From Possession, by A.S. Byatt: "And LaMotte. Did she keep a journal?" "Not as far as we know. Almost certainly not. She wrote to one of nieces advising against it. It's a rather good letter. 'If you can order your Thoughts and shape them into Art, good: if you can live in the obligations and affections of Daily Life, good. But do not get into the habit of morbid Self-examination. Nothing so unfits a woman for producing good work, or for living usefully. The Lord will take care of the second of these--opportunities will be found. The first is a matter of Will.' " "And you? Why do you work on Ash?" "My mother liked him. She read English. I grew up on his idea of Sir Walter Ralegh, and his Agincourt poem and Offa on the Dyke. And then Ragnarök." He hesitated. "They were what stayed alive, when I'd been taught and examined everything else." Maud smiled then. "Exactly. That's it. What could survive our education." "We two remake our world by naming it Together, knowing what words mean for us And for the others for whom current coin Is cold speech--but we say, the tree, the pool, And see the fire in the air, the sun, our sun, Anybody's sun, the world's sun, but here, now Particularly our sun..." 

 -Randolph Henry Ash "My recent reading has caused me for some reason to remember myself as I was when a young girl, reading high Romances and seeing myself simultaneously as the object of all knights' devotions--an unspotted Guenevere--and as the author of the Tale. I wanted to be a Poet and a Poem, and now am neither, but the mistress of a very small household.... I remember at sixty the lively ambitions of a young girl in the Deanery, who seems like someone else, as I watch her in my imagination dancing in her moony muslin, or having her hand kissed by a gentleman in a boat. "I hit on something I believe when I wrote that I meant to be a Poet and a Poem. It may be that this is the desire of all reading women, as opposed to reading men, who wish to be poets and heroes, but might see the inditing of poetry in our peaceful age, as a sufficiently heroic act. No one wishes a man to be a Poem. That young girl in her muslin was a poem; cousin Ned wrote an execrable sonnet about the chaste sweetness of her face and the intuitive goodness shining in her walk. But I now think--it might have been better, might it not, to have held on to the desire to be a Poet? I could never write as well as Randolph, but then no one can or could, and so it was perhaps not worth considering as an objection to doing something. "Perhaps if I had made his life more difficult, he would have written less, or less freely. I cannot claim to be the midwife to genius, but if I have not facilitated, I have at least not, as many women might have done, prevented. This is a very small virtue to claim, a very negative achievement to hang my whole life on. Randolph, if he were to read this, would laugh me out of such morbid questioning, would tell me it is never too late, would cram his huge imagination into the snail-shell pace of my tiny new accession of energy and tell me what is to be done. But he shan't see this, and I will find a way--to be a very little more--there now I'm crying, as that girl might have cried. Enough." 

 -Ellen Ash Lastly, from The Rebirth of Druidry, by Philip Carr-Gomm "The connecting thread of poetry does not exist as words on paper. It is not, and cannot be, what we write. Analysis, like dissection, kills the beast. This poetry is instead the memory of motion and stillness. It exists in the stuttering fall of leaf to loam or the recursive eddying of a stream. It is the force of gravity that binds us to earth, and the unbearable lightness within us that happens when the sun pierces the clouds and illuminates the rolling green hills below. Poetry is the terror of the whirlwind and the sudden stillness of death. The connecting thread exists in the tension and resolution between the inner wilderness of the Druid and the external wilderness of the whirling planet."

First, I am testing the post image function, to see if I can post a good one. Lara may get a website for some of her artwork (except that she alternates between wanting a site, not thinking she has enough to warrant a web site, and not wanting people to see all of her work). So, here is a photo of us from a photo shoot by Sarah Bigelow, one of my favorite photographers, and a good friend.

I am sunburned from multiple sessions in the sun, and it feels great. I rode my bike (an hour ride) to Siesta Key yesterday morning, though there were no dolphins while I was there (the local family pack swims up the beach some time during the day almost every day). I got some great journaling accomplished, based on The Artist's Way, which I recommend for anyone who is trying to change their life, specifically pursuing an artistic dream. I got a good sunburn on my back and arms, so this morning, I went out to the pool and called my sister while sunbathing for my chest and inner arms. I am now a varying degree of pink all over, including my scalp. I think I'll avoid the beach for a couple of days.

