Living In Moments

Writing about the Dead is more about living than dying. To remember those you’ve lost is a nice memory but you must remember to focus on the living and connect with others. That’s part of living... connecting. Moments aren’t always enough to bind or bond people. Getting to know someone is what keeps them in your mind, heart & memories. Focus on the present. Love yourself. 

Here’s an old one, from another of my favorite series’ The D Men, that’s about the living & considering change for the better if you get the chance. Enjoy whether you have or haven’t read it before.

Do you focus on the living or the dying?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

The Dead

(6-28-2011) 

 

“Baby, I love you come back to bed.” She says.

The soft voice whispers and speaks the truth.

And it’s the last truth that echoes before he’s awake.

The same conundrum wakes Classer Andresen from a dead sleep. Night after night, different places, different women and the same thing happens for Classer Andresen. The whisper precedes a memory. Not the last moment, but one all entirely different.

A random instance where she was there in his arms. In the dark of the Study standing next to the window and he was wrapped around her. His mind is surrounded by the smell of the room intensified by the sensation of his touch he lets his mind wander with the thought. Imagining the smell of the dusty room filled with old books could still make him jump hard with a hunger for her.

Stiff, hungry and hung over when he jars himself free from the waking dream, Classer can’t quite shake the sensation of the moment. Looking over, he visually makes out a long pair of legs attached to a thin brunette.  The small dimple of her back feels just like the one in his memory. But it’s not. As he moves his eyes up from bottom to top he can see the signs of his night. Two wrappers trail the edge of the sheets before giving way to a third. At least his efforts were protected even if he can’t seem to remember them. The perfection of the thin body next to him lifts and lowers with small shallow breathes. With the dark hair covering her face she might be the mirror image of Inara. Soft corners of her lips peeking out from the curly mess of long brown locks could fool him the same way the others fooled him every night.

This one, her name was Rachel. She told him that was her name, but it might be something else. He distinctly remembers a Heather or a Michelle. These women seem to be all the same when there’s one after another night after night. And the one thing they seem to have in common is that they can never be her.

The women like the memories couldn’t bring Inara back into his life. She was still gone, a dead memory because he was foolish enough to let her go. Foolish enough to send her away. And much like a dead woman, thinking about her that wouldn’t change a thing or bring her back to  him. Yet his mind wanders from the simplest stimulation. Looking at the book on the nightstand is intoxicating to his mind and sends his thoughts back into the past looking for her.

The air around them was stagnating in the dark Study. Dusty from the smell of old volumes of truth. Although her lips kept begging him back to bed, her hands were making different plans altogether. Down around his back she cups his ass and pulls him close. Without a thought he reaches beneath her robe and lets his hand move up and inside her thighs. Soft, warm and welcoming she kisses him when touches her.

Snapping back to present he’s ready for more. But to wake the creature next to him would only shake the moment from before. So he quietly runs his fingers across the skin of her thighs before getting up from the bed. It’s all he can do to avoid waking his anonymous companion as he gently shuts the bathroom door. Awake means questions and questions require answers. Answers are something that Classer really doesn’t want to supply at 3am for a woman he’s known less than six hours.

In the bathroom there’s wrappers four and five making an appearance. At least there is comfort in knowing that he safely could handle his alcohol and anonymous bedfellows. But this night wasn’t like any other and Classer knew it.

Tonight much like the dead didn't like to rest, the memories kept coming back to him haunt. The cool drip of the faucet sets his mind wandering backwards toward the same sound of water gently tapping at the window in the moment that cannot become again.

Kicking the back of his legs she let his movements climb and rise. The sound of her breath and moans greet the pulse of his hips and the touch of his hands. Slowly the sounds between them come to an end. Inara kisses the soft part of his bottom lip before taking in the whole of his mouth.

It’s there the memory always fades.

