Tag Archives: #soul

The captivating soul

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‘Frau mit blauen Augen’, Kees van Dongen, 1955

Tall or short, thin or round. Blue-eyed, brown-eyed, maybe even one of each for a touch of the unique. Blonde hair, brunette, curly or shaved head, egg-shell or olive complexion, toned or not, big or small, great and immensely tremendous.

No, there’s got to be more, much more than the pink-iced façade studded in silver beads of sugar and laced in a string of fancy frosting.

Brash and brazen, shy and bashful … an observer, a chatterbox, a listener, a really good listener for sure. Now we’re getting somewhere. Accomplished in the art of listening is a necessity.

But more, there’s got to be more, something beyond the veneer of superficial.

A listener and conversationalist, the epitome of a good communicator who can express thoughts and ideas. And feelings. Justly and rationally, and with reason and a sense of justice and fairness. And with an ability to think on the philosophy of life and way up its nuances. Thoughtfully.

Someone that reads and can read to me and I to them. Head resting on lap, fingers twirling and swirling through hair. Sharing is caring after all.

Birds call, outside breezes through dreamy aqua sheers as a gentle confirmation.

Confident and self-assured, but positively not cocky. Not wanky or manky or any kind of minx … no thanks, that’s just not for me.

One who is considerate and gentle, understanding of others and shows compassion for their needs. It comes with a kindness, generous and selflessness spirit, a giving without expectation. That’s true nobility, in the giving. Now we’re forming a picture.

The ability to be vulnerable too, with the capacity to manage that vulnerability as that shows full disclosure. Honesty. It’s an imperative that goes to the top. Honesty is the sexy. But so is the glint of cheeky grin and sharp wit.

The fun, there’s got to be fun and joy and laughter, and a sharing in that. Time at the beach, for walking, swimming and lazing. Kayaking and snorkelling, sailing and wind surfing, the adventure in trying the new, seeing the new through eyes of awe.

A crack of thunder, a hint of coming rain wafts through the window.

Travelling, discovering new places, exploring cultures and all that makes up our world environment, the extremes of heat and ice cold, and those damn elusive Northern Lights! Riding through snow in little visibility, or motor cycling winding mountain roads lined in green terraces of water and rice and humidity. The chance for real breath, savouring it all until it seeps in and becomes part of you, forms you as an ever evolving you.

Art and music, good food and drinks. Dancing, theatre, the chance for creativity to infuse any part of life and thinking you so desire, even in the simplest of things. Gardening and weeding, especially of the inherent and intrinsic. We all need it in our own way, as an appreciation of what is, and without the gluttony of the selfish.

And in the experiencing of all that together.

But, there’s more. There’s the sharing of the emotional that’s so vital. An emotional intellect. A sharing and understanding of the highs and lows, the distresses and successes. The bolstering and support. Mustn’t forget that, especially on those solo quests.

Rain washes in to define a picture more rounded.

And an appreciation and encouragement of independence. Independence to think and do, be the individual with an identity. And an independence to be found in the sharing as well. There’s such freedom in that, as the outstretched wings of the Pegasus. Wings unclipped.

It’s the kiss though, that’s the real cherry on top of the icing studded in silver beads of sugar and laced in a string of fancy frosting. The kiss that can tell all, express a feeling that can’t be defined. And the embrace that can hold the weight of the world.

That’s the gold gilding the cherry in a picture that’s simple really, of a most captivating soul.


Entwining soul fibres


He perches on a bar stool at a table that abuts a ceiling-to-floor window, sipping a dark latte in a double insulated glass. He hunches over his newspaper, causing his grey T-shirt to rise up and reveal his lower back and a slip of red from under lightly fraying and faded jeans. He glances over the top of his newspaper through the window now and then, onto the passing city foot traffic in the lane way. He fixes onto the occasional woman in red or man in blue that speed by until they reach the door of the café. His gaze stops at the door each time and wills it open. And when it does open, his knee bounces and his heel on the foot rest beneath the stool, jitters. A new customer approaches the counter wanting coffee or a toasted focaccia on the run. Baristas move in speedy hustle sending coffee machines to grind and hiss in steam. He relaxes back into his reading.

A couple at a corner table wearing black suits chat in dynamic pitch. Hands wave and heads nod. One has a bubble-glassed coffee while the other has a cup of tea with a drop of milk. They’re oblivious to anyone or anything but one another, immersed in their conversation.

After the umpteenth willing of the door open, his expression changes.

He leaps from his stool in eyes of gaping gawk at the door that’s opened. His hunch has disappeared and he’s much taller and leaner than his slouch disclosed. He smiles deep in lines of happy as he fixates on her.

She gazes around, and smiles as a sparkle of a star when she spots him. She walks toward him in beaming light, her step quickening and extending in stride that makes her toned legs skinned by jeans, long and slender, and her unruly locks part to the sides. Each stride comes with more light.

They have not yet touched but they’re already connected by invisible soul fibres that entwine and draw them to one another’s core. Their pull of power is unwavering. The couple at the corner table and baristas stop in gob-smacked jaw.

They embrace as those soul fibres bolt into golden padlocks set deep into hearts. They fuse as the one mass to become their own shooting star, where no other realm can exist. And even when they draw their heads back to gaze at one another, they’re still emitting their impenetrable sparkle.

Then comes the kiss … deep in longing; lingering and locked in effervescence. They kiss without restrain as a glowing sentinel in the café. Their arms and hands fit in perfect place over one another, chests and thighs fuse to become one complete body. They radiate in multi-dimension to the extremities of the Universe.

