Friday, August 26, 2011

Hurricane Irene - A Vampire's Fury

View image detailThe New York air is unnaturally subdued even as the fierce city tracks the progress of an historic storm.  I know why the storm is surging tonight poised to attack the eastern coastline.  Phisto's fury is churning, and with that the hurricane has been spawned.  I felt the man's intensity and strength in his music, as I watched his casual stance, taut with power.  His eyes tracked Jasmine's movements even as he smiled and charmed his fans, he watched her with an intense cobalt concentration.

I was chilled when I saw him focus on Luca's mystical violet eyes.  It was like a midnight storm trying to penetrate a perfect dawn.  These two men, seemingly dissimilar in every way, actually shared many traits.  They were the light and the dark that we admire in a painting, the human voice.  Without one the beauty can not exist. It is the contrast that creates the magnificence.  But it is too much for one woman to withstand.  They each fight for Jasmine's talent and her affection, though for different reasons.

Jasmine and I have not had a chance to speak at depth since the concert in Central Park.  I have many insights and some information that Cairn has shared.  Does she know that Phisto
is not as he seems and that he is more dangerous than she can imagine?  And what of Luca, does she realize that he is a Vampayre?  These are not exactly truths that she can learn at the American Opera Center.  And yet she is about to learn the visceral consequences that will accompany her choices and the freedom that she is claiming with her voice is about to be curtailed in her life, if she is not conscious.

She called in a state of agitation.  Apparently Luca has invited her to spend the pre-storm darkness with him, even as Phisto said that he expected to spend the night with her at her Riverside apartment.  For the moment she has told them that she will be fine and needs to work and study over the weekend.  But the storm is coming because one man can not accept her decision.  We are waiting tonight to see what tomorrow will bring.  In the hushed expectation someone's life is about to be changed.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Summer in Central Park - When Two Strong Men come Face to Face

It happened.  I met Luca and Phisto.  Cairn was with me, and his SPNdar (supernatural radar) was in full throttle.  Jasmine invited me to attend a performance of the American Opera Center in Central Park.  That gave me an opportunity to experience their music before I met them.  I wasn't prepared for the force that left me trembling.

The night was languid with heat and humidity.  Cairn had gone before to reserve a spot, so I was able to luxuriate next to him on my lavender sari blanket that was woven with silver threads that united the sari's rich fabric and history, in the middle of the park with a direct view of the stage.  I looked into Cairn's eyes that to me, were like the stars that created a palette above the trees.  I was home.

The orchestra tuned and I settled against the beach chairs that Cairn had bought along, determined to observe and experience everything.  The first chords from Luca's new opera encircled Central Park with a golden thread.  It felt like looking into the beloved's eyes for the first time - the recognition - the disbelief - the intense relief that he's finally come.  No, it felt like listening to the life current that  made buds blossom and the ocean tumble onto the shore.  It was the sound of life.  I turned to look at the canopy of leaves that sheltered us and I swear that I saw new shoots sprout and jump into the summer night.  I saw buds quicken and burst into flowers.  I saw life.  Cairn turned to me and drew my hand to his mouth where his lips lingered and promised more intimacy.  I didn't know who this man, this composer was, but he was a genius.  He channeled sounds from another realm.  A realm that we long to retreat to but can only visit in meditation or dreams, or  we hope, after death.  The music continued to flourish, build and release, leaving a plowed field with new seeds in its wake.  His music was about possibilities and expanse.

Phisto conducted the piece with a fury that made me feel greedy.  I wanted to grab all of the life around me and stuff into my mouth, my pores.  I wanted to roll in the grass and cover myself with life.  I wanted it all.  The next piece was from Saint Saen's Samson and Dehlilah, the Bacchanale.  It was a piece that depicted greed, a surfeit of food, music, love.  The intense and relentless swell of the music grabbed me by the throat and I wanted to shout yes to everything.  I didn't notice how Cairn watched me with amusement or how his full lips curved and his dimples flickered from the shadows of his masculine face.  I always loved music but my response to Phisto's conducting was visceral.  The air grew heavier and plump with moisture as if in response to the promise that the music held

The last strains from the concert hovered above the muted park while the audience seemed to turn within and consider their destiny.  I was surprised when Jasmine came to us and said in  a gentle voice, "Come, I want you to meet them."  Her eyes flickered to Cairn and she nodded, so we made our way through the crowd.  She moved economically and with confidence so that we made our way easily and were soon behind the stage where I saw two mythic men talking with admirers.

