For my love

...you are the love of my life.

Hunger

I am hungry for you

Your touch always fills me

Yet - I am not fulfilled

But hungry for more

I sit… for just a minute,

Inhaling the nearness of you

The heat from your body rises to meet mine

And I am fully satisfied

...more old poetry

from the other secret drawer.

Like two birds.

My heart has stopped beating

–      not just for the moment, but for the time

it takes a life to flash before ones eyes.

For a lifetime.

It hurts, this dead end of emotion, and

I am left with one single question – why?

Who can answer this for me?

No one… not even myself.

Trapped, like a bird in a cage,

the two of us sit, looking at each other.

You have the courage to fly out as soon

as the door to your cage is opened,

but I sit still,

afraid of the unknown,

the vast expanse that I have never tested my wings in.

At first my heart pounded so fast

that it hurt my ribs.

Now it doesn’t beat at all,

and I feel strangled

–      the pressure of missing air torturing my mind.

I sometimes feel confined,

locked up,

forced into a

mold that doesn’t quite fit me.

Dislodged

Lost somewhere in time

Expanded in space that is not mine

I float in time

Dislodged, displaced

Confused, homeless

This is not my skin

My life, my time

Old poetry...

straight from my secret drawer...

I am defective.

Someone vandalized my life

Or was it myself?

Afraid

                     Dull and numb – extremely boring.

Falling asleep, drifting, floating,

disappearing into a fog, a mist, an endless cloud of unconsciousness. Noises drowning softly, a voice humming in the distance,

reaching out but never hitting target.

Wishing to touch, but forbidden to do so.

Wishing to see, but blinded and blurred and not capable of seeing. Wishing to hear, but unable to discern meaning form sound,

unable to detect form from matter.

Breathing slowly, deeply, letting the blood run through the tired blue veins.

Pale faced, rosy cheeked, cold, smooth, almost a dead feeling.

Alone, wanting company, but afraid to reach out,

afraid to call out,

afraid to seek out companions,

afraid to open up, to show, to tell, to ask.

Afraid of rejection, of being turned down, out, left behind.

Afraid of not being wanted, not being seen, not being heard, not being asked.

Afraid of knowing and seeing, of confrontation,

of conformity, of solitude and hermitage. 

So it's sunday evening, and I am so tired after a wonderful weekend. Yesterday was spent in the quiet confines of my own home, after a long morning run with the hubby and the oldest. The two youngest kept each other company, and after a late breakfast, we all kinda did our own thing. It was wonderful.

I love quite days that allow me to slow down, enjoy a sunbeam and stroke my children's hair. Days that allow me to shop at snailpace with whatever kid desired to tag along. Days that let me tend to small tasks in the garden - especially those that combine dirt and herbs...
At 3 in the afternoon, the sky was blue and the sun was warm, so I opened the door to our terrace, and sat down with a snack and soaked in the sun for half an hour. Johanna sat on my lap and played quietely.

Saturdat evening brought friends we hadn't seen in a while, and that sent me to the kitchen, both baking and cooking. And it reminded me of how much I really enjoy spending time in my kitchen, how I love cooking and in general, preparing food. This is my creativity - though I always use recipes, but usually end up confirming them to my own ways anyway.

I cannot paint, draw, sew or knit, and I certainly could never write a song or a play for the theater. But putting together a good, home cooked meal, is right up my alley. I would have posted pictures, but I am afraid we ate it all!

I hope you all had a great weekend too...

Collecting people

It just recently dawned on me that I perhaps have one of the weirdest hobbies ever... except from the woman I heard of, whose hobby was collecting hobbies.
My hobby is simply collecting people!

Sometimes, when I am in good company and feeling strangely safe and comfortable, I find myself itching to tell my company about people who in some way or another move me, touch me, awe me etc. Often, I find it next to impossible to convey my fascination with these people. How on earth do you explain to someone how fantastic you perceive someone they don't know? Adjectives such as good, awesome, funny, sweet and amazing just don't really come alive the way I want them to.

So why do I collect people? I think it's because I continue to marvel at the creativity of our Lord. He has succeeded in creating an amazing mass of different individuals, none identical to any. People are put together with a multitude of colors, talents, tastes, shapes and languages. I enjoy being surrounded by unique individuals, and I feel blessed by having these people in my life.

There is no way that I could make a list to share with you - I would not be able to mention all those in my collection, and frankly, I don't know how to categorize or even set up criteria for being a part of my collection. I have no idea how many people have found their way into my collection. All I know is that they all add color to this tapestry of life that I hope to weave.

But I will share one person with you:

Mikael is a creative musician, cook and husband/father. He has a great sense of humor and usually, a good sense of style. This particular picture is from his wife's 30th birthday party, for which he helped cook and serve and survived being the only male in the company. What a great (or something) apron....