Oceans away, a man of mystery has shifted shape and time. Backed by rocks cut by the sea and buffed by the wind, a black cloak swirls about him, obscuring form and figure, while a wispy hood of dark gray hair simultaneously frames and conceals his face. Is this the mysterious Mr. Oud, so recently introduced and still so out of focus? The wind is too strong to discern his tell-tale fragrance and namesake.
He appears as if walking on water, but we know it better to be desert, and the mirrored surface is some combination of heat and optical illusion ~ a sleight of sight Mr. Oud would very much enjoy. Or so we would assume; assumptions are all we have when it comes to the mystery of Mr. Oud. While every person is their own mystery, some insist on revealing far more of themselves than was ever asked. (Ahem.) Mr. Oud was never forthcoming that way, and perhaps thatís why we follow him a little more closely. What fun is there in chasing after what has already been thrown in your face? Gazing upon a pair of pasties will always be more scintillating than gazing upon a pair of nipples. Gypsy Rose Lee understood this, and so should you.
Mr. Oud is above such crude analogies, and his black cloak has billowed into a beige trench coat lined with Burberry plaid, his hair suddenly swept into a manicured coif, and his surroundings a sea of concrete sidewalks backed by buildings that soar out of sight. Mr. Oud is on the move.
Certain songs arrive later in life than we would like have liked, long after the fact and the situations where they might have helped with some resonant emotional advice, or some carved out nook of musical catharsis or healing.
And now this beautiful gem, ‘You’re Here That’s The Thing’ – which I really needed several decades ago, when my heart would stir at the turn of every cute guy come every autumn…
… Catch the rain Even on a sunny day I swear I’m not excusing, I’ll cross my heart to prove it But she seems tired ’cause we’ve been through this
These days part of me years for that stomach of butterflies again, that state of fevered bliss and catastrophe, when you’re not sure if you want to cry or vomit or laugh; the rollercoaster of emotional mayhem was a ride I always took, even if there was a line. Inhabiting those spaces from a safe vantage point is an interesting exercise in regaining one’s idea of youth.
… And I know you said that we’re not a thing But you’re here, that’s the thing And I’m not trying to give you a ring Well, maybe on the phone if you let it sing You’re overcomplicating everything
… When the lights go down, don’t say I didn’t warn ya I don’t think that’s legal in the state of California
This song feels more innocent and lovely than the questionable shit I pulled in those heady days. Thinking back to my younger and more foolish moments (though some would argue less and have a fair point) I wonder if hearing this would have calmed or quelled my racing heart. In all likelihood, it would have only added fuel to the desire fire, giving my over-stimulated brain some scrap of hope that should have never been there in the first place.
… I’ve got you wrapped around my finger like a piece of ribbon You just won’t admit it that you’re smitten Hold on a minute, please, won’t you listen? ‘Cause I’m not sure… if you’re into me like I’m into you
… I said a lot of stupid things in the winter Once the ice got thinner But somehow, we managed through the fall So I guess it’s not that bad at all
Like the little white daisies pictured here – not daisies at all but asters, and I’m not even sure of the difference and distinction – I’m keeping life as light as possible. Like this song – it could be saying a lot, it could be saying everything – or it could just be something to fill the background of your Instagram reel with a vibe and an atmosphere – no more, and possibly even less.
… That we’re not a thing But you’re here, that’s the thing And I’m not trying to give you a ring Well, maybe on the phone if you let it sing You’re overcomplicating everything
… When the lights go down, don’t say I didn’t warn ya I don’t think that’s legal in the state of California
Never let it be said that there is an issue I cannot overcomplicate, overthink, overanalyze, or over-anything – my head knows no rest, my brain knows no way to stop. Meditation has helped, as has therapy, and great strides have indeed been made, but I’m just at the start of those journeys, even if it’s been years. The great undoing has only just begun.
… I’m going away Did I forget to mention how long I’d stay? Is that a question for another day? But while we’re away
… And I know you said that we’re not a thing But you’re here, that’s the thing And I’m not trying to give you a ring Well, maybe on the phone if you let it sing You’re overcomplicating everything
Our weather has been super-fine this fall, but rain is undoubtedly on the way, as is an entire winter, so this is a reminder to get out and enjoy while it’s nice, and prepare to enjoy when it’s not. So much of our happiness is about perspective, and being able to shift that is one of the key components to a happy life.
