in tears, desperate for an answer.

“Come with me.” he said.

The kindness in this man’s eyes made me feel safe and comfortable. We went through a mist where shadows swirled and cracks in reality whispered secrets. Time stretched into eternity, minutes twinkled like fireflies.

This was the bridge between two worlds. I only needed one world the world where I belonged.

The city was quiet outside the little shop, the man left me and returned to his job of selling trinkets and tales. He knew I would find my way home.

Welcome to the Alley of Whispers.

Georgia

Lost Words

 

Words I still use from the 1960’s and 70’s.

Groovy: modern, smart, up to date as in fashion or I just like it.

Far Out: impressive, unusual, nonconformist, out of the ordinary.

Bummer: mishap, calamity, disappointment.

Dig It: like, appreciate, and understand.

Cool: used as an agreement, intensely good, admiration and enthusiasm for. Actually, this word has been used since the 1930’s.

Words no longer used from the 1960’s and 70’s

Eight-Track: I actually worked for a short time in a company that manufactured eight tracks. A music cassette format.

Bell bottoms: I had these while fashionable as a youth. In today’s fashion there are a few here and there. Bell bottoms have evolved into a much smaller flair from the knee to ankle.

Typewriter: no longer made and have been replaced with keyboards for computers.

Beehive: a hairstyle utilizing teasing the hair, massively sprayed with hair spray and piled on high on the head to look like a beehive. Thankfully we don’t do this anymore.

Solid: do a favor for, be reliable, good.

Mod: stylish, modern, up to date.

Update:

I can still type on my keyboard just like I did on an ancient typewriter in typing class many years ago. Most days are groovy. Today’s information age is far out. Technology can be a bummer for me. I still dig it when I find new videos to watch. I think it is so cool that eight tracks and bell bottoms are no longer mod. Beehive hairstyles are long gone and do me a solid, let’s keep ourselves evolving in every sense of the word.

Georgia P.

Re: Writing Assignment, Week of March 3

 

Assignment: Try your hand at writing the first two paragraphs of an original fairytale that uses a season as its point of departure.

The winter storm came through like a frozen sirocco, laying down nature with its blustery, cold wind and freezing rain.  To be outside on a furious night like that would be injurious, if not ruinous.  We had left our hockey sticks and gloves on the front lawn, now covered by an unhinged thousand pine needles, small twigs and sizeable branches.  Our frozen hockey sticks were no less better-off than the fallen branches.  We could hear the tree branches moan all night, as we were happy to be safely snug in our dry beds, hoping and praying that the roof would not fall in on us. Weather-worn and rattled, the stoic pine tree, with dripping tears of sap, once again stood strongly.  The storm had passed.  Now was the time for clean-up and a reassessment of the domicile and property.  My Mom stayed inside the house, preparing some hot soup and sandwiches for when we finished our collective work.  My Mom was awesome like that. 

   My Dad would often rally the family forces for a concerted and efficient yard clean-up.

My pugnacious brother, always the clown, gave me the business with an ice-frozen hockey glove, right in the kisser.  In retaliation, I threw him to the frozen, snow-covered ground, much to his displeasure.  To this day, we will grapple until one of us dies.  The snowy front lawn was strewn with tattered twigs, broken branches, and the detritus of a damaged Dogwood tree nearby.  The hockey gloves were as cold as ice and may take weeks to dry.  It was bitter cold, nearly inhospitable.  As we picked up scored of branches and twigs around the yard, our hands were getting cold, and our dogs were barking. (Our feet were cold)  Our family dog, McKinley, frolicked with us in the snow, sometimes treacherously underfoot.  Snow angels were not an option at this time.  Our dog just wanted to have fun.

   The fallen branches, once thawed out in our wood shed, would, in days and weeks to come, delight us in bringing satisfying sustenance to our fireplace, and, in turn, to our winter-chilled frames. 

   This winter storm even frightened the local raccoons, and possums, and rabbits, and squirrels, and birds.  Even the fiercest animals in the region, the bears, and coyotes, and sturdy deer all ran inside to tell the others not to go out in this hellish weather. Even the werewolves, which my neighbor said prowled the neighborhood, stayed home.

   It was Mother Nature telling us all who is the boss, and man and animal understood fully.  The winter’s icy snow and wind prune the trees and shrubs yearly of their weaker limbs.  This natural process gives us firewood and plenty of good reason to be thankful for the sturdy roof over our pretty little heads.

