Tag Archives: Love

The untamed wilderness of heart-song…

Each heartbeat a longing for desire

Each step a call to the wild

The wind stirs up the dust of lust

Dancing in the moonlight

Circling your soul

Heat radiating from the Earth

Warming your thoughts

Power rising in the night

Simplicity and eternity

Woven into the galaxy

Stars twinkling with a mischievous grin

Sweet fragrant blossoms of the midnight hour

The scent of untamed beauty

The opening of a heart

The echo of a promise

The lure of a future

If you only step beyond the imaginary confines of your mind

And out into the wild

To wield your magic into the night

By Yours Truly a.k.a. Maria Montgomery 

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Tender loving care and frustrating thoughts…

There was one day last year when I felt a little bit embarrassed and all I wanted to do was go hide in my best friend’s kitchen. Only she was in Greece. And I was frustrated.

I wanted my best friend. I wanted to cook with her and laugh with her and host dinner parties with her. Like it’s supposed to be. Only it hasn’t been like that for years because we live in different countries. We don’t share a house anymore and our friends no longer come marching over saying we’re “the hostesses that are the mostestes”. And it sucks.

That particular day it sucked even more because I felt humiliated as something had happened that touched upon an old wound. So I wanted to be with someone who made me feel loved for who I am and who would laugh together with me at the ridiculous thoughts we have surrounding old wounds. I wanted someone who made me forget my pain, in short. Because I really didn’t want to face it.

Today I woke up exhausted – my boy is scared of ghosts and he won’t sleep unless he sleeps next to me, or his sister. He was raised in a township and he never had a bed of his own till he came to stay with me and he still hates it. We’re working through this issue, but in the meantime to save myself from horrid tantrums at bedtime he either falls asleep in the couch in my bedroom and then wakes up and sleeps in my bed, or he sleeps next to me or his sister all night. Last night he slept next to me, so I couldn’t sleep properly and woke up exhausted with a headache.

I was irritable and I felt horrible. All I could think was that I wanted someone to hug me and look after me so I could relax. I didn’t want to clean up the mess after the kids, work and attend meetings. I wanted to be pampered. And given I’d never sink so low as to admit to wanting a man that’s like not cool. According to my ego, it’s so not cool.

What’s more, I was irritated with myself because I’ve been so happy lately and I wasn’t prepared to face a day of being a grumpy old fart. After three years of battling problems the size of Mount Everest I’ve finally turned a leaf and then…I’m grumpy? As someone with a history of depression I do not like gray days. I do not like them one bit.

So I clearly wanted TLC, which I didn’t want to admit to, but it would be a quick fix for my intolerable mood. And I wasn’t going to get it. Which was frustrating as hell. It was like wanting to go to see my best friend and knowing that it would take months before it happened (though now it’s just TWO weeks!!!!!!). I might be decent at magicking up men, but the same day? Besides, I’ve promised myself not to do it like that anymore because like The mousetrap… will clarify, when I magick up men…

With no snuggle party in sight and me wanting to hit myself in the head with an iron skillet for wanting one in the first place, I decided to do the next best thing: use my intuition (OK so that’s like the first thing to do, not the second, but hey…).

Intuition fucking rocks. Whilst it might not immediately relieve you of your headache or sexual frustration (take your pick) it does help you see the obvious solutions you couldn’t see when focusing on all the illogical logic brought to you by an overwhelming stream of thoughts and emotions.

Today I realized I can still create magic, even when I’m tired and have a headache. I’m not “bad” because I run out of energy. I’m still a magic pixie who can throw about my fairy dust when I look upon the world like poetry. I can choose my focus and instead of focusing on my frustration at being tired, I can look upon the same mountain I looked upon yesterday feeling inspired. I can still write poetry and marvel at the beauty of life. There are also ways to recharge that will truly recharge me – I realized that I need to relax in nature, which I fully intend to do this weekend.

I want my best friend to spend more time with me, even when I’m in the best of all possible moods. I genuinely miss her like crazy and I know we have to take responsibility for spending more time together instead of bitching about being apart. She’s one of the people who make me feel free because she allows me to be me, as described in Painting the sky with stars… However, she’s not an excuse to hide from my pain and thereby avoid dealing with it.

And whilst I need to face up to the fact that we all need TLC and open myself up to that, no matter how humiliating I think it feels, I can’t run myself to the ground and then expect someone else to pick up the pieces.