We’ve been here before – and there is some semblance of comfort in that. At least, it’s what I’m telling myself to get through this next month of fall. When I look back at the past decade of posts for all the October firsts that came before, it does feel similar. There’s usually a few dogwood fruit posts, a transition to colder weather, the last of the precious garden flowers in deeper shades from the more tender time of year – in all, the same shit, different year. Cases in point to follow…
Does anyone actually read the words of a text anymore, or do they just see letters, not formulate anything, and just respond with gibberish? Asking for a friend. All the friends.
What glorious autumn weather we have had so far – a kiss of sunshine for all the rainy weekends and slow sputtering starts we had earlier. It’s never too late for a sunny day, and I step gratefully into the light to pocket some of its warmth for the winter to come. There’s my mind again, working overtime before it even clocks in, and for once I stop myself, willing the present moment to exist as it is, without thought or worry or concern for some future day.
I can’t wait to memorize this day Oh, a picture could not contain the way it feels You say, “Live in the present“ I’m already dreaming of how it begins And trying to savor the moment But I know the feeling will come to an end
So I crave, crave to do it again, all again Crave, crave, to do it again, I Just for a second it all felt simple I’m already missing it So I crave, crave to do it again, all again
There will be slower and rainier days to fret and worry ourselves, darker and more somber events to jolt us into focus – but for now, for today, I just want to exist in this moment – to put a flower in my mouth and point it upwards to the sky. Giving in to the beauty of the day.
There used to be something shameful in giving in to feel-good mainstream moments, as if greater depth and meaning were to be found in pain and pathos – when really that doesn’t automatically translate to character – it just translates to strength, and one’s own reserve of it. No more, no less. The braver and perhaps more vulnerable thing to do is show off your joy, your unabashed love for a song, a painting, a sunny day… we let our guards down when we are at our happiest.
Now I crave, crave to do it again, all again Crave, crave to do it again Just for a second, it all felt simple I’m already missing it So I crave, crave to do it again, all again
And so I choose the joy, the fun, the laughter – I choose the surprise dalliance with summer, which we all thought had already departed, but here she comes again, pool-ready and sun-worthy. I choose to crave too, to proudly name my desire for more – to want, to want, to want – and indulge in the profoundly human need to merge the happiness of the past with the happiness of the future.
Any second, feel the present Future and the past connecting (Past connecting, past connecting)
Mr. Oud is a man of many hats. He’s hard to pin down and impossible to track. When you think you have him cornered, he’s already doubled back. My Oud is a man of many hats. Mr. Oud is a mystery demanding to be solved. For the questioning, the curious, and those waiting to evolve. He’ll be your silver fox or your golden silver Daddy, the one to make you cry out in ecstasy or exhaustion. Elusive, enigmatic, and ever-ready to eviscerate, Mr. Oud knows how to tease and tantalize, knows the power of leaving less, knows the heartbreaking tricks of desire – because he was their first victim. This doesn’t excuse his own behavior, it merely explains his transfixing predicament. Wanting and being wanted – and never the two shall mix. Mr. Oud leaves a presence more powerful than his actual physicality; proof of a power to thrill with ideas and mind-fucks. Unfathomably, his presence is often felt more when he is not around than when he is on the scene. It is then that memory and suggestion bring him into being – the only thing that remains is a hint of that tell-tale smoky scent, a resinous fragrance that follows in his every wake, the perfumed trail of his namesake, his signature, his essence ~ the lingering enchantment of Oud.
Holy shit how have we reached the last week of September? That stings, and maybe the beautiful stretch of warm weather we’ve had – payback for all those weekends of rain that started off the year – has tricked us into thinking it’s not such a late hour in the seasonal calendar. Alas, truth will out in the end. Here’s your weekly blog recap – our final one for September. When next we recap, the scary season will be upon us…
Where’s the accountability for all the wackos who caused such a panic over that ridiculous rapture? I’ve been told it’s unhelpful to be so condescending to moronic idiots, but giving credence and a voice to such fucking stupidity is a large part of why this country is where it’s at today.
