One month tomorrow. Just one more month.
Moving out after 4 lines, acts, chapters, lives!
Whatever the time, it's been long enough.
Need a breath of fresh air, or two... I have outgrown the place.
I cannot hide any longer.
There is a life to be lived, to be loved, to be laughed, to be embraced...
I cannot let the show go on.
There is a twist in the story that needs integrating...
I can talk to the author but the decision is mine
There is no possible compromise...
The move will take place.
One month tomorrow. Just one more month.
A split second.
An eternity.
27 February 2007
22 February 2007
Birthday
It was my birthday yesterday and for once it felt good to say so, to be seen, to have some attention even if short lived and not necessarily by the people you like most.
I went to the baker next door, bought this whole chocolate cake and brought it back to work. I cut it and colleagues asked me "iwhat's the occasion?". "it is my birthday", I said. It was interesting to see their reactions; looking embarrassed, ashamed not to know (how could they when they arrived in the Department 3 months ago?), feeling gulty not to have bought the cake themselves, awkward for unknown reasons...
Inside I felt good, I felt present, I was home, I had just turned 36 and I was doing well. The sun had appeared to greet me after so many grey days and falling rain all night. The wetness of the ground reflected the strong sunlight and sent me signals that we were entering the third part of winter and that Nature has started her slow process of awakening toward Spring.
Later I met up with my friends except for the two closest of them who didn't make it for different (and good) reasons. Had I known it long on advance that they wouldn't be there I might not have organised anything. Instead...
... I did enter a new year without them. I look at this as new beginnings, new horizons, new insights, new way of relating maybe. Instead...
... we were 7 of us around this table sharing a good Spanish wine. For some unknown reason, seven (7) has always been my favorite number.
Seven by four makes twenty eight. 28 is the moon cycle. 4 is the number of stages in the moon cycle (new, first quarter, full, last quarter) and it is also the symbol of wholeness. 7... the rhythm necessary for change from one stage to the next...
It might be time for change and entry into another stage of the cycle.
I went to the baker next door, bought this whole chocolate cake and brought it back to work. I cut it and colleagues asked me "iwhat's the occasion?". "it is my birthday", I said. It was interesting to see their reactions; looking embarrassed, ashamed not to know (how could they when they arrived in the Department 3 months ago?), feeling gulty not to have bought the cake themselves, awkward for unknown reasons...
Inside I felt good, I felt present, I was home, I had just turned 36 and I was doing well. The sun had appeared to greet me after so many grey days and falling rain all night. The wetness of the ground reflected the strong sunlight and sent me signals that we were entering the third part of winter and that Nature has started her slow process of awakening toward Spring.
Later I met up with my friends except for the two closest of them who didn't make it for different (and good) reasons. Had I known it long on advance that they wouldn't be there I might not have organised anything. Instead...
... I did enter a new year without them. I look at this as new beginnings, new horizons, new insights, new way of relating maybe. Instead...
... we were 7 of us around this table sharing a good Spanish wine. For some unknown reason, seven (7) has always been my favorite number.
Seven by four makes twenty eight. 28 is the moon cycle. 4 is the number of stages in the moon cycle (new, first quarter, full, last quarter) and it is also the symbol of wholeness. 7... the rhythm necessary for change from one stage to the next...
It might be time for change and entry into another stage of the cycle.
20 February 2007
Chinese New Year
Don't believe what my complete profile says. I'm not a rat. I am a pig. Indeed, a pig, according to Chinese Astrology. Given that it comes back every 12 years, that makes me ... 12, 24, 36, 48, 60 or 72... I won't go further that would really be pushing it.
Anyway, I missed the parade in London but I was on time to be with the crowd. Trust me... Today they estimated 275, 000 people between Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square and Soho. It was a mild, windless and rather grey winter day and as expected it was noisy, busy, smelly, colourful, friendly...
I took pictures, lots of them but you'll have to come back and revisit to see them as I still work with films I'm afraid. My Canon EOS 500 works still beautifully and I haven't got the money to buy something equivalent in digital... I've got other priorities! One day, maybe!! But the films are now gone to be developed and hopefully I'll upload (or is it download, I never know...) them this coming weekend.