Still staring at the floor and standing next to the sink Classer can’t gather himself quickly enough. His face in the mirror seems the same and very different. There are a thousand reasons to go out there and pick up where he left off with the thin brunette named Rachel or Heather or Michelle and only one to pick up and leave…

She wasn’t her.

And none of them ever would be. None of the living could replace the dead memory of her. And none of these women could ever replace her ghost that haunted his memory. Sometimes she was there in a sound or a breath, but her pure essence could never be captured in a night of mindless pleasure. But for a moment or two he could bring back the ghost of her with a thought. And although it was the purest form of intoxication for his mind, Classer knew he couldn’t live in those memories. That’s all they were.

“Baby, come to bed,” She calls.

In a small voice he can hear the woman call to him.

And it’s the only truth that he can face when he looks in the mirror before turning out the light and going back into the room.

To The Bone

Writing darkness in a different frame of mind is something else. It’s like walking in the winter versus walking in the summer... and not minding either. One of my favorites of the darker series’ was the Bones so I thought I’d focus on writing on a few. Here’s a new Bones with the flavor of the old darkness.

Do you like to take walks?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

To The Bone
 
“Chilled to the Bone!” Tommy yells from up the hill.
 
It’s an early dusk and an unprecedented snow has descended upon our sleepy parts. It’s quite rare that a snowstorm will land in these parts but it’s not unheard of. The fair Adelaide Lafont has graced us with her company on a stroll back through the woods home. She was letting out from her Mama’s knitting circle as we were exiting from the local watering hole, so Tommy offered up our services as escorts. Much to my dismay, sweet Addie has taken a shine to me and wants to hold my hand while we cross through the dead parts of the woods. It doesn’t bother me much because the dead don’t mind the cold and I’m fair certain they’re out playing in this ice storm.
 
With his typical tomfoolery, Tommy is falling behind whooping and carrying on about his distaste for the cold weather. Addie hollers at him, teasing his antics, “Don’t you love being outside? I thought that’s why you’re always playing with the bones, Tommy Lee.” 
 

“This wind chills me to the bone! Whose idea was it to walk home in the snow? Them bones are liable to jump out and try to confis-sss-cate my skin in this state,” Tommy backtalks with a hint of chattering teeth that give him a stutter. Addie giggles at his nonsense, but deep in the back of my head, I know he isn’t wrong. Quickening my pace, I pull Addie a little closer to me. 

 
Walking through the snow blanketed woods as night creeps in might sound like a romantic moment, but round these parts, the dead rarely rest and the bones take every opportunity to pull one over on the living. You see the dead tend to crawl out when the temperature drops. Something about life being frozen still all around makes most folks stay indoors. The living don’t much care for the icy weather and this shift to freezing temperatures almost guarantees you’ll come face to face with a pair of bones walking around midday. Being close to nightfall in this wintery playground doubles our likelihood of meeting a pair of bones. Now the dead normally abide by the rules of the living but when the dead come out in the cold, they come looking for the bones of those that have wronged them. They don’t much care what they take but they’ll take yours if you ever crossed them. 
 
It wouldn’t have been Addie’s fault, why I’m nervous. God rest her Daddy’s soul, he was a gambling man that never did know when to quit. And as we make our way down the trail to her house, all I can think of is how her Daddy used to cheat them bones at cards. Now some men are good at talking or persuading others to do what they want, but Addie’s old man, Remy Lafont, was a damn good cheat. I’d never seen a skeleton come unglued over losing to anyone before I played cards with Remy. He’s probably the only man I’d seen walk away with an entire set of bones minus the skull and an arm and not give it back. It’s a shame Addie couldn’t see him play, but its good fortune she doesn’t know this evening or she might worry too.
 
“THE BONES!” hollers Tommy and I can hear him coming up quick. “I CAN HEAR SOMETHING COMING!”
 
Addie’s laughter grows louder this time, but I give her a yank closer as Tommy runs past us. Tommy has much to be afraid of. He’s crossed the bones on more than one occasion and despite losing his skull once he hasn’t much changed trying to get the best of the dead. Much to my dismay, I know the dead aren’t after Tommy in the twilight hour. In the back of my mind, it’s quite clear that there’s a dead man coming to call on Addie to answer for her Daddy’s sins.
 
