West Marches - Home
Ceridwen pushes open the heavy oaken doors. Were they ever so heavy before? The rust on the hinges squeals, and the mildewed rugs and must of rain and fungus mixes with a strange nostalgic feeling. She can almost see Petyr, he bounces ahead of her, stumbles on a wrinkle in the carpets. But he’s not there.
Behind her, Oadira, Quiz and Veles step in, taking in the grand foyer.
Age has worn this patch of manor. The section of night sky is visible through the broken roof, and beneath their feet, vine and moss have begun to creep their way up. And they have enrobed the bodies of the fallen from that fell night long ago.
Ceridwen steps on the skull of one of the butchers, there is a dry leaf-like crunch. The corpse, long since turned to bone, crumbles beneath the papery weight of its own chainmail armor. She continues to step forward, unmindful.
Showing posts with label Loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Loss. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 25, 2019
Saturday, May 18, 2019
Letters - 7 / 15 Dear First Love
Letters - 7 / 15 Dear First Love
Dear First Love,
…
It was a long time ago. We were kids. Sometimes I see your posts on social media, facebook or instagram. I never like or respond, and I know you don’t do the same for me either. I’m afraid of opening up old wounds. Are there old wounds? I don’t even really know. I know I messaged once, I guess almost ten years ago now. Never heard back. And I didn’t want to push it.
Dear First Love,
…
It was a long time ago. We were kids. Sometimes I see your posts on social media, facebook or instagram. I never like or respond, and I know you don’t do the same for me either. I’m afraid of opening up old wounds. Are there old wounds? I don’t even really know. I know I messaged once, I guess almost ten years ago now. Never heard back. And I didn’t want to push it.
Wednesday, April 24, 2019
Letters - 1 / 15 Dear Ex
Letters - 1 / 15, Dear Ex
Dear Ex,
Hey friend. It has been years. Our lives have taken us to such different places, and though many miles separate us, and many silences, I do still think fondly on you and the time we had. I think we didn’t understand each other then, although we went through the motions easily enough. Hell, I think I barely understood myself, and it was probably unfair to ask to be understood. But sometimes I miss our lazy afternoons, our walks, and just sitting back to back, breathing, and dreaming.
We used to talk about dreams, about our careers, about art and people and...so many things that have fallen ephemeral between our fingers.
I hope you’re well. I hope you’ve found the things you’re looking for.
Yours.
Once
Dear Ex,
Hey friend. It has been years. Our lives have taken us to such different places, and though many miles separate us, and many silences, I do still think fondly on you and the time we had. I think we didn’t understand each other then, although we went through the motions easily enough. Hell, I think I barely understood myself, and it was probably unfair to ask to be understood. But sometimes I miss our lazy afternoons, our walks, and just sitting back to back, breathing, and dreaming.
We used to talk about dreams, about our careers, about art and people and...so many things that have fallen ephemeral between our fingers.
I hope you’re well. I hope you’ve found the things you’re looking for.
Yours.
Once
Monday, April 15, 2019
Tragedy - Notre Dame Burns
Tragedy - Notre Dame Burns
"And in the middle of all that grief, there are harmonies. Humans are such magnificent creatures."
https://twitter.com/mikegalsworthy/status/1117881594847612928
Thursday, January 17, 2019
Poetry - To Live In This World - Mary Oliver
Poetry - To Live In This World - Mary Oliver
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
—Mary Oliver,
Rest in Peace.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
—Mary Oliver,
Rest in Peace.
Monday, November 5, 2018
Life - Shatter
Life - Shatter
Shatter silver threadbare raiments
Like dust fallen silent we ply this
strangeness.
Drift ethereal and cold
I am left alone.
Shatter silver threadbare raiments
Like dust fallen silent we ply this
strangeness.
Drift ethereal and cold
I am left alone.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Grief - Waves
Grief - Waves
/u/GSnow once wrote something that I have read during hard times.
He said:
Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.
As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life. Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
Hope that helps. Im sorry for your loss.
He said:
Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.
As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life. Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
Hope that helps. Im sorry for your loss.
Friday, August 8, 2014
Art - Trainride in Manhattan
Art - Trainride in Manhattan
I get sidetracked easily.
Shhh.
It doesn't mean anything. Remember?
https://soundcloud.com/ravynn/trainride-in-manhattan
I get sidetracked easily.
Shhh.
It doesn't mean anything. Remember?
https://soundcloud.com/ravynn/trainride-in-manhattan
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Wrap up - 2013
Wrap up - 2013
2013, a year of travel, of friends, art and hard work. A lot more sunrises and sunsets then I usually see. A lot more drawing, a lot more coding. A lot of moments, a tremendous amount of fun. A bit of sadness, a lot of truth. Some difficulty, some hardship, and a lot of change.
It was a year of seeing more of the world, of shaking hands, of meeting people. Of adding friends, saying hello, sharing jokes, and laughs, and beers under a cerulean sky. It was a year of selfies with my peeps, of late night laughs with Kristi, Cole, Keith, Ben, Tessa, Eric and Amber. It was a year of sampling bagels in another place. It was a year of eating on the pier as seagulls wandered over to have a chat. It was a year of standing arms open and waiting.
2013, a year of travel, of friends, art and hard work. A lot more sunrises and sunsets then I usually see. A lot more drawing, a lot more coding. A lot of moments, a tremendous amount of fun. A bit of sadness, a lot of truth. Some difficulty, some hardship, and a lot of change.
It was a year of seeing more of the world, of shaking hands, of meeting people. Of adding friends, saying hello, sharing jokes, and laughs, and beers under a cerulean sky. It was a year of selfies with my peeps, of late night laughs with Kristi, Cole, Keith, Ben, Tessa, Eric and Amber. It was a year of sampling bagels in another place. It was a year of eating on the pier as seagulls wandered over to have a chat. It was a year of standing arms open and waiting.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Quotes - Magic
Quotes - Magic
"There's a bit of magic in everything,
and some loss to even things out."
- Lou Reed (March 2, 1942 – October 27, 2013)
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