Thinking out loud

I realized one day
that some of the pics on my tumblr
contain solitary people.
Well, most of the pics with people
are with one tiny person,
on a far away mountain top,
or a dock, or in a painting, 
basically one dreamer,
looking off into the unknown
dreaming of adventures.

Peacefully solitary
Suzanne

Longing

I am longing
longing for what
I don't know

A quiet spot on the grass
a place that is empty of other human contact
where I can just lay down
and spread my arms out wide
look up at the sky
and just
be
quiet

I'm longing,
longing for an adventure
not a close excursion
but somewhere farther away
somewhere different
or somewhere the same
but new because of the season

I walk out my door
into the known,
looking for new,
searching for a gateway
to another space and time
or just
the next street over
where
I haven't walked before

Original thought
from
Suzanne McCann

Want

What do I want
to do,
to be.

How do I do
what I want
or  be who I am
when I am just pretending
to be doing what I want
and being who I am.

Is it just acting the part?
Or am I doing what I want
and being myself,
just with the dream
of doing something different
in another skin.

How to reconcile the many
parts of me. The doer, the dreamer,
the person, the actor, the creator,
the one stuck in the monotonous
dream wishing she wasn't.

Original thought
by
Suzanne McCann

Stirring my imagination.

I am reading a book called Stardust by Neil Gaiman. I love the movie and the book was highly recommended to me. I started to read this passage and I felt goosebumps and shivers and my imagination went into over-drive.

Here is the passage. I dare you not to see magic worlds swirl through your mind as you read.

It was sometimes said that the grey-and-black mountain range which ran like a spine north to south down that part of Faerie had once been a giant, who grew so huge and so heavy that, one day, worn out from the sheer effort of moving and living, he had stretched out on the plain and fallen into a sleep so profound that centuries passed between heartbeats. This would have been a long time ago, if it ever happened, in the First Age of the world, when all was stone and fire, water and wind, and there were few left alive to put the lie to it if it was not true. Still, true or not, they called the four great mountains of the range Mount Head, Mount Shoulder, Mount Belly and Mount Knees, and the foothills to the south were known as the Feet. There were passes through the mountains, one between the head and the shoulders, where the neck would have been, and one immediately to the south of Mount Belly.
  They are the wild mountains, inhabited by wild creatures: slate-coloured trolls, hairy wild-men, strayed wodwos, mountain goats and mining gnomes, hermits and exiles and the occasional peak-witch. This was not one of the really high mountain ranges of Faerie, such as Mount Huon, on the top of which is the Stormhold but it was a hard range for lone travellers to cross nonetheless.

Wonderful,

Suzanne

Smile

At Home

At Home – The House of Belonging 
– by David Whyte

At home amidst
the bees
wandering
the garden
in the summer
light
the sky
a broad roof
for the house
of contentment
where I wish
to
live forever
in the eternity 
of my own
fleeting
and momentary
happiness. 

I walk toward
the kitchen
door as if walking
toward the
door of a recognized 
heaven

and see the
simplicity 
of shelves and
the blue dishes
and the
vaporing 
steam rising
from the kettle
that called me in. 

Not just this
aromatic cup
from which to drink
but the flavor
of a life made whole
and lovely
through the 
imagination 
seeking its way. 

Not just this
house around me
but the arms
of a fierce
but healing world. 

Not just this line
I write
but the 
innocence
of an earned
forgiveness
flowing again
through hands
made new with
writing. 
And a man
with no company
but his house,
his garden,
and his own
well peopled solitude,

entering
the silences
and chambers
of the heart
to start again.

—	“At Home – The House of Belonging” by David Whyte (from his book River Flow - New & Selected Poems, 1984 - 2007)

Interesting words with great definitions

werifesteria

—

(noun) An old English and dead word, werifesteria means to wander longingly through the forest in search of mystery. 

hygge

— (noun) An untranslatable  Danish word, hygge is recognized as the warm and fuzzy feeling that overcomes you while you are enjoying the company of your favorite friends and the beauty of life.

Content

I've been alone
but never lonely
I like my own company
with  small interjections
of human contact.
But lonely is creeping in
making me take stock
of my solitary existence.

Are we ever really happy alone?
I thought I was.
I believe I am.
Should I allow myself to feel
loneliness?
Or should I reach out
and interact with others.
Will feeling lonely
damage? or destroy?
my otherwise mediocre life?

Perhaps its just a sense
of wanderlust
that is making me feel
unsettled, angry, sad, alone.
I want to explore, discover,
but do not have the means.
Am I jealous of those who do?
Can I be honest with myself,
or will I try to build barriers,
make excuses,
Can I find what makes me happy
in the confines of my own circumstances.

Original thought
by Suzanne

I feel like wandering

A Green Wooded Wonderland

If you are looking for me
I'm not by the sea
but in a green, wooded corner
shaded from the sun
listening to the birds
and the brook

Distant sounds of traffic going by
sitting and reading
stealing glances at the Moss Lady
her pale skin
in contrast to her cloak of moss
beautiful, mesmerizing, calming

Woodland creatures also visit
they sit awhile
chatter in hushed tones
gazing into her unfocused eyes
she is dreaming of lives lived
and adventures yet to experience

Now I have found you,
I will visit often
for it is lovely
and green and quiet
and a place for organizing
all the dreams I dream

Original thought by
Suzanne McCann