Just as I think it, a boney hand latches on to Addie’s free arm. No quicker than I reach over and rip it away, a skull bites down on her leg. She winces and lets out a loud belly laugh before kicking it off with the heel of the boot on her free leg. 
 
“You ok?” I half laugh at her reaction wondering why she isn’t scared.
 
“You know that sneaky fella always tries to hitch a ride home with me every time it gets real cold out. My Daddy, God rest his soul, told me to never let him near the rest of his bones. You ok?”
 
“I’m chilled to the bone.” With a giggle and wide smile, she pulls me closer.

Dream Roomspiration: Garden Bedroom

Barbie loves seeing people and things grow and flourish. So it’s shouldn’t surprise anyone that she loves a garden. Where better to have a garden than in your dream room?

Dream Roomspiration: Garden Bedroom

Would you love to sleep in a garden?

Barbie would!

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Internal

Love is internal. It’s not external. Love exists within. It does keep you warm, metaphorically. It’s not found in the eyes, ears or mouth. Once love is within you, it’s always there. Losses, breakups and hurt feelings can not remove love from you. Others can help you amplify the love within. You can use your eyes, ears, mouth or body to express love for others. But love is eternally found inside of you and you share it with others. 

Love in Buddhism is compassion. My own heartaches always lead me to deepen into my intention to be a more loving human. While I'm healing and integrating the feelings of loss back within I try to focus on sending loving-kindness to others. Sure everyone wants love but much like happiness, it's already within you to be happy and its the same for love.

I'll give you the buddhist answer for once: Love. Just love yourself more. It will all fall into place. When you have love for yourself, you will have love for others. Don't let anyone make you feel bad for not being emotionally ready to share that love. It's okay to keep it to yourself. Personally, I find focusing on myself helps me serve others best. 

If you don't know how to tap into the love within my suggestion is practicing Metta(s) for others. A Metta is a type of meditation. In this meditation you learn to love yourself through connecting and experiencing a sense of unselfish love toward another. Think of someone or something that easily inspires feelings of love, compassion and warmth. It is the best if you can use yourself as the object for compassion. If it's easier you can use a friend, family member, a child or an animal as a benefactor. Once you find your object, you focus on your feelings for them and let the love grow and expand naturally. You can think 'may you be happy' or 'may you be safe' or "may you be well' and if your metta is focused inward then say "may I be happy" and so on. 

Finding love within opens the possibility for true love or compassion.

Here’s a lil ol story about love, the wanting of love and being a little unsure of love. Just remember, everyone deserves to feel love. 

Do you love yourself?  

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

hit.

What is it honey? Tell me about it then. Love. What about? It hits you that’s for sure. Knocks the wind out of you if you’re not careful.

Let me tell you… Falling is the easy part. The jumping is the tricky part. Most people won’t get close enough to the edge before backing out. How does it happen?

Well you meet someone and you find yourself getting to know each other. All too well. That’s always fun. Soon enough you can‘t stand to be apart and you start telling yourself: It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. And somehow you know you’re in too deep.

At that moment of depth you know you’ve been seduced by their charm.  The feeling you get when they’re around is overwhelming happy. There is no one else you’d rather be with. You still wonder if it was supposed to be different. Wasn’t it?

Your defenses are down. You are completely caught off guard. But that is love. And then there’s no other way it could have been. It happened when you weren’t looking. A wall you can’t get around, over, or crawl under.

Before too long comes the realization: I’m hit. This person’s love has wounded me. I’m not the same as I was.

No way it’s all a big accident and fooling is no longer an option. When you look in the mirror you know by your own reflection that it’s growing inside. Love. An emotion that can not be caged is bigger, louder and completely taking you by surprise. Standing face to face with the inevitable and its more than you care to think about.  You’re consumed with the hope that they are feeling the same.

