Simply turn and remember ...

The Prince and Divinity

Peaceful, tranquil, centred and focused, Divinity was enjoying the quiet serenity of the beach.  She had come to practice the Tai Chi movements she had recently learned; stepping forward, she settled her hips into a stance where she could close here eyes and imagine Prince’s warm body pressing against her. Divinity nuzzled her toes a little deeper into the cool sand, the water lapping gently over her feet as if taking her into its own rhythm.

Unexpectedly all her senses became alert; a tingling sensation ran through her entire body and her breathing quickened, muscles tightening as if warning her of some impending danger ..  and then she felt it.  His hands around her; one hand sliding smoothly across her stomach and the other moving with anticipation of her response upon her leg, slowly making its way to her thigh. She was frozen with a mixture of joy and longing to feel his touch at last.  She would know Prince’s touch anywhere, she had felt it in her dreams a zillion times. Divinity had played this scenario in her mind many times and and she dared not move for fear she would break the spell to discover it was, in fact, only a dream.

Swaying ever so slightly and a little light headed, she felt his fingers run down her back and his body press against her buttocks. A heat ran like electricity from the ocean waters over her knees, up her legs, over her torso and she gasped as she felt his breath against her neck. As if no longer in control of her movements, her head stretched to allow his lips access to her beautiful neck. She was savouring every touch of his fingers, every sensation, every moment, drinking it in with a wild thirst that seemed it could not be quenched.

Prince placed his hands on Divinity’s shoulders and turned her to face him. One look into those eyes and she was lost. How her body had ached for him and she felt as if she swimming in a sea of moonlight and part of a scene playing out upon the silver screen. Prince placed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her longingly for he too had ached for this moment. Divinity felt as if she was out of her body watching, loving, yet feeling completely in sync with Prince’s body, all at the same time. Her eyelashes were like gentle little feathers waving before him, she was completely absorbed and she thought of a quote she had long loved “I would take him into the same skin with me” and now she knew, without any shadow of a doubt, why these words were written.

As if a puppeteer Prince lifted her arms and removed her top. Her body was screaming and she felt as if the words and thoughts and feelings that were racing frantically around in her mind were bellowing over a loud speaker; and yet here they were the only two for miles surrounded by only a loving silence. Every muscle tightened, every inch of her skin awake with longing, Prince glided down her body and removed her remaining clothing.  The sound of the water lapping against the rocks was like a lovers’ orchestra playing music that only Prince and Divinity could hear. No other existed, this blissful moment their sanctuary from the everyday existence that mere mortals know.

Prince guided Divinity to a carefully laid out blanket and asked her to love him. Her eyes, as deep as the ocean itself, were filled with love for him; and she had waited what felt like a lifetime to be in his arms. There would be no rushing on this magical night that the Gods had granted her. The strength of her feelings became a parachute enveloping them into a tent of warmth and trust and passion. Divinity felt a magnetic surge drawing her body involuntarily to Prince, this was like no feeling she had ever known. She pushed Prince back onto the blanket, nimbly removing his shirt and proceeding to taste every inch of his skin.  She wanted to taste it all, every fibre of his being and take it into her own. She stared momentarily at those lips she had envisaged being before her so many times and placing her soft and gentle lips on his, she kissed him with such intensity that the air seemed to spark fireworks just for them.

Even with their eyes closed it was as if each of them saw deeply into the core of the other; their breathing in alignment .. deep, slow, loving. This was the extraordinary Divinity had believed she would know one day, this moment, this man, this island of their own making where no other could touch them, disturb them or even conceive of the magic that was happening on a blanket on a beach in the middle of nowhere.

Prince ran his loving eyes over Divinity, his longing evident.  She looked so content, relaxed and at peace. With one long completely fulfilling breath, Divinity surrendered and Prince began his journey into her soul.  He slowly navigated her body, embracing her surrender and returning the gift of his own. Once spent, Divinity pressed her head into Prince’s shoulder, totally absorbed in his warmth.  They lay together enjoying the warm balmy evening under the stars listening to the newfound freedom of their hearts.