Anyway, I missed the parade in London but I was on time to be with the crowd. Trust me... Today they estimated 275, 000 people between Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square and Soho. It was a mild, windless and rather grey winter day and as expected it was noisy, busy, smelly, colourful, friendly...
I took pictures, lots of them but you'll have to come back and revisit to see them as I still work with films I'm afraid. My Canon EOS 500 works still beautifully and I haven't got the money to buy something equivalent in digital... I've got other priorities! One day, maybe!! But the films are now gone to be developed and hopefully I'll upload (or is it download, I never know...) them this coming weekend.
17 February 2007
Witches at their incantations
For the first time in years, I walked in the National Gallery in London. With no preconceived idea of what to see and where to go, I mostly wandered around some rooms, in awe of the architecture of the place, until... I was suddenly stopped, compelled to turned around and I fell on this painting by Salvator Rosa. This is what Wikipedia says about him:
"Salvator Rosa (1615-March15, 1673) was an Italian Baroque painter, poet and printmaker, born in Naples, but active there, Rome, and Florence. As a painter, he is best known as an "unorthodox and extravagant" and a "perpetual rebel" proto-Romantic. His life and writings were equally colorful."
Voilà des années que je n'avais pénétré dans la National Gallery à Londres. Je n'avais de plan précis et j'ai donc déambulé d'une pièce à l'autre, complètement émerveillée par la beauté du lieu jusqu'à ce que soudain, je m'arrête sans raison et me tourne - comme forcée... face à ce tableau de Salvator Rosa. Voilà ce que dit Wikipedia:
"Salvator Rosa' était un poète satirique, acteur, musicien et peintre italien né en 1615, près de Naples à Arenella et décédé en mars 1673 à Rome. La devise de Salvator "aut tace aut loquere meliora silentio" figure sur son autoportrait
.
I am not usually a great fan of this period but I simply fell in love with that specific painting. So much so that I actully bought a A2 size print of it... Darkness, fear, horror, disgust, sour smell, shame... don't they carry some traits of ours we've managed to forget and bury??
Je ne rafolle pas de la peinture de cette époque mais je suis tombée amoureuse de ce tableau et en ai acheté un reproduction sur le champ... noirceur, peur, horeur, écoeurement, odeurs néabonde, honte... n'a-t-on pas confié à ces sorcières des traits de caractères qui nous appartiennent et qu'on a réussi, plus ou moins bien, à oublier et enterrer?
"Salvator Rosa (1615-March15, 1673) was an Italian Baroque painter, poet and printmaker, born in Naples, but active there, Rome, and Florence. As a painter, he is best known as an "unorthodox and extravagant" and a "perpetual rebel" proto-Romantic. His life and writings were equally colorful."
Voilà des années que je n'avais pénétré dans la National Gallery à Londres. Je n'avais de plan précis et j'ai donc déambulé d'une pièce à l'autre, complètement émerveillée par la beauté du lieu jusqu'à ce que soudain, je m'arrête sans raison et me tourne - comme forcée... face à ce tableau de Salvator Rosa. Voilà ce que dit Wikipedia:
"Salvator Rosa' était un poète satirique, acteur, musicien et peintre italien né en 1615, près de Naples à Arenella et décédé en mars 1673 à Rome. La devise de Salvator "aut tace aut loquere meliora silentio" figure sur son autoportrait
.
I am not usually a great fan of this period but I simply fell in love with that specific painting. So much so that I actully bought a A2 size print of it... Darkness, fear, horror, disgust, sour smell, shame... don't they carry some traits of ours we've managed to forget and bury??
Je ne rafolle pas de la peinture de cette époque mais je suis tombée amoureuse de ce tableau et en ai acheté un reproduction sur le champ... noirceur, peur, horeur, écoeurement, odeurs néabonde, honte... n'a-t-on pas confié à ces sorcières des traits de caractères qui nous appartiennent et qu'on a réussi, plus ou moins bien, à oublier et enterrer?
