letters

july 20, 1943

working title: " the drops, on the rock" passages from hope's diary 

shelter island, ny - aka the rock, 1943

dear john,

hi. hi. hi. 

the aroma of fresh paint traveled upstairs, through the doors i remember the lingering of turpentine clinging to the legs on your work pants. 

my eyes fixed at the crack on the ceiling, i realize i want the crack to remain, until you come home. 

the perfection in this ceiling, is the imperfection—my dream reminded me, as i search for answers in my night soul journey. i was in italy, i think...looking up at olde world frescos. ceilings of painted skies, clouds, angels.. some unfinished. raw edges, like frayed silk. i am mixing pigments on a few wide boards joined together. angel, the blue is so beautiful, a wet sharp indigo. i am so careful not to loose a drop, but i see the powdering of dust has cast a haze on my hands. my ring isn't on my left hand. i think, did i loose it? where should i start looking for it? then i woke up. 

i run the cold faucet, staring at the porcelain C, passing my arms through the waterfall, as the suds collect at the brass wagon wheel shaped drain. i guard my gold band everytime i pass my left soapy hand over the drain and repeat under my breath, to have and to hold. 

i dried my hands and pryed off my ring—holding it in the morning light to read the inscription again. 

faith love & devotion john

i found myself standing at your closet with the door open. i plunged both my arms forward, they disappeared in organized rows of crisply ironed shirts and tweed trousers and dress jackets. i like spacing them apart the same distance. it’s almost like this exercise is as if you were here before me, and i can tell what you were considering to wear. 

i lost myself in the company of your armor, when clark pulled in the car park and startled me.

his arrival felt like a relief. i was tempted to open your hat box and hold it under my chin. there is certainty in this. i open the box and your essense is in it. every. single. time. 

there are times like now, when i think—is this just a dream within a dream? and i will awaken to the sound of your legs moving and hear you say hello with a silly tone like you are about to do something funny.

i have started to crochet a little woolen project. it’s an interesting art form. i never realized it before; a lot of math, it’s about tension and finesse. 

i had to pullout the first few rows; finally creating a stable flow. i am using the most beautiful creamy ivory wool. 

the stitch i am using, i actually made by accident. it looks like a double XX and the weave is tight. i am happy with how it is building. 

i am using the bone hook your mother gave me. clark found it sitting on the baseboard molding behind the irish dresser in the dining room.

i don’t even know how that is possible, i thought it lived in the silver julep cup on my desk, next to the silver pen papa gave me. a bit puzzling as clark said: this activity will calm your silly sweet soul. i thought—what? i have only heard you say that to me, like when i used to leave a joke for the ed the cranky milkman. you told me he will expect them, and you were right! that was funny...

so, there is a good energy surrounding me knowing kiki used this before me. and i feel her hands are guiding me. 

angel, hold on and know my heart is with you and i am thinking of you. please jesus watch over him and let him hear me. i clipped hydrangeas today. their heavy heads needed to be supported by the tall hall pitcher and look so lovely next to your candle. 

i love you angel. think home. tbc.

hope Ox. 

when nothing stays the same

here's a song i wrote may 15, 2014

THE AUDIO: LISTEN—the dog ate my day. written my me. 

way ruffy, you know the drill. i recorded this at yankee stadium. that's the sound guys fault, the reverb. i just do the writing and communicate the feel. then this gets handed off the proper artist. that's how this works. prepaving is everything. i do roadwork everyday. 

this it's an autobiography and speaks truth to current social gestures. 

i am going to find a lovely cabin in the woods and write there today. tea is at 4, on star quilt, by the pond in the sun if you are looking for me.

Ox. tbc.

pair of soap dishes

these just arrived from japan, 1868 -1912. my love affair with blue and white porcelain has a sensability that speaks to me in my soul. my kimono self. the details of the story using shades of one color. this is traditional. the fisherman. he knows his practice; bring home nourishment with respect for nature and his surroundings. the thoughful dedication to waking life practices. the symbols are simple, but meaningful. i grasp on the bridge and can relate the transition, over the body of water. under the sun. near shelter and the tree with life. what's even better is there are two. the yinyang in the ritual. the bars of soap have a home. and the feeling is like that wash cloth that soothes you and gives you a spring in your step to wake and make the best of today or to calm you before sleep with a peaceful loving rest.