And so the only true adventure in life began .. an adventure of love, laughter, intimacy, play and rest ..

 .. and all was right with the world.                            

                                                 

© Dianne Traynor 31 March 2012

Turning to look back

My advice as I look back

( the advice I wish I had been given):

Never take a job for money, follow your passion not a purse; listen to your own voice and not that of your parents or friends or siblings; love when you have the chance; take risks and do not be afraid of failure; never think you are too old to make a change and never forget your own needs whilst showing compassion to others. 

Do not spend all your time cultivating your external beauty; remember to nurture your inner beauty as well.  Eat well and eat wisely for the sake of your health but also take time to feed and care for your mental health.  Learn to enjoy your own company for it will be yourself that you turn to for guidance in times of isolation.

Love those that deserve your love, do not beat yourself up about turning away from those that abuse your trust; be kind to all those that cross your path and be grateful for strangers, they will reward you with the most unexpected of kindnesses. 

Above all, do not let anyone tell you what your choices should be, what career you should follow, that you are not good enough or smart enough, that they know better than you do. When you marry, do not let anyone interfere for you will surely have regret if they break down the bond between you and your loved one. When you have children, treasure them beyond measure and inspire them to follow their own path rather than the one you would choose; and laugh every single day of your life, even at the dark times, it will help you in ways you never dreamt possible.

There is no honour in regret so I say to you: In whatever form it takes, find what brings joy to your heart, never stop looking for it and when you find it - grab it with both hands and hold on tight never letting go. Be a little selfish when it comes to your dreams but not at the expense of another, and never forget those who helped you along the way. 

Never look down upon another less fortunate than yourself, you have not walked their path.  Show compassion and understanding and always keep an open mind.  Love animals and respect nature.

As I look back, in my humble opinion, it is love and passionate pursuit that will truly make you rich beyond your wildest dreams; even if you do not really know it until the time comes for you to look back and give advice of your own.  

(c) Dianne Traynor 12 July 2013

Simply twisted "She"

She dragged herself under the doona trying to block out the light; block out the voices; block out the images of a serrated edge piercing into her neck and dragging its way down her throat.

"Make it stop, make the fuckers stop!" was all she seemed to think these days.  Not a scrap of energy left in her spent body, she would catch herself in the mirror when she went to the bathroom and find herself thinking "Who the fuck is that!?!" Too tired to even shower, she shuffled her way down the hallway resisting the urge to break everything she saw as she went.

Hatred consumed her. "Have a cigarette" she thought, but there was no longer even any pleasure in that; just a sick feeling that gnawed at the pit of her stomach and the taste of bitterness trailing over her tongue.

The sky was blue and she didn't want to look at it.  Averting her eyes, she wondered how there could be beauty when she felt so overwhelmed by ugliness as if it was eating at her very core, making her bones brittle and like her mind, ready to snap at any given moment.

"Fucking garbage day, it's fucking garbage day" she remembered as she reached for the rotting fruit she had intended to eat.  Like so many intentions in a fleeting moment of strength the fruit lay stinking, rotting, blackening, like her heart.  Grabbing the black banana, she hurled it across the room at the same time kicking the lid off the bin and in the other direction. "Fuckers! Dirty stinking fuckers!" resonated like clashing cymbals in her disturbed mind and another sea of bile rose from deep within her to rest upon her drying lips.

Eyes open she envisioned the razor sharp edge of the knife, laying so easily within reach on the breadboard, slicing through her skin.  "Perhaps wrists would be a better choice" she thought.  She had heard you must slice longways rather than crossways and she became curious as to how messy it would be.

