But the secret I‘ve meant is not telling exciting, odd things, precious to you to people or to those at the time are not up for exciting, odd things, even if they’re not that odd and make sense…
As in, give them a chance, you never know who might like to hear some new story, but it’s also helped me to wrap up—if felt they are not enjoying it with you, even if they love you…
Not many people wish to talk about many things but it can be: Long day, bad cell phone connection, liking the clock to show an earlier hour, or just not knowing the subject and not curious about it, no problem.
I actually want myself to stop talking about secrets for now. I write them here for people to enjoy them in words or picture—Like a funeral redone for a dear heavenly poet who in one of the poems writes a loving poem of biting her baby brother in her life, but you can tell she’d loved him greatly:
Life, and looking for an angel to place on my highest bookshelf, liking the first one I’d found, but not liking that her dress looked coarsely painted as if by a serial killer, I try to paint her over, not done well.
I got another one on my birthday and am very happy with this one too, whom my mom and my sister said separately looked just like me, but I don’t think we physically resemble—actually, I see it now, and I resembled the other one too, I just wouldn’t wear the dress 😀, all pleasant in spirit as well. My sister had said I make this face when I look into a mirror.
I was also glad to meet a kind nun there who looked around my age and was just as excited about this ‘line of angels,’ yet not acting exactly as one might imagine a salesperson. I’d not seen her there again when I’d gone just a few times more this year…But was she really there? 🤔😊
My love and appreciation for beauty increased overall with someone who’s earth life ended feeling unloved, and helped me love the people in my life more along with her in soul and body: realizing there was more love to receive, letting it happen, communicating, words, letting go, knowing what is kind and unkind, working on some patience, distance and universal love…
I love that the pillows on my bed are bright and gentle, rare, that there are many—three decorative besides a pair of sleeping ones.
There are little catastrophes I don’t write of, everyday accidents of life, the truth is my memory isn’t really picking up or holding onto the hard things, inconveniences, traffic, accidentally putting all the bath towels in the washing machine already, mishearing that he’s not gone in shower yet, later than usual, they’re intangible…
There’s been a feeling I’d describe as a subtle scent of soft perfume around that’s more beautiful than the hard things, it feels like beauty. Ppl are stressed, we give them good prayers, do what we can to care for ourselves and help…
I have a poetrybook for years, Rumi’s Hidden Music, and I like the paintings inside it better than the words (This sounds a little insulting, unintended, there are other books with better translations of Rumi).
They’re interesting abstract paintings and mostly vertical. I still like tangible things and stories and poems. I’d started reading The Iliad a few times but I don’t want to read it now. I liked the Regency author Georgette Heyer’s writing style, I was not yet into the first chapter and she mentions the Sagittarius sign, it was so randomly placed for me in that passage and didn’t go on anymore at all, so they paused now in their Sagittarian March I’d written of last year in November. What next…what next…A dessert book!, not about desserts.
I like my new painting that’s like
cushioned pillows in way at this point, even in the sky (shhh, not yet) :), but the talk of creative process and meditation has made me want to talk about words again or write with words: I remember that I have a short story I started writing and with this lack of words I actually want to turn to words with that story in progress 🙂 I have a few dictionaries.
The scent of sugar wafers by a swimming pool in the sun makes me think of summer, that’s a kind of fact I remember.