Opposites

The opposite of fear is love. People often get it confused. People who’ve been hurt by those they’ve loved don’t fear love or being loved again, they fear the abuse or being abused again. It takes time to heal from a bad situation. A few months back I personally walked away from an abusive situation. I’ll admit I’m still a little gunshy even though my practice of meditation and Buddhist practice helps me keep my heart open & vulnerable. I know I’m not ready to be rushing into anything but my heart is open to the unknown if it goes slow while I’m healing. If you left an abusive situation and aren’t ready or open yet don’t feel bad it takes time to heal. Never apologize for giving yourself time to heal. When you’re ready to be in love... you will. 

Here’s an old one that’s a lot of darkness. I don’t entertain the darkness as often as I used to or explain my words or characters. But I’m working on writing darkness again so it’ll be interesting to go forward with these changes within myself.

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Between my legs

12-9-09

Between my legs. Lies a hope for the future. Safety. Love. My insecurity? The reason he strayed is between her legs. The reason I stay is between mine. Infidelities he shouldn't have. We're both crying. Both aching. Knowing it’s too damn hard to watch him leave each time. Welcoming him back into my arms despite these flaws. Into the warmth, the depths where he’d linger too long. Falling and fading quickly, taking me down with him. Consumed by desire. A dark desire that is delicately hidden but ever so welcoming. Watching him savor the taste like drinking a hearty pinot noir as the flavor deepens into a meaningful experience. An exceptional wine, meant to be slowly enjoyed down to every drop.

Disappointment. My weakness. Inadequacies as a female. The one thing that sells you short as a woman is there between your legs. Never being taken seriously. As a woman it will keep you weak if you choose. Deprive you of love if you let it. Or allow the true nature within to become empowered by it. Controlled. Demanding. Eve in the Garden of Eden with that convincing apple. Damned is the man that believes he is manipulating a woman. A woman is a cool calculating creature never to be trusted or taken lightly despite what lies between her legs.

Waiting for him to return one more time. Deep down knowing that the game never changes, yet I’ve been foolish enough to continue this way. Sitting carefully, naked in the cold dark kitchen at the small table I trace my fingers carefully along the Formica surface. My bare skin is alive with the anticipation of his return. Element of surprise. It is my very intention to seduce and distract. The pressure of cool metal steel is nestled against the inside of my thigh as I wait. Looking down I can see the invention of death between my legs. Just as I continue to think he hasn’t returned soon enough the front door moves. Quickly my hand reaches in pushing aside the revolver where his eyes can not see. Nothing but my smile and open invitation.

Carefully the dark room masks his face as he moves closer to me. Only his eyes are visible as he makes his way forward. From the looks of it, he’s quite pleased to find me unclothed and honest. Standing over me his hands reach down into my hair and along my neck. An extraordinarily hard kiss as he makes an effort to lean in. The roughness of the moment is intoxicating as his grabbing hands continue to trail along my bare skin. Hands around my hips and in the small of my back as lips move downward, tracing their way from neck to breasts, then further. My ambitious efforts have me fumbling through his clothing, unclasping and removing, as he advances. As he reaches my navel I continue to reassure him by gently stroking his hair; beautiful hair, dark, thick and lush. Head movements find a balance as he nears my thighs. Tug at the back of his head to make eye contact. Lifting eyes meet mine in a piercing stare. Shh! He calms me with a smile before reaching between my legs.

Slowly I part my legs further and give way. Sliding the gun out from its hidden place, ever so silently, with a scoot of my thigh. Removing the cold steel instrument of death as he bends forward to kiss the inside of my thigh. Lips continue to softly caress my inner thigh as his hands come around to circle my hips and pull forward. Silently I find a place beneath his temple. Bare. Visible to my aim. Rocking my hips forward to meet his increasing movements, with my target in sight, I squeeze the trigger tenderly releasing death. Between my legs.