Women (3) - gathering strength
The cage won't be shut locked
Well-trained animals go wild again
The circus is dying
You're ready
to take off your clown's mask
show your face
be real
The cage won't be shut locked
The dogs have smelt one another
They're barking sheer strength
You're ready
to fight
stand up
be loud
The cage won't be shut locked
Boats depart in wild waters
The hurrican is racing to the finish line
You're ready
to go all the way
exist
be counted
The cage won't be shut locked
The moon appears on a sunny day
Rounded and full
You're ready
to give up the shame
make yourself proud
be a woman
clairem --- 28 Dec 2006
Well-trained animals go wild again
The circus is dying
You're ready
to take off your clown's mask
show your face
be real
The cage won't be shut locked
The dogs have smelt one another
They're barking sheer strength
You're ready
to fight
stand up
be loud
The cage won't be shut locked
Boats depart in wild waters
The hurrican is racing to the finish line
You're ready
to go all the way
exist
be counted
The cage won't be shut locked
The moon appears on a sunny day
Rounded and full
You're ready
to give up the shame
make yourself proud
be a woman
clairem --- 28 Dec 2006
Noël
Je sais qu'on arrive à mardi gras et que ce petit poème arrive bien en retard...
Dis-moi où est l'espoir
Sous les montagnes de paquets multicolores
Derrière les sourires forcés et emmurés
Donne-moi une raison de croire
Que tu fêtes plus que ton pouvoir d'achat
Que tu as d'autres valeurs que celles de la bûche et du foie gras
clairem --- 27 Dec 2006
Dis-moi où est l'espoir
Sous les montagnes de paquets multicolores
Derrière les sourires forcés et emmurés
Donne-moi une raison de croire
Que tu fêtes plus que ton pouvoir d'achat
Que tu as d'autres valeurs que celles de la bûche et du foie gras
clairem --- 27 Dec 2006
13 February 2007
Laisser partir
Ce sont toujours les écharpes préférées qui s'envolent les jours de tempête
Les colliers les plus affectionnés qui cassent les premiers
Les vidéos adorées qui s'usent à vitesse grand V
Les bons amis qui partent les premiers
Et il faut apprendre à vivre avec...
... puis sans.
Les colliers les plus affectionnés qui cassent les premiers
Les vidéos adorées qui s'usent à vitesse grand V
Les bons amis qui partent les premiers
Et il faut apprendre à vivre avec...
... puis sans.
Vers le retour
Plus d'une fois c'est arrivé que je m'arrête
Lasse, exténuée et emmitouflée dans des frusques empruntées
Jusqu'à me casser le nez contre un mur d'apparence inébranlable
Debout là, juste au milieu de mon chemin. J'ai eu beau chercher
Pas moyen de faire l'école buissonière
Et j'ai enfoncé le stop trop tard
La bande cassette s'est fait bouffer par une tête de lecture ayant passé l'âge
Ca faisait longtemps que ca me pendait au nez
Mais faute de temps, de moyens, de courage, de savoir faire?
Peu importe
Je n'avais cessé de remettre à plus tard
"Aller, juste une petite dernière pour la route"...
A tâtons j'ai cherché à comprendre
Un instant pleine d'espoir de savoir comment traverser
Au plus court, au plus vite, et oublier...
Le suivant frustrée, désespérée, enragée
De continuer à tourner en rond.
Les mirages se sont succédés
Les saisons chaudes et puis froides
Combien de fois suis-je repassée là-même où je m'étais cognée?
J'ai arrêté de compter...
Mais c'est drôle, le mur viellit et s'affaiblit
par endroits où j'ai pu passer du temps
assise et découragée parfois même terriblement inquiète.
La découverte forcée de ce mur
m'a enseigné toutes ses beautés cachées
Ses hontes et ses côtés ténébreux et noirs.
Je redécouvre la main de l'artiste qui l'a érigé
Moi-même
Dans des temps reculés
Où c'était une question de vie ou de mort
Comme j'ai survécu je l'avais oublié.
La cheminée fume
Les senteurs du printemps chatouillent mes narines
Il y a quelqu'un chez moi pour m'accueillir quand je viens.
