Edgar and Evangeline

Begin

2010-02-15T19:15:00.000-08:00

How will I get back?
If I should dare begin
a descent
into the darkness of memory;
who will be there
to pull me back?
If I become lost
as I have been lost before?
I am scared to feel this;
I want to be brave,
brave enough to share
a journey that began gently, silently.
The memory really, really hurts.
My tears flood the page,
bile burns the back of my throat.
I feel my head throb.
My arms, heavy weights.
Too heavy to lift my pencil.

"I walked fast and faster.
I ran and ran.
I ran very far, very fast.
If only I could run fast enough
I could run past myself;
turn around,
and meet myself running up the road;
and in that moment,
I could make everything right again.
Then I realized...there was no before..."

Evangeline.

Alone

2008-11-18T17:54:00.000-08:00

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
For all I loved, I loved alone.
Then - in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent or the fountain,
from the red cliff of the mountain,
from the sun that round me rolled
In it's autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Edgar Allan Poe

2008-08-30T23:57:00.000-07:00

every tragedy needs a witch,
someone to blame
i am the witch

i am sad for her and sorry for you,
i think it odd you consider yourselves
such dear friends of his

suicide or murder, it is all just talk
you have your paintings, bits and pieces
she has her anger and the name
i am going away and i have the most
i have his love
which he showered upon me
and i have his eternal soul
which he willing gave me

so squabble and talk
till your tongues stiffen
for i am gone with my beloved
and i pity the 4 of you
i bless you for this heartless attack on me
i bless you for the renewal of the same
let it be said then that
i am the witch in this tragedy

wolfgang is free now and
i will watch over him forevermore
Evangeline

The Dream

2008-08-22T23:44:00.000-07:00

"In visions of the dark night
I have dream'd of joy departed —
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken hearted..."
Edgar Allan Poe

Tower

2008-08-22T20:40:00.000-07:00

To be loved by him is to be complete.
My heart is overflowing with memories,
satin and silk and softest cashmere,
obscure moments in hidden corners,
beds of damp green moss in the woods,
I offered that which he asked of me;
to believe in him, to be near,
to yield to his desire..

I am so cold.
I abandoned him in his love of me.
Fiercely jealous;
I felt I gave him no cause.

Am I to tread the streets alone?
To stand at the'end of the world'
where first he kissed my hand?
Where is the comfort of my stone tower now?
How proud and aloof I have been;
with my moral holier than thou code.

I deny myself seeing his body one last time,
I yearn to be tormented till my last breath...
for him to stand behind me,
evermore
out of reach,
would be kinder even,
than the empty coldness that entombs me...

My soul cries for his company...
I will not seek, I do not deserve
nor do I wish for relief in my wretchedness.
Yesterday I walked in the cold wet wind,
my velvet coat unbuttoned,
my silk blouse damp with rain,
I was numb with cold and felt alive.
I know now, I will always be cold.

Evangeline

2008-08-09T18:05:00.000-07:00

What would you do if I were in your arms right now?

If I offered you my wine glass,

would you take a big mouthful;

and kissing me,

trickle the red syrup down my throat?

We could pretend it was blood,

and I, Angelina Jolie.

Evangeline

Non-intervention

2008-08-03T19:15:00.000-07:00

"I never think I am the one
who must see to it
that cherries grow on stalks.
I stand and behold,
admiring what nature can do."
Jung

i carry your heart with me

2008-08-02T19:27:00.000-07:00

i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it
(anywhere i go you go,my dear;
and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)
i want no world
(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher
than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

E.E. Cummings

2008-08-02T19:22:00.000-07:00

Have I offended and caused you great pain?
Why won't you talk with me?
Is it because of the trifling rain,
that you can't walk with me?
Am I impatient, an endless refrain,
over and over I hear your voice calling
me, calling my name.

Evangeline

2008-08-02T19:12:00.000-07:00

No-one would suspect I yearn for anything,
for that is the independent face
I present to others.
I never venture from my home
unless I feel confidently in control
of my emotions and general behaviour.
I appear to be managing very well,

no-one could imagine

the streams of tears inside.

Evangeline

2008-08-02T19:08:00.000-07:00

Every fragment of myself is being re-ordered,

balancing a deeper instinct.

Evangeline

A Letter of Sorts.

2008-08-01T22:16:00.000-07:00

So my darling what shall I say?
What marvelous intrigues will happen today?
Shall I tell you some truth or stories I've read,
or perhaps some more of what's in my head.
Hmm, where to begin...

