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Marcela: Unfiltered

Tag Archives: Power

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The Bright Red Freighter  

16 Monday Mar 2020

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Humanity, Life, Power, Truth

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There have been others since I came to live here, but you commanded and kept my attention, from the first time ever, that I saw your extraordinarily bright, red paint.

And since that moment, when you dwarfed everything around you and obligated me to see you, I have wanted to get closer, wanted to get a better view, and always wanted, always yearned, to see you again.

I needed to experience your power, relentlessly, and with great fervor. And for weeks now, I have been captivated by you, visually, psychologically, emotionally, and with irrevocable commitment.

And I have compulsively sought you out, with the diligence and precision of a skilled stalker, from every vantage point, in this hilly town.

For weeks now, each and every morning, I have clambered groggily up to the step-stool view in my sleeping chamber, because knowing you were there allowed me to face another day, and I have been awed by the turmoil you create, deep, so deep inside me.

For weeks now, each and every evening, no matter how fatigued, I bid you good night, because you give me some measure of consolation, succour, in my solace-less world.

You have represented all that is true about me, the contradictions, and I am as contentiously conflicted about you, as I am about most things.

Your intensity screamed to my own; and like the others in the bay, like me, you are a political and personal hot-potato, and I love you-I hate you, come here-go away, fuck-off, no! fuck-on!

And you present me with a familiar quandary: what is right for the world around me versus what I get, what I need, from you, from the world around me.

And so by direct extension, you have been a secret, conflicted indulgence, analogous for me, to beautiful footwear, but made in China by slaves and their enslaved children.

And I have viewed you with my naked eyes, and through binoculars, and I have captured you with my camera over and over again, from my step-stool view, from the highway coming home, from my excursions on the hilly trails, and from my perambulations about the town.

And this morning, when I opened the curtain to greet you, you knocked the breath right out of me, for the light had you glowing in shades of gold and pewter, and I was mesmerized, shaken to the core, by the beauty of you, and the light, the indescribable, iridescent light, and the way you played together, with, and in the sea.

And I remembered Barrett-Browning, and knew I will do well to concern myself with, fly toward the light, despite additional bruising of my oh-so broken wings.[1]

And my despair collided head-on inside me with the memory of who I am, the shine and vibrancy used to describe me for decades by others, now hoarded away far too long, by me, recently, because: pain.

And I wonder; if like me, despite meticulous maintenance of mechanical parts and attention to aesthetic details, you may meet an undignified, rusted out, abandoned, demise?

But your light rouses me from the melancholy of this early morning reverie and while you are neither Sunflower[2] nor Water Lily[3] on a A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte[4], van Gogh, Monet, Seurat alike[5], would have been as awestruck by that light show, by your radiance, as I.

So it is little wonder that this evening, upon reaching the place on the highway, the place where I always spy you first, returning from my hated-reality, hot tears burned my cheeks with a vengeance that took me by surprise, but at the same time, not at all.

For I realized that you had left me, as I knew you would; suspected this very morning, that today might be that day, the day I find you gone.

And all that, in a painful morning stupor, while bedazzled, so very smitten, by your glow, your nod to me, to heed Browning’s wise words, to keep fluttering my wings, toward the light, toward my light.

And I am so very grateful, to me, for all the times I hunted you down, from yet another place and angle. I am richer for having enjoyed you, and you fueled, no, you ignited, new fantasies of leaving, to live my art, whenever my eyes, my heart, the core of me, met your steel girth, your vibrant and vivacious red coat.

And I never coveted you more than this morning, never appreciated you more, than in those parting moments, when you willfully, boastfully even, occupied that space, your space in the vast vast sea, wearing the gold,

of the Queen you are.

~Marcela: one skin, 58.7 years, life/version 19.9, and counting.

March 04, 2020

[1] https://www.brainpickings.org/2018/03/05/elizabeth-barrett-browning-happiness/

[2] https://www.vincentvangogh.org/sunflowers.jsp

[3] https://www.claude-monet.com/waterlilies.jsp

[4] https://mymodernmet.com/georges-seurat-a-sunday-afternoon-on-the-island-of-la-grande-jatte/

[5] https://www.oxfordartonline.com/page/impressionism-and-post-impressionism/impressionism-and-postimpressionism

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Commentaries: On what matters to me, Life Lessons & Stories, Poetry

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Shine on you crazy fucking diamonds!

08 Tuesday Nov 2016

Tags

Elections, Humanity, Love, Power, Truth

I believe, fully, that no matter the outcome of the US election tonight, there will be dark dark times ahead, for all of us. When choice A and choice B both suck this badly, it does not feel as though anyone actually wins, least of all the citizenry of this planet. It matters not what bigger or smaller piece of it we call home, this impacts all of us, BIG. The only way I believe I can stay sane, not sink into a bottomless pit of despair, stay willing to live at all, in the midst of it, is to work harder than ever at being a light. As we roll full speed, and without having boarded this hell-train voluntarily, into the scariest of fucking scary tunnels eVer, I refuse, just fucking refuse, to capitulate to yet another despot, don’t care what genitalia they wear. Not even the invasion of the former Soviet Union into my homeland as I sat on my granny’s knee, felt this hideous, but I digress… I believe as fully, that it is incumbent upon all of us, more so than ever, to shake off the coal dust and become the fucking diamonds we are inside, shine with everything we all have, so that our children and grandchildren, actually have a future. The artists, the fighters, the poets, the writers, every day humans with humanity and humility, and above all, with spirits bigger than blather and all the money in the world, it’s time to take it back! One, single, bigger or smaller, thoughtful, good, kind, decision, choice, and deed, at a time. With all the Love I have,
~Marcela.

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Rants & Other Musings: Unfiltered-Raw

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Contradictions… III

21 Monday Sep 2015

Tags

Fear, Life, Love, Poetry, Power, Self

female-fragment-1.PaigeBradley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contradictions… III

I am…
…loosely cemented… no, inured and secured… of far sighted vision… sight lines fully obscured… entire… no partial… I cower… no rise… small silly child… no, crone oh-so -wise… zig zag and waver… no, I walk a strong gait… run to a finish line… no (im)patiently wait… emptiness, hollow… fill my bottomless soul… stubborn… no willing… fragmented… no whole… pieces of puzzles falling down to a floor… fall apart… no together… build a wall… no, a door… treasure inside… open it, open it… no, slam it shut… should have known better… Pandora! You slut.

~Myla: unknowingly certain.
September 21, 2015

Image: Female Fragment, with masses of love and gratitude for the art of Paige Bradley

 

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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, The 'L' Word, Unfettered

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