Every morning was the same.  The night before full of ideas, plans, changes to make; but every morning it was the same.  Get her a cup of tea, get her tablets, make her a toasted sandwich, check the heater, make her bed, empty the commode and listen to the fucking Morning Show so loud that it shattered any chance of a peaceful start to another long and arduous day.  Then, of course, would come the proverbial icing on the cake, the inane fucking chatter about the prodigal son and the successful daughter, absent bar a five minute fucking phone call but ah, what legends - fucking legends. "What the fuck!?!" seemed to be a constant catch cry in her mind.Today she couldn't even look at her.  Shoulders slumped, she felt as if she was the one that should be turning 90 and the anger consumed her once again.

"Get out, get the fuck out of the house" banged around in her head like a cricket ball being bounced against the walls of her skull.  The urge to break plates, glasses, throw pots, smash windows, fucking kick something - hard! - was overpowering.  It was like pieces of her body were all working against her, a war of control raging through her and she no longer trusted who was going to win.

Even the dog couldn't console her today; her trusted loyal and loving companion that was at her side when no-one else was, even he could not comfort her.  The tides were rising.  A tsunami fucking motherlode of pent up frustration was about to explode into the open and she was desperately trying to contain it.  So many questions about herself ran through her mind and she wondered if she was broken beyond repair.  Again the debating teams took to the podium in her head and she squeezed her eyes so fucking tight trying to get them to shut the fuck up!

Isolation and the overwhelming feelings of imprisonment, combined with complete and utter exhaustion, fed her contempt for the absent siblings her mother seemed to care more about than her.  Confusion battered her about as surely as if she had been physically abused. "Family, what the fuck does that word mean?" she seemed to continually be asking herself.  She had no answers, she didn't know.  Just like she didn't know herself anymore.  She felt like a trapped animal desperately trying to claw its way back to the reality and freedom it once knew.  She was self destructing, she knew it but she didn't know how to stop. Eventually all things take their toll.

She edged her way deeper under the doona trying to block out the daylight that reminded her so cruelly of the life she was missing.  Clasping a pillow to her ears she made a vain attempt to shut out the voices and she closed her eyes ever so tightly in the hope of putting a stop to the images of that taunting serrated knife, praying to make it through another day.

She had never known she was capable of such violent disdain for another human being, let alone so called family. "It's the hypocrisy of it all really" a calm voice echoed "Fucking irony of it all"

"Maybe I better stop watching Dexter" was her final thought as sleep saved her from her torment.

(c) Dianne Traynor  11 July 2013

"She"
Who is she that no longer knows herself? What will become of her? I will tell you ...
She uses the pen as her sword, ravaging pages until she is spent ... and saved.

Don't get tangled up in the twisted perception of another ...

"I studied psychology and I am a philosopher" he was heard to say as he continued to insult and judge. Ah, but this particular philosopher will argue that you take it personally when it is merely relating to his own self. Perhaps it is and yet instinct continues to niggle that it is merely an excuse to criticise others, to be cynical and bitter, whilst claiming an optimistic yet realistic viewpoint.

It would seem so much can be hidden behind a piece of paper, a certificate that is ego wrapping in the big scheme of things. When one studies psychology to resolve their own issues or to feed the ego, in my humble opinion, it can be a slippery path. One can quickly differentiate between a psychologist who studied with the purpose of truly helping others and the psychologist that wanted letters after his/her name. On the philosophy side of things, I have never before felt an affront when having a philosophical debate so a little voice was heard in the background "Danger Danger Will Robinson" ha ha ha

Personally I will take the soul who owns their struggle and concedes imperfection openly and honestly hoping that like souls will understand, and in that resonation find connection, friendship, truth and love.  If you feel the need to judge another soul you really do not know, it would be wiser to do so in silence but if you feel the desire to be supportive of them, I am sure they would welcome you with open arms

To all who have been criticised unjustly ~ let go of those that would judge you in ignorance and embrace those that love you for who you truly are. 