I think that in essence you long to be free,
to swim the long river till you reach the sea,
the cool salty water soothing your skin,
protecting and coating with droplets of foam,
with firm gentle strokes of seaweeds and stone.
To choose the white water and wild river raging,
will cause you to smile;
yet so does to bask and float on your back,
to feel the tides pulling and pushing you,
this way and that:
and still remain free.
The tide is within you, deep down inside,
and only you know where you need to glide,
the deep sea gulfs, the gentle lagoon,
to shimmer in sunlight and shine under moon.
What more can I tell you watery man?
Your world is older than elfin dreams,
older than time,
older than legends we hear of in rhyme.
Will you lead me through the murky depths,
to rise on the waves and harness the crests?
Will you hold me near in your watery world
and share with me secrets of sand, shells and pearl?
I can only stay for the shortest of time,
I'm a stranger in your world as you are in mine.
Evangeline
*****

Eleonora

2008-08-01T22:05:00.000-07:00

"But the void within my heart refused,
even thus, to be filled.
I longed for the love which had before
filled it to overflowing."
Edgar Allan Poe

2008-08-01T21:30:00.000-07:00

There are those who believe

I have little depth and no feeling.

I understand their bafflement

upon finding I too, bleed.

Evangeline

2008-08-01T21:23:00.000-07:00

One of my deepest longings is this; to be loved for myself, for this is who I truly am; myself. Over years I have forgotten how desperately I need to be loved. I cried aloud to the dark, “please love me”, there was no reply, no stir of air, no cool touch against my burning cheek, only silence.

Evangeline

2008-08-01T21:20:00.000-07:00

New whispers of feeling are beginning to stir within my heart.

The moment is complex and full of changes, questions arise.

I feel wild and dark and vulnerable, and light and gentle and free: a paradox?

Yes, for both statements together are true.

Evangeline

Jane Eyre

2008-08-01T20:51:00.000-07:00

"I must dislike those who, whatever I do to please them, persist in disliking me. I must resist those who punish me unjustly. It is as natural as that I should love those who show me affection, or submit to punishment when I feel it is deserved."
Charlotte Bronte

Hymn

2008-08-01T20:28:00.001-07:00

"Oh, the love of my Lord is the essence
Of all that I love here on earth.
All the beauty I see, He has given to me,
And his giving is gentle as silence.

Every day, every hour, every moment,
Have been blessed by the strength of His love.
At the turn of each tide, He is there at my side,
And his touch is as gentle as silence.

There've been times when I've turned from his presence,
And I've walked other paths, other ways,
But I've called on his name, in the dark of my shame
And his mercy was gentle as silence."

2008-08-01T20:22:00.001-07:00

I can see the value of happiness while accepting it is not everything.
I can see the value of success, without blowing a gasket being a "workaholic".
I can see the value of seizing opportunity as well as helping others.
I can recognize the value of love, as perhaps the most powerful motivator of all.
The search for meaning is personal!

Evangeline

Is there something more?

2008-08-01T20:17:00.000-07:00

The vague, mysterious longing for meaning,
questions what gives a life purpose and value.
The quest for meaning is a personal,
empowering, and uplifting journey.
I think if the meaning of life were not a mystery,
if leading meaningful lives was not within the power of us all,
then we might tend to miss
the many opportunities in which life can have purpose.

Evangeline

2008-08-01T20:16:00.001-07:00

A kiss for your thoughts.

A Feather in the Wind

2008-08-01T20:10:00.000-07:00

There was a time I fully believed that a home and affection could make

life tolerable and that should I ever find myself deprived of these, my existence would be unendurable and indeed short lived.

I lost my dearest friends and my beloved to the mystery of death.

Not to death did I lose the husband of my youth, but to folly!

My misery was not such as to break my tie with and enthusiasm for life, as years passed I was not so miserable as I had supposed; although I have been determined to remain independent of social intercourse, and have delighted in the circumstance of being so impracticable to reach that none have tried!

I have felt as a feather in the wind.

I know nothing of what happiness lies before me for I am only now commencing my journey. For ten years I struggled weak and wretched in solitude, and 3 days following my birthday in January I found myself compelled to rouse myself to animation.

My spirit revived I find I am taking great pleasure in contemplating the new life I am entering.

I harbour a deep longing to be found.

“Be calm, yes stay calm, whatever happens”, I am saying within.

I pondered in the garden today; well I wondered in secret whether we should ever meet; or only share a glimpse of the other passing by.

I went so far as to wonder whether I ought ask your situation.

I feel an imperative craving for just such an indulgence, must I restrain and swallow my feelings?

Is it foolish to wish for the pleasure of gazing into a beautiful face?

Might I disclose other thoughts, delve much deeper?

Of my feelings, I cannot seek or obtain sympathy from anyone, but find relief from a secret source of consolation, more soothing, more obtainable, more penetrating and encompassing than any mortal can hope to offer; words.

I am flushed with excitement as I share these few words with you.

I could go on for years!

Such are some of my reflections.

*****

Evangeline

Meaning?

