Yesterday was refreshing from start to finish. I drug myself out of bed, as I do every morning, and assesed the situation, and quickly realized that my kids were gonna need nothing short of jumper cables to get them going. So, as I do everytime I'm in need of outside assistance, I turned to music. Music is the heartbeat in our home. nomatter what the ocassion is, we do it with a good soundtrack, and usually a very loud one as well. And despite the fact that I took google home away from the kids after being interuppted one too many times, we still have access to Youtube videos, and enjoy the hell out of them.
it was pure luck that i found this video at 7 am, but it set the mood and Miles, Finn and I sat and drooled and listened. Aurora, Teardrop, Cover of Massive Attack After that, the kids were inspired, I was inspired, even the dogs were inspired (They were very eager to go on with the day and be fed). So, after dropping the kids off at school I decided to write a blog. while I was writing, more songs were played by Aurora, goddess of song and poetry. She sang covers, originals, even some of my favorite poems, Little Blue Raincoat by Lenard Cohen, and somehow Pablo Neruda came up. It has been years since i have read a poem by Pablo Neruda, and i am still trying to figure out how could i have forgotten about my most favorite poet of all time. so I read, and I read, and I cried a little, and I read some more. the poems speak for themselves. Tonight I can write the saddest lines - Pablo Neruda [Recitation by Atanu] Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, “The night is starry and the blue stars shiver in the distance.” The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is starry and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. The same night whitening the same trees. We, of that time, are no longer the same. I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing. Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses. Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes. I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer and these the last verses that I write for her. As the day went on, reminders of poetry, music, people from my past, tiny little memories of joy kept popping into my mind. Beautiful posts on facebook. New artists everywhere, good people trying to live their best life. It was as if I was recieving a message about life; What we do, why we do it, why its important, and how to embrace it. XVII (I do not love you...) by Pablo Neruda I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. The day continued, I picked up my happy children from school and got to watch them play a little football with other kids, brought them to and from dance lessons (of course listening to Aurora in the car everywhere we go), Izzy made dinner, our favorite Molly Pesto dish (Pesto pasta with tomatoes and mozzarella), and we started talking about her English class. Slam Poetry. Again, I was flooded with memories. Again, I realized how much I had forgotten. About poetry, spoken word, and how utterly powerful language is, and why it is important. we watched some poets on tube. we watched a movie about serial killers (after the kids went to bed), went to bed and slept soundly. Today is Wednesday, the sun is out in Lewistown, and the snow is melting. However, we have covid everywhere, we have the flu everywhere, we have all the other illnesses everywhere, and it is still winter. January in MT is a hard, long month with temperatures below zero regularly, diminished sunlight, and snow, wind or both. January is the month that we are cooped up after being forced to see every person we know whether or not we want to. It is the month where we put more pressure on ourselves to make changes, mostly because we have more time to think and less time to act. It is the time that we feel awkward socially because our normal patterns have been disrupted, and we are defeicent in vitamin D. January is the month before fucking February which is the same as January yet with the added frustration of it being the shortest month of the year despite feeling the longest, and being the month of love despite feeling like the month of pressure. Taxes, Valentines, and so close to spring, but not there yet, and so close to gardening despite snow storms and freezing storms in May. One of my favorite teachers, Shaye Elliot, has gifted me some advice about winter. And I know she is right. Winter is actually a gift that allows us to reset. It is a time for rest. The earth rests and hydrates after the plunder of summer and fall, the animals hybernate, the critters begin new life cycles, and we are forced to take time as well. If we are wise, we will "use our time wisely," and use this time to meditate on what really matters. To reach inward and allow ourselves to enjoy the small things. Music, poetry, art, food, these are the things that we create, and also the things that we can do to make life more wonderful. I propose that we use our time to do just that, let's open our ears, our eyes, our hearts to all of the man-made magic that surrounds us, and when the time comes for another season, we will open our arms to that as well.
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AuthorZanny, aka Rosanna Mecklenburg or Rosanna Griffith lives in Lewistown Montana and writes about her life as a self-taught artist, a business owner, a wife, a mom, the adventures of building a permaculture orchard, gardening in Central Montana, learning how to preserve the harvest, and building a home, not necessarily in that order. Archives
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