Namaste ~ Diantra 

Waiting for change

Written for those who find themselves feeling overwhelmed as they care for someone - be it an elderly parent, a terminally ill loved one or a disabled child ... you are not alone ...

There comes a moment when you realise you have been sitting, far too long, waiting for change; change that you cannot make happen.  Sometimes those we love and care for are motivated by self interest, perhaps self preservation that we cannot understand, and so they are the mitigating circumstances that cause you to behave differently and you find yourself sitting on a bench wondering what happened to you, where the person you once knew went?

Time has gotten away from you and you find yourself lost in numbness; feelings of helplessness; feelings of guilt at wanting your old life back and your mind bursts with overwhelming questions of why you feel such a failure and when you changed? when you became this person sitting on an icy bench feeling invisible in a crowded place?  Ah, to love unconditionally and support, is this the price?

Eventually though, the bench becomes cold enough to cause you more discomfort than the situation you find yourself in; the lack of family support; the increasing burden of debt with medical expenses or the myriad of other things impinging upon you ...  and you increasingly just don't want to sit there anymore.  You have watched life go by for so long and yet you do not wish to abandon those you care for.  What to do? How to care and not simply walk away whilst not losing yourself? And so your mind begins to question ... again!

In your questioning, you realise the futility in hoping the person you care for will see the damage they are causing because they simply cannot, they are facing their own demons; you realise the pointlessness in being angry with siblings that seem not to care and you accept that will be their cross to bear when the time comes and you decide to stop wasting your precious limited energy being angry at them; you realise you have become isolated through ridiculous feelings of humiliation and self doubt and you feel humbled that there are those who still believe in you; you forgive yourself for the debt that was not of your own doing; you accept you have made mistakes and you own them; you stop apologising and you stop feeling sorry for yourself.

Instead, you look around and see the beautiful flower at the edge of the cold seat; you close your eyes and feel the warmth of a beautiful sun upon your skin; you think of things you can still do despite your circumstances and you reach deep inside yourself and drag out that last fragile remnant of motivation ... and you move ... for whilst there is movement, whilst there is breath, there is hope; hope for a different tomorrow. 

You decide to simply surrender to what is and to believe that the Universe will look after you.  And so you let go, just let go. 

Embrace this moment, it is a step in the right direction.

(c) Dianne Traynor 29 May 2013

Finding peace in the twisty maze

If I was to sit only in this moment, this precise moment ...

where Banshee looks so cute scavenging through the grass for a morsel of vegetables I scattered only moments before

where the gates play a tune harmonising with the wind chimes, accompaniment to the birds in the distance and the whirring of a helicopter not even in view

where the shadows of leaves dance in and out of time to the orchestra of nature all around

where I taste every bean grounded as I take a long pleasurable sip of my coffee

where I can practically hear the lemons chanting to each other "You jump, no you jump, no you first"

where the toot of a train travels on the breeze as a tiny leaf somersaults over my head, pirouettes against a beautiful blue backdrop of sky and playfully tumbles to the waiting blanket of grass

where the low rhythmic beat of a bass drum entices the wind to get stronger

where there is so much quietly happening as a dragonfly lands to visit on one of the perfectly laid bricks upon which my table and chair are sitting ...

If I was to sit only in this moment, this precise moment ...

there is no worrying but rather an appreciation for the flock of birds passing over the yard

there is no missing a love that is not mine yet but rather observation of new growth on my lettuces

there is no resentment but rather a gratefulness for the intermittent breeze that cools a hot skin

there is no sadness but rather a smile at Banshee's wagging tail and snort for attention.

If I were to stay in this moment, this precise moment ...

then the stress of "whatever" would only be relevant in a moment yet to be, rather than an impediment to every other moment and would not distract me from the joy of this moment ...

... this moment where I am aware of ...

the tingling in my toes

the movement of my arms as my pen writes

the moisture as my tongue licks my lips

the energy in my body from the fruit recently enjoyed

the soft rubbing of my hair as the wind blows it across my shoulders

the panting of a puppy so happy to have me sitting exactly where I am ...

in this precise moment.