Je suis sur le chemin du retour
clairem --- 13 Feb 2007
Lasse, exténuée et emmitouflée dans des frusques empruntées
Jusqu'à me casser le nez contre un mur d'apparence inébranlable
Debout là, juste au milieu de mon chemin. J'ai eu beau chercher
Pas moyen de faire l'école buissonière
Et j'ai enfoncé le stop trop tard
La bande cassette s'est fait bouffer par une tête de lecture ayant passé l'âge
Ca faisait longtemps que ca me pendait au nez
Mais faute de temps, de moyens, de courage, de savoir faire?
Peu importe
Je n'avais cessé de remettre à plus tard
"Aller, juste une petite dernière pour la route"...
A tâtons j'ai cherché à comprendre
Un instant pleine d'espoir de savoir comment traverser
Au plus court, au plus vite, et oublier...
Le suivant frustrée, désespérée, enragée
De continuer à tourner en rond.
Les mirages se sont succédés
Les saisons chaudes et puis froides
Combien de fois suis-je repassée là-même où je m'étais cognée?
J'ai arrêté de compter...
Mais c'est drôle, le mur viellit et s'affaiblit
par endroits où j'ai pu passer du temps
assise et découragée parfois même terriblement inquiète.
La découverte forcée de ce mur
m'a enseigné toutes ses beautés cachées
Ses hontes et ses côtés ténébreux et noirs.
Je redécouvre la main de l'artiste qui l'a érigé
Moi-même
Dans des temps reculés
Où c'était une question de vie ou de mort
Comme j'ai survécu je l'avais oublié.
La cheminée fume
Les senteurs du printemps chatouillent mes narines
Il y a quelqu'un chez moi pour m'accueillir quand je viens.
Je suis sur le chemin du retour
clairem --- 13 Feb 2007
10 February 2007
Angel and demon to the rescue?
I can hardly begin to name or understand what happened today... or do I know but am too scared to contemplate?
After four and a bit years of a close yet rather peculiar relationship he shared with me some bits of his past and of himself. Yes he'd talked about his daughter every now and then but this was so different and this time it came up so unexpectedly! I feel very confused!! His story fits so well with mine... or rather with a story that I had made mine many moons ago even though it doesn't belong to me, with a story that I'm trying real hard to fight and give back to the world where it belongs!
What happened next is interesting, too. Two voices were arguing within me, you know the angel and the demon... The demon rejoiced and listened with immense care, drinking on every single detail and feeding on each spoken word. So much better than the best ever Christmas lunch!! He kept saying to me, "Listen Claire this guy is calling for help and I can make him happy; I love him, always have and I'd do anyth..." but he was being silenced with authority by the angel, "I'm NOT a good samaritan nor a celebrity, get me out of here!" As battle raged between the two of them I had gone to being a ball in a hard-fought table-tennis game. The two opponents desperately wanted to win, masking their shots until the very last moment, gentle touch, uplifted, smashed, crashing heavily, out!!!
That's when the tears began to run down my cheeks... before getting trapped into the thickly knitted black jumper I wore. They were tears of sorrow until... a smile grew on my face without warning and a genuine laughter burst out into the wide open space before me. They had turned to being tears of joy. And the cycle started again, grieving, then celebrating, then...
It doesn't make sense, does it? Yet I could feel my heart in unison with my tears and with the little angel and demon within. The burning sensation kept expanding regardless but the quality of the fire switched from an enclosed one of mourning for a cremation to a wild bonfire in a warm summer night (I'm sure I could even hear the songs and the accompanying guitar and smell the delicious BBQ)...
Finally some quiet time appeared behind the corner and I sent away both the angel and the demon because their home is not with me. All is left is the question, "why did he choose today to talk to me about himself?" I have no answer as yet but a pounding heart in my chest.
At least I know I'm alive!
clairem --- 9 Feb 2007
After four and a bit years of a close yet rather peculiar relationship he shared with me some bits of his past and of himself. Yes he'd talked about his daughter every now and then but this was so different and this time it came up so unexpectedly! I feel very confused!! His story fits so well with mine... or rather with a story that I had made mine many moons ago even though it doesn't belong to me, with a story that I'm trying real hard to fight and give back to the world where it belongs!