I just got a new phone, because my old one died while I was kayaking on the Manatee River a week ago. It wanted to go swimming, so it poked a whole in its plastic bag. However, I'm returning the new phone, because despite all logic, it is the battery that is dead and not the phone. How do I know? Because my new phone wasn't charged enough, so I tried giving it the old battery. It wouldn't work at all. To experiment, I tried the new battery (not totally run down) in the old phone, and lo and behold, the phone turned on. I haven't tested it much yet, but I'm certainly going to the store to give back the new phone and instead simply buy a new battery. Much cheaper, especially since I got the same model phone.

I have fallen in love with the swing dance community, and so has Lara. We still love dancing together and going dancing together, to fun things like the local (Tampa) swing dance venues. This is her last week of school, so as soon as she finishes all her work (hopefully before sunday), we'll be dancing as much as possible, and going to the beach, and having fun in general, before she leaves in a week and a half for atlanta. Either she is coming back here for her birthday on June 20th, or Jesse, Patricia and I may road trip up to see her in Atlanta. We will see. In terms of dancing, I have another good friend named Brigitte in the tango community. She's German and probably my mother's age (since I remind her of her son). She leaves on monday back to Germany, because she's only allowed to live here for 180 days a year. I will miss her greatly, because with Lara not going to tango events, I currently have no real friends at tango. I have hopes that Christine and Rukhsana will become regular dance friends, but there is no guarantee. And while Lara and I are making swing dance friends, most of them live in St. Pete or Tampa, too far to meet us regularly.

Raphael advises me to stop calling myself a "warrior" and referring to my intended role in a future society as a "bard", because they bring up images of Dungeons and Dragons. By "warrior", I mean a knight, a gentleman of strength and character, the ideal of nobility. By "bard", I mean historian and storyteller, critic and artist, and a voice to the people. I appreciate his pointing it out. Therefore, I am now a gentleman of antiquated ideals, and I am going to become a storyteller and teacher through my writings.

In other news, I have a new story in the works, and it is actually a journal of my spiritual voyage. The first part is a conversation with a tortoise, standing on an island in the ocean, eating grass. We discuss who I am and what I want to be doing. The second part is a conversation with a dolphin, swimming constantly through the ocean. We discuss the nature of movement in life and our effects upon the world around us (and the people in it). I can't wait to have my next conversation. It will be with a large bird, perhaps an eagle, or a seahawk, or an albatross. I don't know for certain yet. I'm still searching for it. Of course, these are personas, and I am having question and answer sessions with myself, but that's fine. Because I prefer to find the answers within myself than to let someone else tell me what I ought to be doing or thinking. I only wish that I could have listened to others more, for some of the answers I'm discovering are exactly what has been pointed out to me by some of my closest friends, but that I could not accept before.

Lastly, if you have hope of me getting back together with Lara, you can stop. We would both need to become different people if we were to have a romantic relationship together. Lara does not wish to be that person, and I cannot be that person. The future is blank, but being written as we speak. If we get back together, it will not be because we are seeking to be together, but because we rediscover each other while seeking what we most desire. I leave myself open to that possibility, but I cannot hope for it. If you are my friend, congratulate me on my progress, though it feels as though I have torn out a part of my heart and replaced it with strength. I alone must be the focus of my life for the near future, and I cannot take that focus off myself again, even if I learn how to include someone else in that focus. Prayers are always welcome.

I will post more when I am giving you news, rather than working things out. One month until choir reunion, and I can't wait! Au revoir, blogger. I am returning emails now, so feel free to write or call. I have not played a video game, including computer card games, in more than a week. They simply no longer have any sway over me, despite still being attractive. I offer this as proof of my changes. I did not give them up as a sacrifice. I merely stopped wanting to play them. Goodnight, and sleep well.