2008-08-01T20:06:00.000-07:00

What is the meaning of life?
It is a question that has intrigued the great philosophers
and the Monty Python team.
Is the whole idea just a little absurd?

Is there any one profound and mysterious meaning to life;

a single ultimate purpose behind the human existence?
Can meaning be gained through serving humanity,
being happy, being successful,
living each day as if it were the last,
and freeing your mind
from the enforced insanity of civilized society?
Evangeline

2008-07-31T03:38:00.000-07:00

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
Edgar Allan Poe

Mysteriously obscure, cryptically secret...

2008-07-31T03:31:00.000-07:00

"I am parched with thirst, and perishing,
But drink of me, the ever-flowing spring on the right,
where there is a fair cypress.
Who are you? Where are you from?
I am a child of Earth and of starry Heaven, but my race is of Heaven alone."

Hector Berlioz...a romantic self-portrait.

2008-07-31T03:13:00.000-07:00

“Symphonie Fantastique” in 3 parts which include,“A Ball”, “The March to the Scaffold” and “The Witches' Sabbath”.

The story is this...

A young musician with a nervous disposition and an ardent imagination, hopelessly in love, poisons himself with opium in a fit of desperation. The dose he takes is not enough to kill him, rather he sinks into a heavy sleep. In his sickly mind, the strangest visions appear and all sensations and recollections are transformed into musical thoughts and figures. Most of all he experiences the volcanic love inspired by his beloved, his insane alarm, his furious jealousy, the return of joy when he sees her and his consolation in religion.

At the ball he finds his beloved once again amid the festivities.

His heart is gripped in torment...that if she should deceive him....

He dreams he has killed her, she whom he loves, and that sentenced to death, he is lead to the scaffold. The cortège moves with gloomy, sinister, heavy footsteps following the loudest cries. At his end she appears again for a moment, a last thought of love interrupted by the fatal blow of the guillotine!

He sees himself at a sabbath...

In the midst of a ghastly throng of wizards, shades and monsters, assembled for his funeral; howls, explosions of laughter, shrieks answering, a myriad of strange sounds, his beloved appears, a joyful howl at her entrance. She joins the devilish orgy in an obscene and grotesque sabbath dance, a funeral knell.

Berlioz was an idealist who was at odds with the world in many respects - a man of great passions, his honesty and directness often alienated others.

Symphonie Fantastique is an autobiographical representation of his obsession with the Irish actress Harriet Smithson.

"A Dream Within A Dream"

2008-07-30T05:53:00.000-07:00

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
Your are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
Edgar Allen Poe

2008-07-30T03:01:00.000-07:00

Come away O human child!
...to the waters and the wild
with a faery, hand in hand,
for the world's more full of

weeping than you can understand.
William Butler Yeats

2008-07-30T02:43:00.000-07:00

Rest not!
Life is sweeping by;
go and dare before you die.
Something mighty and sublime,
leave behind to conquer time.
Johann Wolfgang van Goethe

SONG TO PAN

2008-07-30T02:33:00.001-07:00

SONG TO PAN

Should the raven catch your hair

And seat a king of scarlet

Upon the heart's steep stair

Then, oh, the sights you will see there

A breaking of the crystal

Under a dark green glare.

A dark green glare, from eyes on fire,

From pools of deepest amber-

Circle your castle round with briar,

Still Pan will find your chamber.

Fill it to the brim, don't say when,

Drink your fill and drink again.

Hear the ocean roaring.

Fill it to the brim, don't say when

It's Pan that keeps on pouring.

Walnut hands, the eyes of a bear

He who seeks his sorrows out

May find the lion's share.

With self-same breath He tempts and warns

The fire that keeps the chill at bay

Is the very flame that burns.

The flame that burns, the song that slays,

When you hear what it is saying

Let panic chase us through the maze,

But Pan is only playing.

Fill it to the brim, don't say when

Drink your fill and drink again,

Hear the ocean roaring.

Fill it to the brim, don't say when,

It's pan that keeps on pouring.

Dark watcher with tangled brows

Puts his finger to his lips,

Let's hear no more of vows,

Of promises we'll never keep,

Nor of the secret dream

That slips away as we rise from sleep.

As we rise from sleep,

As we rub our eyes,

To set the salt tears falling,

You cover your ears to drown his cries

Yet Pan just keeps on calling.

By Mark Simos (The Spiral Dance)

Mysteriously obscure...

2008-07-30T01:46:00.000-07:00

"While the objects around me--while the carvings of the ceilings, the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebon blackness of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies which rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, or to such as which, I had been accustomed from my infancy--while I hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was all this--I still wondered to find how unfamiliar were the fancies which ordinary images were stirring up". The fall of the House of Usher, by Edgar Allan Poe.