What happened next is interesting, too. Two voices were arguing within me, you know the angel and the demon... The demon rejoiced and listened with immense care, drinking on every single detail and feeding on each spoken word. So much better than the best ever Christmas lunch!! He kept saying to me, "Listen Claire this guy is calling for help and I can make him happy; I love him, always have and I'd do anyth..." but he was being silenced with authority by the angel, "I'm NOT a good samaritan nor a celebrity, get me out of here!" As battle raged between the two of them I had gone to being a ball in a hard-fought table-tennis game. The two opponents desperately wanted to win, masking their shots until the very last moment, gentle touch, uplifted, smashed, crashing heavily, out!!!
That's when the tears began to run down my cheeks... before getting trapped into the thickly knitted black jumper I wore. They were tears of sorrow until... a smile grew on my face without warning and a genuine laughter burst out into the wide open space before me. They had turned to being tears of joy. And the cycle started again, grieving, then celebrating, then...
It doesn't make sense, does it? Yet I could feel my heart in unison with my tears and with the little angel and demon within. The burning sensation kept expanding regardless but the quality of the fire switched from an enclosed one of mourning for a cremation to a wild bonfire in a warm summer night (I'm sure I could even hear the songs and the accompanying guitar and smell the delicious BBQ)...
Finally some quiet time appeared behind the corner and I sent away both the angel and the demon because their home is not with me. All is left is the question, "why did he choose today to talk to me about himself?" I have no answer as yet but a pounding heart in my chest.
At least I know I'm alive!
clairem --- 9 Feb 2007
08 February 2007
Winter flavour in beautiful London
The forecast had predicted it. It fell down just as they said and the day was born in the yellow and orange glows of the lampposts reflecting into the low low sky.
London has put her white coat on and dropped into silence. The wind brushes my face as snow flakes come crashing on my forehead, find the tiny square of bare skin that escaped my attention and is not hidden under the scarff or enter my nostrils as I inhale deeply. If only I close my eyes, I'm on the slopes in the Alps, smelling the winter and listening to the snow sqeaking under my feet.
I have grown to love London more and more but such a day is the cherry on the cake. It is a wonderfully refreshing day where people acknowledge each other's presence and smile at one another as they become squashed on the overcrowded suburban trains of the rush hour.
clairem --- 7 Feb 2007
London has put her white coat on and dropped into silence. The wind brushes my face as snow flakes come crashing on my forehead, find the tiny square of bare skin that escaped my attention and is not hidden under the scarff or enter my nostrils as I inhale deeply. If only I close my eyes, I'm on the slopes in the Alps, smelling the winter and listening to the snow sqeaking under my feet.
I have grown to love London more and more but such a day is the cherry on the cake. It is a wonderfully refreshing day where people acknowledge each other's presence and smile at one another as they become squashed on the overcrowded suburban trains of the rush hour.
clairem --- 7 Feb 2007
06 February 2007
Relationships
My answering machine speaks out their messages, my inbox flashes their yet unread emails and my phone keeps playing the 4 silly notes telling me they've sent texts...
Their voices are low and sorrowful, excited, irritated, shocked, puzzled or frustrated...
They pour their stories into my ears, unfold their problems on the table next to the steaming coffees, relate their difficulties to come unstuck, burst into laughters to avoid the tears, look away in shame and guilt, cry their desire to end the misery...
They're coming to me in numbers asking for more than friendship.
They ask my support, my opinion, my insights, my advice. Some even call it counsel.
The fantastic and fascinating thing is, the deal is evenly balanced... they give as much as I do... thank you
clairem --- 7 Feb 2007
Their voices are low and sorrowful, excited, irritated, shocked, puzzled or frustrated...
They pour their stories into my ears, unfold their problems on the table next to the steaming coffees, relate their difficulties to come unstuck, burst into laughters to avoid the tears, look away in shame and guilt, cry their desire to end the misery...
They're coming to me in numbers asking for more than friendship.
They ask my support, my opinion, my insights, my advice. Some even call it counsel.
The fantastic and fascinating thing is, the deal is evenly balanced... they give as much as I do... thank you
clairem --- 7 Feb 2007
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