They release. He pulls a stool for her and takes her hand to guide her to sit. They chat but the conversation doesn’t matter. It’s more about the way she relaxes one hand over his knee while the other grips his bicep as she leans in to chat. He gazes at her in wait while resting his hand over hers, never to let her from his grasp.

A waiter brings her a coffee in a long glass-topped with whipped cream, and a slice of Linzer tart on a plate with two forks. She breaks off a piece with her fingers and feeds it into his mouth, and kisses him to catch the crumbs falling from his lips.

She sips her coffee and scoops at her cream; he chats and strokes her hair behind her ear. They sometimes and giggle and always touch. He cuts some tart onto the fork and eases it to her mouth. She savours it, then his lips. They embrace.

One after another that passes by the window look in to catch their sparks.

He and she don’t notice. They see nothing but her and him. Nothing more matters.

A special eye

a special eye
The scent of hyacinth from the windowsill draws down into the pit of my belly and the core of my drained brain begins to lift to wake my senses. I’m standing by my eye into the soul of life and want to trap the scent of the flowers that trails out through a small opening.

It’s through this eye that I glimpse life outside and those playing in its party.

As I dip in and out of soapy suds that dull with the immersion of each food-covered utensil, I watch young children scuttling up the ladder to the tree house. Some afternoons, the rhythmic thump of a tennis ball being hit on the outside brick face comforts me as I fry onions for the base of our favourite bolognaise dinner.

Today, my gaze follows the trailing scent out to the laughter of the three boys collecting washing from the clothesline. There’s boy one wearing boy three’s Karate gi. The sleeves barely reach his elbows as he spins around in chops over the head of boy three, who uses all his Karate blocking moves in confident practice.

‘He’ll get you one day,’ I call to boy one through the opening, laughing along with them.

And there’s boy two smashing a ball with a cricket bat for blue-eyed dog to fetch. She charges with such passion that sometimes she crashes into the steel leg of the trampoline or hits the edge of the trailer. One time, she slipped as she took off after a ball, over the freshly oiled deck. She didn’t whine in pain until hours later when she tried cuddling up to sleep in the corner of the lounge room.

My eye into the soul of life is special and I love to stand by it and watch the two dogs break into the chook pen to steel food scraps. And later when the chooks are having a backyard wander, I giggle at them waddling for their pay back to scratch at the dog food and the dogs moving away while barking, to allow them at it. Such softies!

I listen to the coo of the doves at dusk while exploring the grass and the singing of the wattlebirds as they perch in the bottlebrush bush, happy to sip the nectar of the flower.

My eye has been my saviour at times too. When the boys were younger, I could watch over them while they played beneath the tree house in the sand pit and I prepared cool drinks or snacks of crackers and fruit inside.

I’ve glanced out through my eye into that soul outside for the past sixteen years, to watch play that only children understand and listen to the code of bonding men. Some evenings, aromas of garlic lamb and capsicums barbequing would bombard me and make me salivate. And octaves of muffled chatter and the laughter of many on the deck would overflow into my eye and suddenly the delineation between inside and out did not exist as bodies helping me do and serve appeared by me.

Mostly, I’m invisible to the outside of my eye and sometimes, private talks reveal things that need to remain outside. I’m always careful not to abuse my privilege, which makes my eye all that more special.

Now with the washing and boys inside, I watch the cricket bat rest against the deck and I know there will come a time when those boys will most likely bring someone special home and I will need to retreat to the back stalls of my eye. I know too however, that my eye into the soul of life will always stay as my special eye.

We’re all part of this world

A wonderful verse struck a chord lyrical within, a few weeks ago.

Love so vast, love the sky cannot contain. How does all this fit inside my heart?

Popular thirteenth century poet, Rumi, wrote it.

I know love is vast and endless. I feel it. I see it.

What I don’t know is how such grand amounts of love can fit into the small heart of ours, especially when its physical function is to pump mechanically and continuously to keep our life flowing. And yet despite its tireless work, the heart feels, gives and receives endless amounts of love that a sky cannot contain.

Ask a parent about the love for a child that takes its first steps or performs at a first concert, or new and old lovers about what they feel for their mate. Ask any pet owner about love following the loss of their dog or cat after fifteen years together. They will struggle to utter a word through tears that weep from an endless well in their broken heart.

I like to believe that we humans know what love is and what it means to love and be loved, even if it’s after being hurt in love. And although I sometimes wonder how the vastness of love can fit inside a small, pumping heart, I know it’s because at the essence of our hearts, is a soul.

It is a soul that is endless in its being and strength.

Days later and as quickly as the beauty in Rumi’s quote struck me, a shock jock spoke and jarred me out of my warming image.

A well-known radio broadcaster in Australia told a crowd at a $100-a-head political fundraiser that the Australian Prime Minister’s father died a few weeks earlier of shame because his daughter was a liar. Unbeknownst to the shock jock, his address was recorded and subsequently leaked.

However, the recording wasn’t important. It’s his heart, or maybe missing heart, that interested me.

His callousness and disregard for a grieving human being, bewildered me. Where was his compassion and love, his heart? Surely, even in political games, it must exist.

Perhaps I was naïve. Or perhaps his love sat quietly and alone in a small crevice in his heart, unable to extract itself from its depths. Or perhaps he was without a soul. I felt saddened by that thought.

I didn’t understand and I didn’t know that I was meant to. As I’m told over and over, we live in a polarity of positive and negative, good and bad. It takes all kinds of people, plants, animals, air, and whatever else to live on this Earth. And that includes love.

I think we all have it, love, somewhere in our hearts, just differently. Maybe dressed differently, acting differently.

I think it takes all of us, as different as we are, to live in this world.

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