We all need to take responsibility for our own lives and emotions, whilst simultaneously accept that no matter where we are along the way, we’re worthy hugs. Big juicy hugs. And I would really love some.

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Living your truth + your dating profile = it’s about to get interesting…

The adventurer in me seeks the adventurer in you

For soulful journeys across oceans

And spiritual realms

For love induced delirium

And caffeine inspired moments

We’ll walk through the back alleys of cities

Getting lost in photographic moments

Of gritty dirt and beautiful arches

We’ll jump in the sea

Just to play with the ocean

We’ll sip tea in secret gardens

And have wine in hidden rooms

We’ll meet poets and playwrights,

Scientists and academics

We’ll have conversations

With lost souls and enlightened hearts

We’ll look for the meaning of life

Whilst getting high on the reality of the moment

We’ll seek answers we’ll never find

Whilst dancing on pavements

And giggling at raindrops

We’ll cry our hearts out at the pain we encounter

Then dry them with the beauty of life

And the occasional slice of chocolate

We’ll settle

But never be settled

We’ll have homes

But also places to roam

We’ll never be ordinary

And we’ll never be rude to the waiters

But maybe we’ll throw about our baggage

And stab each other from time to time

It’s OK because all wounds heal

So long as they aren’t mortal

 

We’ll know reality

But we’ll turn it to poetry

Because living is an art

And we’re the ones with the blank canvases

Waiting to be filled

With the paint of our hearts

 

You’ll need the heart of an explorer

And the eyes of an artist

The mind of an adventurer

And the courage of a bear

Love is the hardest journey

And the most beautiful of all

I realized that if I am to live the life of my dreams, I have to get real about who I am and what I want. I’ve written about taking responsibility for my choices. I’ve written about breaking down my life into manageable chunks and creating joy in the moment. I’ve written about facing my emotional fears. But this is me. This is the poet in me. This is me living the emotions I hide, yet the very same emotions I seek.

I won’t find them unless I dare live them.

Every day I feel a little bit happier as I let that poet shine through a little more. That hopeless romantic who prefers traveling the world without a map, just so as to be able to get lost in cities and encounter moments she never knew existed (OK, so I do like carrying a map, just occasionally not using it). 

To create your dream life, you have to dare to live it. You have to dare to be who you truly are. Otherwise, how can you create what you truly want? How can you create a living expression of your heart if you aren’t prepared to first show that heart?

Magique is about creating poetry in the moment for people. Magique is about wielding magic to create beautiful experiences that evoke all senses. 

The movies I have rattling around in my mind are about sharing poetic (and funny) moments with people; about showing people the poetry of life. 

And the life I want to live is a life filled with everyday poetry. Magic. Beauty. Truth. Freedom. And love. 

So here’s the vulnerable person in me, cheering the vulnerable person in you – let’s create poetry together. Because an arm of possibility is stretching across the ocean this morning, leaving a trail of mist and sparkling sunbeams. It’s a call to adventure and a promise of peace. It’s everything and nothing. It just is. But it’s all about how you view it. I view it as an ocean of opportunity and a moment of poetic bliss. 

By Yours Truly, a.k.a. Maria Montgomery 

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Filed under Artists, poetry, Soul, soul path, Thoughts, twin flames, Writing

Out of the shadows and into the light…

What makes you squirm uncomfortably? Often somewhere in our squirming moments we tend to find ourselves.

Personally I have this issue with helplessness and receiving care; usually because I confuse the two.

If people care for me I think they believe I need their care because I have some flaw, something I can’t handle myself, and they pity me and want to help. It’s a most humiliating feeling.

As a kid I thought the only reason most people cared for me was because I’d lost my mom. I was bullied and my step-mom wasn’t particularly nice to me so when people were nice I assumed it was pity, because so many people weren’t nice to me, meaning I must have some fault. Otherwise, why was I constantly rejected?

I even had this idea my mom hadn’t loved me – she refused hugging me the last time I saw her, then she died without leaving behind any letters left saying she loved me. It was not a good 24 hours of my life. And afterwards there was a huge hole inside of me and I didn’t know how to fill it. Being cared for by someone hurt when you could lose them, so my six year old self thought.