love senses

i have been experiencing restless dreams the past few nights. i had an eye opening conversation this weekend with a trusted shaman, i believe that sparked the surfacing. over the course of dinner, the importance of perception of life opened up a door inside my soul. awareness.

concept: what we resist it persists. embrace the shadow and this allows the peace to flow. 

 it's easier said than done. i realized i consciously hold light and the darkness, it scares me to death. so acknowledging the darkness is important. SAY YES TO IT ALL> it releases the charge in the resistance and fear gets set free. let it out and let it go. byebye. ultimately there is lightness in this. the process feels a bit like a scary ride. but the payoff is the weeeeee feeling once you face the fear and realize the power of your inner strength. it's in your own hand to drive.

greet your inner fire and karate chop love for your soul. 

AUDIO FILE of my POEM: love senses

ha! i found this audio file to this sweet poem from july. hi! :) 

i saw 2 dophins yesterday, swimming in tandem... close, but too far away to capture a good picture... so in my mind i played their opera in my head and awoke to this. words.

here, love senses. 

by me. Ox. july 2014

love looks like

water; running, still, sparkling

love looks like

a bird, the bird, flying, landing

love looks like

a cloud; mother of pearl, cirrus or blanket strato—mind at loss for words but feeling everything

love looks like 

a word; intented, spoken kindly, mindly timely from these lips de santos 

love looks like

close your eyes, picture whatever fills your heart with smiles with warm sweetness and ...

love looks like 

expressing truth, intending to share an inspiration to a bring out the very best in a soulfriend

love feels like

a warm sensation in the palm of my hands as i lay them on your arms 

love feels like

a skipped beat, that gets our attention to look back one more time to know, a safe. 

love feels like 

this 

love feels like 

grass underfoot, the surging of your roots from birth

love feels like 

the force of trust that pedals when we fall

love smells like

fresh ground coffee beans that wake you

love smells like 

me. its all i know.

love smells like

you. my soul knows. 

love smells like

rain on pavement

love smells like 

today

love sounds like 

mmm.

love sounds like 

an inhale and exhale, boundless safety.

love sounds like 

roaring waves and we speak. 

love sounds like 

a pasta or chocolate sneeze 

love tastes like 

this heart song on the tip of my pink tongue set free

love tastes like

the first bite of bazooka joe in 1985

love tastes like 

salty summer cheek skin beached with a healing breeze in my wind

tbc OX.

july 19, 1943

working title: " the drops, on the rock" passages from hope's diary 

shelter island, ny - aka the rock, 1943

dear john,

hi. hi. hi. 

...then i realized i married adventure.. 

i typed those words.. the beginning of the next chapter and i got this feeling in my chest. a warm sensation in my heart. it's happened before and the first thought is you. i believe we were thinking of each other at that same moment. i said, hi cookieface, i miss you. i feel you, my arms wrapped under your shoulders and my cheek on your chest. thumpthump in my ear. i know it. and it makes me wonder, what i smell like when you inhale my head before a temple kiss. 

it's sweet how you move my hair like clearing the runway to plant your lips on me. if i could just make that moment last longer. 

so, the words were clear as the light that is shining through the water glass on my night table. i look through the glass and knightnight is so large. he has been doing his job. i took out your teeshirt yesterday, and rested with it for a bit. then back in the hatbox it went. somedays are just long when you're in the forefront of my mind. i tried something new today; i asked you to help me do a chore i know you hate. i wondered if you would hang around. surpirisingly you did. i was taking curtains down in the dining room. you know the ones that have hundreds of hooks. it took twice as long, but i took my time and heard you say, mind your step. those are the most beautiful three words, just like my father would say. 

and the understanding was for me to be other half of the adventure. i write...

i had a dream about reseeding the lawn. it was a task, one seed at a time. you know me; you give me a job i stick with it. i put on my sunhat and had a large sack. i raked and racked until the rocks were on the perimeter. then i crosshatched the rich soil. i was using a rake that looked like a comb. it created the finested lines which formed little nests for the seeds. i timed it right. roy told me expect a shower at sundown. i placed one seed in every nest. i told the birds these are not for you, yours are at the feeder. they listened. the writing on the burlap read QUICK GROWTH HEARTY LONGLIFE GREEN BLANKET FULLSUN. the word hearty had a heart under it. i was certain the seeds would take and growth was happening underfoot as i was placing each one in our earth. 

i then recited this prayer to mothersun. 

