#dancinginblack

[dancinginblack]

friend in the field

He’s the kindest soul I’ve ever met.

Courteous and amiable.

Simply, one of a kind.

He is perpetually joyful; the kind that is irrevocably infectious. His hazel eyes are mesmerising and all accompanied by a brilliant smile that understands how to soften woes. But every now and then I catch a glimpse of something in his gaze.

And even though it is the slightest of seconds, there is no mistaking it, because it is something overly familiar. Something I know intimately and now I can’t help but wonder if it’s all just feigned. His happiness, one on a such a grandiose scale, is perhaps one that camouflages what’s troubling within?

Could it truly be all an act? A mask to veil his pain?

Is he truly happy? Or simply contending with high functioning depression? Is that burden and regret too much to bear these days? And do the people who surrounded him make him feel even more alone? His workmates, jovial and full of respect but only for the disguise before them. He seems like the kind of guy who would have married his high school sweetheart, but perhaps with time they have grown apart.

Does he feel invisible to them; even to her?

Since detecting such things, my mind helplessly wonders in assumptions. That feeling of imperceptible melancholic camaraderie. The all consuming remorse and mourning for another souls pain. But with such thoughts, anxiety lures and rears. Perhaps he had identified such traits within my being. He too recognises a soul in distress. That all encompassing smile and those nonjudgemental eyes are a longing for recognition. Reserved for me to help ease his sadness with humble understanding.

xxx

[dancinginblack]

magpie darling

There is a certain flower shop, in a certain shopping centre in a particular suburb that I find myself drawn to. It’s not located in the most glamorous of suburbs. Nor is the centre itself renowned for it’s brands or quality items for purchase.

Quite the opposite actually.

But in this store lays the most unexpected find; an exquisite display of potted orchids. Bright, vibrant and white they are. Standing tall in circular formation rooted deeply within a minimalistic matte white base.

When I waltz past this store I am ever so captivated by their charm. But I’ve never actually crossed the threshold into that store. Never seen their natural grandeur up close. But I’ve guesstimated that they’re priced around $200. Is that reasonable? I have no idea.

Entranced and allured by their beauty, they’ve found their way into my daydreams. And now I dream of these daily. Envision bringing them home and raging an internal debate over where to place my newest family member. To plant them on my wooden coffee table? Or perhaps on the glossy white cabinet against the wall which houses my TV? They would also look rather dapper atop a stack of Kinfolk magazines…

Ah yes in such daydreams I have a roof over my head. And perhaps this is why I escape to such fantasies. Why I find myself irrevocably attracted to some floral orchids. Anticipating catching a glimpse or two every time I enter this shopping centre. Glimpses which set my heart alight and motion for much needed light in such putrid darkness.

xxx

[dancinginblack]

the king and all his men

I’ve never truly believed that god or the Universe could be so cruel and heartless. There were times where certain life events left me pondering such topics, but nothing truly swayed me. Not until I met a distant a relative. A cousin who as a small child suffered either a seizure or possible stroke and was left with brain damage and hearing loss.

Hearing his story and seeing him with new eyes, my heart constricts in pain.

A man in his sixties; handsome and ever so childlike. Seemingly struggling to adapt into our world, desperate to fully comprehend and experience what we take for granted. There’s such a spark within, one that contends with joy and the tragic loss of possibilities.

I can’t help but wonder who he would be today and what exactly could he have achieved and become. A great leader perhaps; be it in business or religion. Maybe a ladies man; a sworn bachelor to the very end. Or even a genius engineer or humanitarian helping his fellow townspeople.

It’s not hard to see an aura of magnificence and a reality, ever so bitter. How could God or the Universe be so callous to such a being – a child no less. To live out his days confined to such a mentality.

Struggling, perpetually struggling with this fast paced world.

Is God or the Universe truly at fault? Or does one lay blame directly on his parents for not seeking appropriate and prompt medical aid. Is God or the Universe liable for selecting a family without the financial means nor education in dealing with such circumstances? Or are the humans created into a world destined for hardship accountable?

It has me questioning all that I knew or thought I knew. In particular that we, at essence, are responsible for our actions. This was a statement I partially endorsed but now feel overly conflicted towards. How could you place blame or responsibility on him or his family members? To say that he attracted such circumstances at age eight is sheer lunacy.

And yet when you look around the world there are countless situations and vile acts that too contradict such statements. There are endless tales of abandonment. Of famine and disease. Homelessness and emotional torment.

His story is sadly not alone.

xxx

[dancinginblack]

tough love

As I sat in my car awaiting my appointment, the shrieking wails from a toddler tore through the melancholic silence of a sullen underground parking lot.

Such are the howls of boy being forced against his will; roaring and thunderous.

I couldn’t help but find a connection between his reluctance in being strapped into his car seat with my own petulant situation. Those feelings of being effectively controlled. Of having no voice or say in any matter. As if imperceptible forces are imposing such conditions and plights in a bid to conserve from unforeseen perils or possibilities my mere human mind can not fully comprehend.

And like that child as time wears on such chastening will inevitably become apparent. Though much like that toddler, I presently fail to see how such merciless actions are for my own good.

xxx

[dancinginblack]

zeppelin and bandits

I wander through this foreign interurban street with a firm sense of purpose and direction. Grasping my Leica with solemnity, instinctually aware of unwanted eyes fixated on the back of my skull.

An unassuming tourist. A lonesome and frail female. An easy target.

Of course, they mistakingly presume.

