Love

“One Gorgeous Read”

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“Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.”

In 2001, long before many recent books about magical libraries, Carlos Ruiz Zafón had published this book, #1 in the series, The Cemetery of Forgotten Books. It was one of my Annual Library Sale picks. It’s a long read, nearly 500 pages, and I’m just past mid-way, but it’s so beautiful in the language and the writing, I thought to share a few quotes.

“In the shop we buy and sell them, but in truth books have no owner. Every book you see here has been somebody’s best friend.”

“One of the pitfalls of childhood is that one doesn’t have to understand something to feel it. By the time the mind is able to comprehend what has happened, the wounds of the heart are already too deep.” 

“Bea says that the art of reading is slowly dying, that it’s an intimate ritual, that a book is a mirror that offers us only what we already carry inside us, that when we read, we do it with all our heart and mind, and great readers are becoming more scarce by the day.” 

“I was raised among books, making invisible friends in pages that seemed cast from dust and whose smell I carry on my hands to this day.” 

p.s. The title of this post, was part of a review by Stephen King.

p.p.s. (Yes, yes, I know … I should have chosen a different mug.)

When Music Finds Me

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I never really know how music finds me when it does. It just does, and I’m always grateful. The song and video below are what inspired me to write this poem.

I’m pretty sure I saw Gladiator a long time ago, but I don’t recall the storyline. It doesn’t matter. It is this music and these visuals that called me to write these words.

The song, played by 2CELLOS and the London Symphony Orchestra, is Now We Are Free, from Gladiator, written by Hans Zimmer.

This was my inspiration:

Colosseum photo by Chris Flxxx / pexels

Poetry – Day 12

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April is National Poetry Month; the second poem posted. I am so moved by the way some people are able to share their feelings through words so simply, yet words which linger so intently in my heart, as if I had invited them in to stay.

I Am Offering This Poem

I am offering this poem to you,
since I have nothing else to give.
Keep it like a warm coat
when winter comes to cover you,
or like a pair of thick socks
the cold cannot bite through,

                         I love you,

I have nothing else to give you,
so it is a pot full of yellow corn
to warm your belly in winter,
it is a scarf for your head, to wear
over your hair, to tie up around your face,

                         I love you,

Keep it, treasure this as you would
if you were lost, needing direction,
in the wilderness life becomes when mature;
and in the corner of your drawer,
tucked away like a cabin or hogan
in dense trees, come knocking,
and I will answer, give you directions,
and let you warm yourself by this fire,
rest by this fire, and make you feel safe

                         I love you,

It’s all I have to give,
and all anyone needs to live,
and to go on living inside,
when the world outside
no longer cares if you live or die;
remember,

                           I love you.

–Jimmy Santiago Baca

Please read about this poet, Jimmy Santiago Baca, to learn about his background and the life that inspired his writing.

Photo by Order Luck/Pexels – @outxforder

Noticing in Times of Abuse

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A gun held to the head of another, albeit lowered, the trigger not pulled, is no less of an abuse, whether to a country or an individual.

However, we can still choose to notice beauty around us, and hope together for a more loving and harmonious world.

A Life in Lines

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I recently went to the MVC (Motor Vehicle Commission) to get my REAL ID, and was offered the opportunity to have a new license photo taken. Sure, it’s been a while.

There’s nothing like having your photo taken by some official agency to reveal how we’ve aged, how many more lines we’ve added since our last such photograph. In our mirrors at home, we watch a slow and gradual change, so we can almost delude ourselves into thinking we haven’t really aged. It’s a harmless enough delusion.

Once back home, I decided to take an account of my face in the mirror.

There are definitely some lines. Among them, are many, many laugh lines. I know because when I smile, I see which ones they are. I also have squinting lines on my forehead and between my eyebrows, because I have grey eyes, and lighter eyes are always much more sensitive to sun then darker ones.

Some of the lines are simply natural aging, years of skin no longer capable of being taut as it was when I was younger. Pretty routine. I notice there really aren’t frown lines, or a down turned mouth, nothing angry.

But I also know, hidden in those lines, there are times of pain, anxiety, the stress of overcoming things life brought my way, delicate channels for tears. These lines are, to use the words of a friend, my Badge of Courage.

In the end, whether in a harshly lit photo for a driver’s license, in the soft and generous photo taken by a friend, or a selfie, all these lines are no more, no less, than a life lived.