Luca turned first as soon as he sensed Jasmine's presence.  I was struck by his violet eyes that slashed against his rugged tanned face like an oasis in a dessert.  His dark hair hung over his forehead, slightly damp from the heat.  His eyes focused on Jasmine with such intensity that they seemed to create the impression of a universe with Jasmine at the center.  Introductions were made and I stammered something about the vivacity and ethereal quality of the piece, hoping that I didn't sound terribly gauche.  I just really wanted to kiss his hands for I felt like I was in the presence of something more fragile and beautiful than this earth can comfortably host.  His touch at first was cool, then my skin flushed where his hand had just held mine.

     "I'm glad that my music satisfied," he responded.  The words glided on a rich baritone voice that sounded like another one of his compositions.  His masculine hand was beautifully formed with long eloquent fingers and a large reassuring palm.  I sensed Cairn's immediate reaction, as though he recognized the man.  But my questions would have to wait until later.

Then we moved towards Phisto who commanded a group of admirers as a general might preside over his troops.  His height insinuated that he would dominate every situation but his confidence guaranteed it. His speech was clipped and direct with an Eastern European accent.

     "The music is only notes.  It is the conductor that gives it life, no?"

And I knew in that moment that he and Luca hated each other with the primordial hatred that cleaved heaven from earth at the beginning of time.

They were not mere men.  They were something more.  And my new friend Jasmine was at the epicenter of something that had driven their desires and fears from the beginning.

Friday, August 12, 2011

PTSD - Solitude and Sound -

I live in a world of solitude and sound, surrounded by the comfort of one and the miracle of the other.  I didn't trust human love after my parents had died.  It seemed that if they could not manage to remain to raise me, love me, that my obligations to such emotions had then been neatly severed.  Truthfully I longed to be invited into the warmth of the insular world that they inhabited but I was always an observer.  As such, I became acutely keen at discerning peoples' emotions and motivations.  I learned to mimic their behaviors that had been inspired by deep attachments.  But I held myself back from the emotions themselves.  Still I am a deeply sensitive person and needed an expressive outlet for my inner kingdom.

Music became that outlet and I served her like the most faithful initiate.  Her love was steady and strong and she always rewarded my devotion.  She took me to inner realms where the spirit soars unfettered by the body.  I was transformed in the service of music.  I sang with the passion of an abandoned lover, an embittered parent, a defeated enemy.  My voice transported me to distant lands where I was always safe because as soon the music stopped, I was able to retreat to my comfort zone.  That was before I met Luca and Phisto.  They were game changers.  I knew that I would never be the same.  Nor did I want to be.

Luca's music invaded my body and soul like a fever.  It heated my muscles and swam through my veins even after the last resonance from the last chord had echoed through the theatre and only rapt silence remained.  Luca's music soared like Puccini and haunted like Strauss.  It fit my voice more intimately than my words or speech.  For I was often awkward when I spoke of emotions, but Luca's melodies spoke for me with far more eloquence and more courage than I had yet summoned.

I sang for Phisto first when I auditioned for the American Opera Center.  But I sang for Luca when my career hung in the balance and I fought for the lead role in his long awaited new opera.  It was as though we were alone in the theatre though many came to hear my audition. Yet, I performed in the magical sphere of Luca's violet eyes and my voice responded to his presence like lightening to thunder.  I followed his lightening with the thunder of my passion.

Would they cast me, an unknown in Luca Cantanta's new opera.  It was a story from another time.  An innocent time when talent was rewarded above connections and money.  But careers were not only for the talented or corporate America wouldn't be littered with so many talented musicians, actors, writers caught in a daily soul struggle to keep the vibrant parts of themselves alive.  Save me from an enormous talent that would not find it's voice, I thought.  And I sang for all of those who could not love me and for those whom I hoped could.  I sang for Luca.    

