Hit Pause…Speak Truth

This is not a normal, concise and word-perfect post from me.

It’s a ramble because I need to say it, to heal, and to keep being me. 

 

The past few months have been devastating for so many around the world—acts of terror, terrifying weather and just the unstoppable march of time.

It’s hard to believe that in 2017, I could be surprised at how hateful and cruel people can be to each other. Yet…I’m shocked.

 

My confession: I am not political.

My truth: I am human.

My advice to the President and anyone else who has the privilege of a platform and a voice:

In the face of absolute disaster and human suffering, do not tear others down.

Be kind to strangers, even if they are not kind to you. You have no idea what people are going through.

Take the high road.

Be a leader.

Inspire.

Empower.

If you can’t or won’t take any of these actions, shut up. Please.

 

Then, Monday, October 2nd, 2017.

One of those days I wonder, why bother? We’re irreparably broken.

I stumbled across an old post I never published—I probably should have.

It was from another time that I questioned writing and reading fantasy, when everything was wrong with the world.

I felt frivolous, silly…like a waste of time…or a big lie.

It took some time to work my way free.

 

I didn’t post this yesterday. I couldn’t hit the button.

 

Today, Tuesday October 3rd, 2017…people are standing in lines for hours to donate blood.

I’m working my way free. So about that old post…

 

 

To the dreamers and the artists;

The singers, painters, jewelry designers, authors, photographers and songwriters—without your genius, every ounce of joy and beauty will be lost forever.

Be strong.

Never give up.

You are our only true hope.

 

 

 

 

 

The Calling

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Even thousands of miles away, hints bombard the senses, every minute of every day.

The burst of fresh coffee’s aroma, and the knowledge that it won’t be perfect.

A wall of air so steamy, it’s worn like soggy paper.

Silent fog, swirling, devouring all in its path without remorse.

Snippets of jazz, riding on a veiled wind.

The fleeting whiff of a long forgotten candle.

Whispers of spirits hidden in the midnight rain.

In her sultry voice, New Orleans is always calling us home.

Getting Away With It

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Empty? Maybe.

Silent? Never.

Hands on the clock crawl to that moment when day gives way to sultry dusk and all souls stir in their tombs, destined for midnight’s wicked frenzy.

This air buzzes with history’s notes—flashy keyboards and wailing horns. Floor boards creak underfoot, worn thin by musicians and their dancers, nobles and their courts.

Dazzling lights of royalty fell dark only once, born again amidst sapphire flame and victory bells.

Every chance I get, I sneak in, close my eyes and remember the devilry and decadence, incense and absinthe. Precious memories of brothers and sisters, fast friends and young lovers, chasing their dreams and tempting fate in the Golden Age.

We got away with all of it…

S