May Day

May 1st, 2006:

Today is Labour Day. Workers should be off today. Today. Grey and cold and dreary. It felt like the first day of school in September after the holidays have finished. The bliss is over for me and in return...depression. Oh no, not you again. You have been with me for so long, you'd think that by now we could set aside our poisonous differences?

Malheur, mal au coeur
Nuages gris, Pluie
qui tombe, sombre et silencieux
Oh que je n'aime pas la pluie
L'Ennui dans le gris
Si je pouvais, je resterais en lit - mais pas ici
Pas ici ou c'est triste et noirci
J'veux etre avec les esprits qui m'on fuit
Ca suffit, je pleure pour mes amis partis

Fini.
(Hieronymous Bosch)

For some reason...

On April 23rd, this was scribbled:

"Bliss in the cold Holland rain, on a boat in a cabin that is cold,,," Which goes to show we can find happiness in very odd places, at very odd times, under very strange circumstances. I know happiness is fleeting however, but its nice to know I had it there for a moment. That is progress.

The Sea as Healer

April 3, 2006:

At an art gallery in Den Helder, a sea-side town in northern nether-region, 'singer-songwriter' night. There is actually an inordinate amount of artistic talent in this little country. The ride up here to Den Helder was refreshing. The flat landscape, the necessary windmills, looking into the sunset and seeing a receding line of those new modern windmills until the orange, blinding light of the sun forced us to look away. Then, approaching the North Sea, hundreds of birds on barren fields, rabbits everywhere, swans, gulls,and then sheep.

This night was ok if not a bit mellow and alientating. I sat and wrote postcards with wine and candlelight. Our new friends sang their songs and I was very impressed by the natural ease of the beauty in their voices. The next day we walked right into one of Friedrich's canvases - the sky and sea a million different nuanced shades of blues, greens and greys. The open-sky - horizon to horizon - so vast, luminescent - from shore to sand dunes with nothing impeding our view. Clouds racing through the victorious sunshine. Sea birds everywhere, flying in formation. Hundreds of geese so high above, lower are the gulls who peruse the dunes, dunes that keep Holland from dissapearing into the sea. They glide effortlessly riding the updraft that sweeps up from the dunes.

We sat for herbal tea on the beach, slightly raised above the sea level. The bright red container ship against a canvas of blues, also gliding, approaching the shallow flats. Horses galloping, hundreds of dogs, people, bikes, striped sea shells, everything flat, vast and sunny.
A baby sat out on the deck with us, a large dog sniffing its tiny soft head, whisps of blonde hair dancing frenetically in the sea breeze. Then a bumble bee, three times the size of our little urban bees, sat on its shiny hair. This red and furry monster landed on the baby's head and nobody was afraid. The father gently removed the giant from the little one's unsuspecting head, where it had landed. MMMMMM, I do like this level of civility and calm. But now, broken, Im back to the lunacy which is this boat, this confusion and work. At least I'm back in a bed that is 'mine'.