it is with the trust in my diligence that i proclaim these seeds will sprout. one may appear like a weed, but together the strength of a field of green. you promise, i will receive. i trust and still believe the cycle of life has great purpose. provide me with my field of dreams. 

and she replied, you have the power to create your dreams. 

know you are on my mind. i am up early; today clark is coming to fix the window weight. he will remove all the molding and reattach the rope. he thinks a little critter might have nawed on it and it gave way. then the dining room is being painted a beautiful shade of green; like a faint moss with a hint of robin's egg blue in it. i took the color from the cover of your book, treasure island—it makes sense to me. 

mary, jesus watch my angel and i trust you hear my voice and know i wait for you. thank you god for blessing us and watching over him. to be continued. 

i love you, 

hope. 

by the way, this is long lane

the unwavering loving source

once upon a time michael was born. 

his outspoken loud cry, the sign a leader was born. 

by the time he was 5 he was capable of so many things; heartsongs of kindness, saving lives and making miracles by blinking his beautiful eyes. he had wings budding from his little shoulderblades; little white fluffy feathers—the ones with the flight of rainbow colorsounds of laughter, sweetness and unwavering strength.

one day mike recited a letter from a wishbox he was given by his lover. 

dear mike, 

i have a life i want you to help save. 

i see the preciousness of loving light inside 

i feel the power to transform lives

i know the moment when to move or stay

i speak truth of myself, the most important thing; my word is impecable. 

i have the ability to give and receive love in a grateful state

i want to continue to be a walking joy in my life, a real asset to others lives

i can be everything that my heartsong desires

i am this miracle making angel from the center of my soul.

this is knowing the power a true loving creative being holds

the skills of sword is for protection. a robinhood of hearts spreading light throughout the day and night. 

this letter was to himself. to speak in the direction of everything. 

this is the real roadmapwithin—he made light in his life the most important thing. 

he became this. i am. a rocksolid pov. this is clarity to create from here, the measurement of miracle makers in our lives. making his fate with love as his guiding force. his wings have grown and now he knows the potential he planted in himself was the unwavering loving source before it came to be known. 

this archangel michael was on papa's dresser growing up. there used to be a spear in his left hand, it disapeared. it let the serpent know i see you and it set him free. his wing was broken and the pieces were separated for years. i reconnected the pieces and glued the wing to his back again. he is mine now. and he watches over me. 

field of dreams

field of dreams -a true heartsong.

written by me/ 08.07.14

AUDIO listen.

this was one of the hardest songs to come out of me in one run. almost 2months of trying to share and i break down in the middle and unable to complete. the power behind these words is a frequency which is bold and balsy. i am latching onto it because as of late i have been tested to dicipher what is real and what is a shadow on the end of a string, intentions questionable. i release this very very very very rough cut with the prayer that the words and the blessing it possesses is enough to push these words to light up my world. a mirror of what i feel on the inside. the truth spills out. it always does.

pls listen with earbuds. it might sound better. anyway, god bless us all and here's to bulls with big balls :) freakin' launching love like the fighter already won!!!! :) OX TBC. 

july 18, 1943

working title: " the drops, on the rock" passages from hope's diary 

shelter island, ny - aka the rock, 1943

dear john,

hi. hi. hi. 

3:14PM

i was writing so late last night, today a slower pace than usual; gazing at the new crack in the ceiling, missing the small valuable details, our moments—like feeling your breathing expand against me while sleeping and sweeping the bottom of my feet up your leg. the top of your feet, so soft to feel. and your appetite for neck and shoulder kisses. hmm. a very sweet morning visit with my eyes closed.

i'm now up.

so, i did get the ribbon from mona; there was one roll left in town, but mr. blick said he heard doc needed it, so i dropped it off at the office on my way back home. 

doc told me i look a bit pale still. he then proceeded to ask me too many questions, as i was dead-heading the red geraniums in his window. 

he didn't like my response: you are not watering these enough... so doc is coming by for coffee tonight to talk with me. we'll sit outside and i will surprise him with peaches-n-cream. the peaches smell divine. they are from ester. 

i caught her attempting to leave her flour sacked peaches tied to the mailbox. it was her humming that gave her away. she saw me in the window, i wave her to come in for a cup of good morning, she said, i dont want to disturb your day my dear. 

my day? you are my day.