 

Richard Melnick

March 3, 2024

"Pan"

 

Pan was a harlot and whore. He ran after anything that brought his own pleasure without returning it. That being said in the excerpt from the tender countenance of Elizabeth Barrette Browning about Pan speaks of her very own passionate unrequited love.

Unreturned love is a painful, long lasting, shame invoking and obsessive thinking, cringe worthy, uncomfortable psychological state that can last for weeks, many years, or a lifetime. Many a murder and permanent destruction of lives have occurred because of unrequited love. Fortunately, and thankfully in our modern times there is a word and definition for it.

Limerence: coined by psychologist Dorothy Tennov in 1979 is the involuntary obsession of a person. Many people experience this unexpected state of persistent desire for another. Healthy people move through the infatuation, crystallization, destruction phases and go back to normal. Emotionally challenged individuals take longer to recover. Those on the OCD, autism and schizophrenic scale have a much harder time to let things go.

The difference between limerence and love is that love is caring about the wellbeing of the person and limerence is about the uncertainty of the situation.

Limerence is tied to trauma and abandonment and neglect from childhood. Those who experience extreme limerence don’t realize they are trying to rectify unstable childhood family experiences through reenacting them in the present. This repeated reenactment is the minds way of saying hey you better look at this because it is getting in the way of healthy relationships.

How does one overcome Limerence?

Be aware of what you are feeling. Limit contact with the obsession. Prioritize your own self-care. Challenge the obsessive thoughts. Redirect your energy. Avoid replacing one obsession with another. Have a strict no contact rule. Write in a journal. Talk to a therapist. Join support groups. Research limerence and understand how it is playing out in your life.

Note that time will eliminate limerence.

I am not sure if Syrinx in this encounter with Pan ever got the chance to escape the water nymphs turning her into cattail reeds but Pan got his comeuppance in the sense that he had his own case of limerence. At least for a while until his next desire came along.

Georgia

Untitled - RM

  

The winter storm came through like a frozen sirocco, laying down nature with its blustery, cold wind and freezing rain.  To be outside on a furious night like that would be injurious, if not ruinous.  We had left our hockey sticks and gloves on the front lawn, now covered by an unhinged thousand pine needles, small twigs and sizeable branches.  Our frozen hockey sticks were no less better-off than the fallen branches.  We could hear the tree branches moan all night, as we were happy to be safely snug in our dry beds, hoping and praying that the roof would not fall in on us. Weather-worn and rattled, the stoic pine tree, with dripping tears of sap, once again stood strongly.  The storm had passed.  Now was the time for clean-up and a reassessment of the domicile and property.  My Mom stayed inside the house, preparing some hot soup and sandwiches for when we finished our collective work.  My Mom was awesome like that. 

   My Dad would often rally the family forces for a concerted and efficient yard clean-up.

My pugnacious brother, always the clown, gave me the business with an ice-frozen hockey glove, right in the kisser.  In retaliation, I threw him to the frozen, snow-covered ground, much to his displeasure.  To this day, we will grapple until one of us dies.  The snowy front lawn was strewn with tattered twigs, broken branches, and the detritus of a damaged Dogwood tree nearby.  The hockey gloves were as cold as ice and may take weeks to dry.  It was bitter cold, nearly inhospitable.  As we picked up scored of branches and twigs around the yard, our hands were getting cold, and our dogs were barking. (Our feet were cold)  Our family dog, McKinley, frolicked with us in the snow, sometimes treacherously underfoot.  Snow angels were not an option at this time.  Our dog just wanted to have fun.

   The fallen branches, once thawed out in our wood shed, would, in days and weeks to come, delight us in bringing satisfying sustenance to our fireplace, and, in turn, to our winter-chilled frames. 

   This winter storm even frightened the local raccoons, and possums, and rabbits, and squirrels, and birds.  Even the fiercest animals in the region, the bears, and coyotes, and sturdy deer all ran inside to tell the others not to go out in this hellish weather. Even the werewolves, which my neighbor said prowled the neighborhood, stayed home.

   It was Mother Nature telling us all who is the boss, and man and animal understood fully.  The winter’s icy snow and wind prune the trees and shrubs yearly of their weaker limbs.  This natural process gives us firewood and plenty of good reason to be thankful for the sturdy roof over our pretty little heads.

 

Richard Melnick

March 3, 2024.