We recently had our first dinner party of the fall season, even if my intended outfit didn’t arrive until the next day. These are the conundrums of a privileged life. My second-choice outfit was a retread of something done years ago, but true style never ages. It’s not like Suzie or our Moms would even notice. ‘Tis the practice for holiday entertaining, such as it may be. We’ve graduated from the big house parties and only do smaller dinner or brunch scenes now – and it’s so much more pleasurable. Downsizing – it’s a good thing.
Tango music seemed a fitting intro to the dinner scene, so here’s a little taste:
It echoes our introductory fall post here. This is a more laid back vibe, fitting for a dinner. “Old-fashioned music” is what Skip would call it. And in so many ways, I’m genuinely old-fashioned. I can live with that. Enjoy this old-fashioned Sunday…
What is a cup of coffee or tea but a particular potion made to elicit some sort of feeling, some minor transformation, some bit of ease and comfort? What is a prayer or a meditation but a spell cast upon the purpose of our soul? What is a candle but a beacon of light from another world – a world of hope and dreams and fantasy, made no less real from its sole residence within our minds?
“To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself. When you are born a lotus flower, be a beautiful lotus flower, don’t try to be a magnolia flower. If you crave acceptance and recognition and try to change yourself to fit what other people want you to be, you will suffer all your life. True happiness and true power lie in understanding yourself, accepting yourself, having confidence in yourself.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh
Lately I’ve been practicing my meditations in the morning, before the sun is even out, and it’s been good for setting an intention and tone for the day. The recent rainy stretch of weather has actually been a bit of a balm on this riotous Virgo heart – we definitely needed the rain – and it’s been helpful to start things off in a quiet and mindful manner. I see what all the early morning yoga fuss is about – though my body is not quite there to be so bendy quite so early in the day. One must work their way into a sling for anything to be safe these days.
“To dwell in the here and now does not mean you never think about the past or responsibly plan for the future. The idea is simply not to allow yourself to get lost in regrets about the past or worries about the future. If you are firmly grounded in the present moment, the past can be an object of inquiry, the object of your mindfulness and concentration. You can attain many insights by looking into the past. But you are still grounded in the present moment.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh
“We dream in our waking moments, and walk in our sleep.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
This time of the year always reminds me of ‘The Scarlet Letter’ by Nathaniel Hawthorne – the way the sun slants through the changing tree leaves, the way the earth, and its implacable stone and rock, still holds onto some of summer’s warmth. There’s magic and enchantment in the forest at this time – and when the forest is bordered by water, it’s even more entrancing. At some point every few weeks, I find my way to such a leafy scene – to find comfort in solitude, to be by myself, to re-connect with nature in the way that most Virgos need to be connected to the earth.
For this nearby expedition, I needed only to drive to Cohoes to find the waterfalls I’d been wanting to visit for years. Thanks to a severe drought, there was barely a trickle from the might and majesty they typically conjure, but I didn’t mind the quieter and more serene scene. There will be more than enough opportunities for thunderous downfalls and tumultuous waterfalls later this fall. Rain is already on the horizon, and winter is not as far as it seems.
“It contributes greatly towards a man’s moral and intellectual health, to be brought into the habits of companionship with individuals unlike himself, who care little for his pursuits, and whose sphere and abilities he must go out of himself to appreciate.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
When the foliage is still lush and the leaves haven’t yet been ripped from their precious perches, it feels safe on a sunny day. When the leaves start to turn, their coloring sets the sky on fire, matching the brightness of spring’s earliest chartreuse show. It is a beautiful point for reflection – the perfect place to pause in the madness of the current world. There are times when I wonder how I got here – to this specific space and place – and of all that I have lost and gained on that winding journey. I think back to my first forays into the forest behind my childhood home, the way the paths and the trees and the plants felt somehow more familiar than my own bedroom – the cozy comfort of a patch of moss, the hooded cloaks of a stand of May apples, the evocative hide-and-seek game of a clump of Jack-in-the-pulpits. This sort of beauty brings me back to those days, reminding me of our connection to such sacred spaces.
“But there is a fatality, a feeling so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost invariably compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghost-like, the spot where some great and marked event has given the colour to their lifetime; and, still the more irresistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
