Endings

A flicker of hope
Burning embers of what may be
But alas
All for naught
Can one open the sky
With a word
A glance
A song
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Written this morning

My inner woman calls out to be noticed
She is bold and beautiful
Confident and strong
My inner woman loves deeply
She is well read,
Interesting and intelligent
My inner woman is full of passion
In what she does and believes
Honest and whole.
If only I could zip off the thick exterior that holds her,
peel off the fatty skin that hides her
so others can see what I do when I look in the mirror.
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Pretty self explanitory I think. Written today.

The end of an era

Well the weekend saw me through the end of the play I was in, "Arsenic and Old Lace". It was a wonderful way to return to Williams Lake, and a fabulous reason to stay up late and dream little dreams. I met some amazing people, rediscovered some (well one anyhow - amazing how true it is that the more things change, the more they stay the same and how simply grand that can be). I renewed a love for the theatre and everything it involves, and also came face to face with the blunt reality that I need to drop a few dress sizes. Seeing oneself on film does nothing for the ego. Ahhhh but the theatre - it is a fantastic thing, drama, intrigue, laughter, and unrequited love - and that is just what happens off the stage. Can anything be better? Perhaps. Though I think it is a great space to be able to just be ... Me - creative, a little flighty, deep and layered (though I suppose only the sheltered few get that part), flirty ... and so on.
How do I feel about Arsenic ending? I am quite fine. It is the ending of one, and the beginning of something new. Some of the characters remain the same, and as for the rest - new faces, some to stay, some to fade away I am sure. All one can be sure of is that it will be yet another adventure.

A little bit of hormonal rambling

Why is it that at certain times things seem so clear and at others - they are as fleeting as the wind?
Emotions are a wicked tool used to confuse and belay any honest paths.
Why is it that we are constantly bombarded by images on the screen, and chase the dreams of perfection that do not exist?
What is the point of going through the motions, if the outcome is always the same?
We are but solitary islands, floating in the vast ocean of the conscious.
At times colliding, but save for that moment, casting out our lines to try and recover the promised land we have heard stories of.
The grand illusions of togetherness
The chased dreams of what may be.
The harmonies of calling out blending with those of the others, making a strangely fitting and haunting song.
Are we connected in our isolation?
Living for the moments that our islands touch, the sensation of togetherness.
Or is it all a puzzle?
Just aching to be put together
And we are too busy with our own islands to realize we are all but pieces of the same wondrous picture,
and the calling is the yearning, the deep knowledge, covered by years of being jaded, that we are not so far apart as we would seem.
Is the truth in the fleeting moments of lucidity?
Or in the breaths of wind that sail our islands.
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Wrote this today. Having a day, you know the days, the ones where things just don't seem like they are fitting into place, where all you want is not quite what you have, and what you have is momentarily forgotten.