i ran out and dragged her in. and glad i did. she had a bad cut on her arm from her side-fence. i cleaned it up and will check on her tomorrow. her spirits lifted after i wrapped her up. i rubbed her hands with cold cream and she closed her eyes. i hugged her til his tear had fallen. she misses peter, and i feel it. ugh. so heavy in the heart. i looked her in the eyes and said they are in god's hands, you are his pearl. don’t forget that. she pinched my nose, pulled my face down to her chest and kissed my forehead and said, you are my beach plum. i swear i heard that before. it was the oddest feeling. it gave me butterflies in my stomach. i haven't made the connection yet, but it will come. and i can’t shake it. 

i wish you were here...saving my strength for docs dos-n-don’ts. 

i put on artie shaw, filled the tub and released myself. i opened that soap you gave me for christmas. it feels like you. i rubbed it up and down my arms and legs with you.

i left the door open, closed my eyes and called you in. 

if you were here you could rinse my hair about now... the way you gently tilt my head back and support my neck in your hands. btw, my eyes, i keep them open until the very last second so i can see you being so gentle with me, as i stare at you upside down. 

remember the time i was thirsty and you walked by the doorway.. i asked you to reach me my glass of water and you drank it all and laughed. then you refilled it, took a sip, put the glass down and quenched me with your lips filled with water. i pulled you in with me. i share my water. 

with my eyes closed, everything is right, you are here in my living thoughts... i miss you here and this. now. 

i am at the point where it's time to add more hotwater to the tub; my hands look like prunes. it would be really relaxing if buddy would stop barking next-door... this has become a bad habit, since van left. i think he's anxious. i pet him when i walk by. he's even follows me to the heights. i have taken your lead, filling the water bowl by the spicket. i never actually see him drink it, but the bowl needs a refill nearly everyday. and i know he digs holes under the corner hedge so he has a cool spot to rest.

clark is coming by today to put up shelves in the storage room in the studio. i have things i want taken out of the attic...i told him simple but strong. he is smart and takes direction very well. he is quiet. your studio opens him inside. i can see his eyes light up when we are in there. like a torch inside. 

i'm going to go pick some pink cosmos and put them in the vase i made you next to your candle i burn at night with my prayers. i wait for you with love as my truth. jesus, mary help him hear me on the inside. stay safe. in my heart today. i will go to the beach and pick some powerful white rocks for you and me.

i love you cookieface. 

to be continued. 

hope.

fait accompli. written sketch book.

it was as if..

it was all i know

and now i have to refind the rest of me. remember her.

i peel the layers and stand naked.

who are you really besides the one with a name, people want to be with and feel my energy?

who are you?

i have found her. i love her. 

i have been dreaming alot—intense sorting and filing and dis-guarding. 

deja vous, ordinary. 

seeing what will happen, secondary.

feeling what is, primary. this is the moment to listen to. the voice i look to. the one i pitch to. the one i run to/with. 

the strength in this connection will determine your outcome. it has to. or you are directed by the one you follow and that is filtered by their eyes. their motives and their attachments. 

something has happened to this room in my heart, recently. i can feel a sense of non-attachment, where there used to be a fear of aloneness. it’s now more a desire to loving conspire than clutching. a totally different charge from this level of love. fear. i used to experience panic attacks; elevators, stadiums. i wonder if this is still in me? the last concert i went to was the millenium BJ/MSG. but that was VIP.. so maybe that doesn’t really count. :) check into a hotel on the 42 floor. crap. i break out in a sweat. up is not the problem, it's down. hmm. ? > ! 

the trapped feeling... no way out. uncertain if this is past life pompeii like or being bury alive in egypt or living healing tables in greece.. i see all in my dreams. i will write about them someday. 

i can also recognize souls i knew. i like this too. you know it when your heart says: what was that? do i know her? like attracts like. trust finds trust. 

the room, inspired me to move me this past the understanding words sometimes are between a breath and an expression. the only difference is my old belief was interference cuts energy in half and dilutes what truth is the air, like fog. a shift: know that light inside a lighted chest cuts through any obstacles and extends beyond no-way can be to everything. i like this. roots like this grow a life tree with branches with fruit flavorful and with potent juices...like the biggest tastiest orange you ever experienced. my truth tree yields. this is stuff miracles are made of. i have been broken and healed. i like that too.

 

ain’t nothin’ like truth and loving kindness to break a fall and propel the purest intentions to call you forward.

and it ain’t none of my business what you think of me. 

keep eyes on own paper and be complete. fait accompli.