If I could practice being in the moment, every moment, then life would be less complicated, less worrisome, less stressful and move to a life of appreciation, wonder and gratitude for "what is" and if I, for a moment, let myself "think" about that, then I think I like the idea of such a life.

And the miner bird with the iridescent orange beak that just landed on my fence, joined by the throaty chorus of the pigeon that just perched on my roof, agree.

Peace.

(c) Dianne Traynor   20 October 2012

I turned ... and there I was ...

Writing - and quite possibly dialogue, or posts, on social websites now I come to think of it -  can be:

Translucent and yet clouded

Touching and yet divorced

Enlightening and yet dark

Imaginery and yet real

Resonating and yet totally separated

I keep thinking of how something will inspire me to write a particular piece and it can be so very different as to how it may be interpreted.  I remember poetry I have read of another and how it was so easy for me to internalise it, feel myself there, imagine that I knew what this person went through and feel all manner of joy .. or sadness .. or compassion .. and yet, honestly, I do not have a clue as to what actually inspired them to write that particular piece.  That is their secret, their moment, their inner voice that only they can truly understand.

What may be read as a dark passage may be nothing of the sort in reality, what is read as a broken heart by a unrequited love may actually be a piece drawn on emotions through a painful family experience; what one person may read as a poem about desperation - another may read as a poem about love - another hope - another hopelessness ... it is all so very personal, and therein lays the magic.

For me, given my passionate association with expression through the written word, it is all about triggers. Words are the triggers to our emotions, the light switch to a memory, the candle flickering in the subconscious, the rope to hang onto, the ladder to climb and see a new view, the passage from one room to another, the doorway into a new world, the escape hatch from reality, the touch that can make us feel less alone, the laughter that can lighten the load and the resonation that brings hope that someone "gets" us.

In my private world, writing is truth drawn from the purest well .. no hidden agenda, no need to hold back, no desire to mislead, no expectation and no coat of armour .. it is where I can dive deep, swim with sharks and remain totally vulnerable, open to all possibility and live without fear.  It is heaven in a cup of piping hot coffee, sipped on a porch, talking to the moon and wishing upon the stars.  It is home.

If anything I write touches another then I am humbled, for it makes me feel a sense of contribution. If a reader can draw strength, laughter, a sense of association or love - or merely be taken to a "moment", I consider this a gift and I feel blessed.  But the "truth" in the writing is the truth of the writer alone, and although it may resonate with another's truth, that is because it has merely been a trigger into their own world not the private world of the writer .. and therein lays the mystery.

When it comes to dialogue, or posts, on social websites there are definite similarities and I am often perplexed how people who have never met another can assume to know why that person posted something.  Sure, sometimes it may appear clear cut .. other times not so much.  It is at these times, I find it quite amazing how, though no lengthy dialogue has taken place, some presume to know another and to offer uninvited advice that may actually be quite the opposite to what is required. Personally I think this is a breach of boundaries but then that is the internet, where it appears boundaries have become blurred.  As for how I react in this scenario; well, sometimes I find it annoying, sometimes amusing, sometimes I take no notice and other times I want to snap back "Don't assume!"  More often than not, I will distance myself for a while and write.

So back to writing and the art of passionate expression.  I would describe it as an amazingly honest, free floating world with no boundaries, no limits and where anything is possible.  All the elements of the real world are there .. sunshine, rain, love, betrayal, demons, angels, war, victory, disappointment, heartbreak, oceans, deserts, life, death and so much more .. and yet it is an entirely different world altogether.  It is a world of truth; truth in that moment .. when the mind sends signals through the body to the pen that draws from the heart .. and in that moment, there is no earthly reality ... only magic.

And, today, as I turned .. there I was .. and I gave thanks for the magic.

(c) Dianne Traynor  16 October 2012