Friday, August 5, 2011

Curb Your Enthusiasm -

Sometimes my desires crash into one another like thunder, like wind battering shutters against an old clapboard house.  I try to reconcile them with the tenacity of the blood hungry GOP, but the heart wants what it wants.  Yett the soul, too, has desires.  I struggle to extricate the small still voice of my higher self from the ego driven frenzy.  That voice, like most things worth cultivating, is elusive.  I believe that I want to hear it but I really find that I'd rather stay immersed in denial.

I've found that a person can believe the most extraordinary things about themselves and others.  For example, don't we all think that our intentions are good?  Worthy?  That is why I started to practice Reiki - a spiritually guided life energy form of healing accomplished through the laying on of hands.  One can practice this healing on themselves or others.  I have become acquainted with the gentle voice of my higher self while practicing Reiki.  But that voice tells me things that I'd rather not heed.  It tells me not to become involved with the conductor, Phisto, or the composer, Luca.  It feels like a deep knowing wisdom that gracefully rises to the surface in still waters.  But I'm in such turmoil that my emotional waters are rarely placid.

Phisto has helped me to perfect my musical interpretation, phrasing.  My voice, my instrument now seduces the music.  It scorches like fire, burns like ice.  But when I sing Luca's compositions, I need no coaching.  It feels as though I am singing my soul's melody.  I barely require coaching or study.  Luca's music is as much a part of my soul's signature as the unique sound of my voice.  His music defines my soul and through singing it, I have found myself.

Fragments of myself are irrefutably seduced by Phisto's power and wealth.  These are heady twins against the backdrop of New York's siren's call.

They are more than mortal men.  But I know that is impossible.  I think that my imagination has become inflamed. I strive to curb my enthusiasm and remain faithful to the music.  Music has saved my life.  And I know that straying from that purpose will destroy me.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Khaleesi- Which Woman Will I Choose to Be?

There are those who believe that it would be a gift to love two men.  They perceive the imperative choice as a blessing.  I can tell you that it is hell to love two men. It is a fever that ravages the body with fire and ice.  Sustaining either state for an extended period of time weakens the body and diminishes the spirit.  But I love them both and there it is.

Some women are complex, mostly all, and to varying degrees.  I have been told that I mask my authentic feelings behind a placid smile, like a Cheshire cat.  I don't believe that anyone can lose as much as I've lost without cultivating this ability.  So my emotions are difficult to ascertain when I choose to remain silent.  And when I'm not singing, silence is my preferred state.  For I have learned to listen more than I speak and to watch carefully lest another betrayal overtake me and consume the rational parts of my being.  One however hears my thoughts as music.  Luca feels and hears my energetic patterns and knows me, I think, better than I know myself.  His eyes are a home that I have never visited but of which I have often dreamed.  I am safe there and I don't want to leave.   His touch at first chills my flesh and then burns where the chill had been.  It excites me in such a way that I experience life and each sensation with heightened clarity and pleasure.  I love him with my higher self.  I love him with abandon and have fallen in love with the version of me that he reflects. I love Luca for who he is.  I feel like a priestess in a sacred temple when I see myself through his eyes.

But there is also Phisto.  He is a furnace of sexual energy and power such that I am helpless amidst the storm of his touch.  Phisto loves my talent first and looks to cultivate base urges that struggle to assert themselves.  Urges such as the desire for power, supremacy, wealth.  And the artistic world has a feeding frenzy with these urges.  After all success is to the swift, the calculating, the survivor.

I am the warrior with Phisto, fearless, strong.  Ruthless.

I am the Priestess with Luca, wise, complete.  The keeper of a sacred flame.

They each want me to choose.  And in that one decision I will clarify my life and who I choose to be.  If only each woman could live unfettered and free.  Why must I choose?  Yet a decision must be made at the Violet Hour and that will determine my soul's signature from that moment onward.