I am far too engrossed with my ancient surroundings and instead retaliate in defiance with the refusal to acknowledge my pursuers. Of course this unyielding sense of self assurance stems from the confidence that he is within reach awaiting my arrival.

I continue forth treading upon timeworn cobblestones, occasionally falling victim to the vastness between each dividing stone. A charming pale pink door catches my attention so I carefully navigate my way to the opposite side of the street. Simultaneously using this moment to scan the vicinity, comforted to note a throng of tourists scurrying throughout the Old Quarter.

Enamoured with the quaint entryway I spend countless moments attempting to capture such charm through my lens. But with the scorching afternoon sun trouncing atop my head and an insufferable humidity threatening to engulf me, I concede defeat and continue down the street, feeling wandering eyes advancing by matching my clumsy footsteps.

As I approach an intersection I finally catch a glimpse of him. Poised and statuesque, preoccupied with the magnificence staring down at him through his viewfinder.

Ignoring the uncomfortable trickle of sweat beading along my spine I stand there engaged with the sight of him. There’s something so captivating and alluring about him whenever he’s within reach of a camera. His passion and ability to find beauty in the obscure what drew me to him.

Feeling my lustful gaze he turns and acknowledges me with a cheeky smirk. His smile warm and ever so reassuring. Unashamed of my  gawking I cross the archaic road and run straight into his outstretched arms.

“Have I told you how much I love you”.

He chuckles softly, my body perfectly oscillating alongside his. I note something catch his eye past my shoulder. His pointed gaze no doubt eying off unwanted attention in the distance.

“Yes. Repeatedly”.

A deep chortle pulsates through his body and I can’t help but find his laughter contagious. With a soft kiss to my lips, he tenderly nudges me to his side and aims his lens towards the horizon.

[dancinginblack]

the glow of stars burning bright

I finally saw the stars last night.

Like, truly saw them.

With the help of some long awaited precision lenses I managed to see the stars in all their resplendent glory.

No longer were they iridescent prismatic shimmers against the blackened heavens, but remarkably fine pin points of pure white light.

Unbelievably diaphanous.

Amazingly countless others made an appearance; others which had seemingly strayed thanks to such poor eyesight.

It truly was a wonderful sight. Magical and ethereal. A reality check. How tiny and finite we are in the grand scheme of things. A brilliance that manages to break through intense darkness and vastness, freely putting up such spectacles for such unworthy beings.

And to think that for all these years such winsomeness was lost on me.

xxx

[dancinginblack]

durban skies

He’ll drive me to an obscure spot one night, cryptic and secluded. Desperate to reveal his “secret” place, a barren parking lot fornenst the roaring sea. He’ll take my hand and  navigate a narrow passageway pitifully consumed by verdancy, then skilfully tread along velvety sand where minuscule, adamantine granules dexterously slip between toes.

He’ll pause for a moment and survey the skies above and I’ll watch in awe as he inhales saltine breaths of satisfaction. He’ll lay down a mandala towel then motion for me to join. Without a moment to spare I’ll eagerly follow his lead and gracefully entwine my limbs with his.

We’ll stare wordlessly upwards, gazing at the stars above. The smell of brine about as thick as the resplendent brilliance beaming from high above; ever intoxicating and plunging us deep in thought.

He’ll proudly exclaim that this is what he treasures most. And how he’d been waiting his entire life for someone to share this with. And I’ll confide how I always imagined and yearned for such a place. That it was here all along, waiting for my discovery, waiting for me to find it with him.

How I’d been waiting my entire life to do something like this too.

xxx

[dancinginblack]

all the single ladies

I did the unthinkable yesterday.

I mentioned to a mother of two that I was enervated. Simply opened up about how exhausted I’d been of late. How the need for an afternoon siesta was becoming increasingly burdensome and how I struggled to find balance juggling different roles.

Of course what was I thinking? Speaking such truths to someone like herself.

Because how could someone like myself experience such feelings of fatigue?

Do I have a husband?

Do I have children?

Do I even have a household to maintain?

That was her insinuation, her eyes thick with scorn and judgement.

And while she may not have delivered such harsh words they were certainly implied through her contemptuous stance.

How could I have been so impudent for even uttering such nonsense?

Then perhaps I should have elaborated on my level of weariness?

Exactly how emotionally spent I’ve been. Not a small stint but one that has become frustratingly perpetual. How the last five years have been extraordinarily taxing; both introspectively and physically.

How financial and social pressures keep me up at night.

Of course there’s also that mere medical complication surrounding my thyroid which sees me with tangibly legitimate issues with fatigue.

I am so sick and tired of being shamed for being a single women. As if it’s catching and an utter nuisance to society for me to be this way. It is bad enough being made to feel stupidly inadequate for not having a partner and for living at home with my parents.

Let’s not mention the intolerable judgment placed for not baring children.

Why is it that only one group of people feel that they are solely entitled to express such botheration while those of us not in similar circumstances or categories are simply made redundant? Unbelievably those very same circumstances I know resonate with many. Perhaps not to the the same degree but we all face similar conundrums in our lives. I’m not saying being a parent isn’t tiring, you bet your ass it’s demanding but that does not make for and end-all either.

What happened to empathy? And why must we shame another? An epidemic of delusions; constantly in competition with one another. Those proverbial measuring of members running rife at any given opportunity.

Everyone is doing it tough out there. So why do we feel the need to proclaim we have it worse than another?

As if in contest for some ridiculous, invisible citation?

xxx