What’s more, my dad always encouraged me to better myself, so on another plane, I had this idea love was related to achievement. The only times I felt love was real was when people said “I love you, but…” Because then I could keep the idea of being flawed. If they seemed to just randomly love me, without pitying me (i.e. they actually seemed to care), I thought them stupid, or blind…take your pick.

Together with some early on rejections on the love front (try having your emotions and rejection trumpeted to a whole school when you’re fifteen – I blushed for a week straight), I’m not very good with emotions. I simply don’t want to confess to having them (not even to myself), because I think they cause trouble.

This has manifested in different ways in my life. First I became shy as I figured it was better being rejected for who I was not, than showing my real me. Then I wanted to change that and ended up always trying to prove my own strength. My can-do attitude. My willingness to perfect myself. My fiercely independent spirit. I feel safe when I’m independent. I feel in charge.

As my principal in drama school would have said, I’ve gone from using one cover (shy) to using another (independent). Being the seeker I am (and being as miserable as I was) I’ve always worked on myself though. I wanted to find happiness and happiness has a lot to do with self-love, loving people and letting them love you back. So I’ve worked on it. And recently what made me realize there’s a way to go is the “being cared for” thing.

When people try to care for me beyond my comfort level three things might happen: I feel suffocated (I can’t accept the care), I feel embarrassed (clearly they think I need help), or I think they’re being ridiculous (i.e. still thinking people blind to the real me). In some cases, I might also question if they’re doing it just to later embarrass me by telling me it wasn’t real (it really was very traumatic being fifteen, OK). If I actually want to receive the care I feel completely helpless because I don’t know how to. This leads to me wanting to be alone so I can feel powerful again and I can turn mean in the process of pushing people away.

Due to this I have had a tendency to fall for aloof men – men I connect with intellectually and/or physically. I don’t have to open up emotionally, because they’re like clams (or well, you know, a little bit clammy at least). They’re never completely into me, which means I don’t truly have to ever lose them. They won’t look after me, so I won’t feel stupid.

When I dated caring men in the past, it was always men I didn’t really have a connection with, so they never got close and I remained safe and aloof.

In a nutshell: the guys I liked didn’t care and the guys who liked me I didn’t care about.

Now, I could blame this on fate, or I could look at the common denominator in all this: me. I choose to look at me.

This year I’ve decided to turn everything in my life on its head, including my emotional life. I will do the things I fear the most. Like opening up socially in the place I call home, instead of waiting to go to places where I feel anonymous and safe. I will professionally go where I’m the most scared to go, because I care the most. I will also only date caring men I care about AND have a connection with. It will probably make me wanna puke, run for my life and feel like a claustrophobic person stuck in an elevator, but I’m determined that the only relationships I will have are soulful ones. In fact, I want everything in my life to be soulful – my work, my home, my kids, my friends…

For so long I’ve wanted to be the person who didn’t care, who didn’t feel, who just went on adventures and ran off with the circus. Well, whilst I do like the adventures and I’d happily join a circus for a while, I’d like to explore caring. Right here, right now. I’d also like to explore being with someone. Someone who would go on adventures with me; near and far. Someone I could create a home with, but also have freedom with. I like being independent, but I don’t like being a fool. And I’ve been a fool for long enough.

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Love and pigeons…

The Dance of Love

I want to tear the confines of my soul open

Dance across the shattered pieces of barb wired fences

Stand naked in the glory of the unknown

I want to sip the dew at dawn

Without consideration that this might be the last

Or the first

Of Everything

I want to sit surrounded by love

Knowing that the false pretense

Is all gone

I want to experience

Every nook and cranny of my soul

I want to dance

On the thorns of my past

And see myself melt into the nothingness

Which is Everything

I want to be free

Yet I scratch my back at the barb wired fence that I built round my soul

I tear at it

I scream in pain

And as blood rushes over me

I yell at others to make them open it

To set me free

I push them, hoping they’ll get so angry

They’ll tear me to pieces

So I can open

So I can be free

So I can love

I’m holding onto my fence

I tear at it

It hurts

I wonder why I can’t make it open?

Why it can’t go away?

Then I let go

I lick my bleeding hands

I take a step

Then another

I dance

I feel my body turned onto the steps

I awaken

I breathe

There’s freedom within my movement

There’s life in my steps

I love to dance

And love, love changes everything.

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Pigeon Thoughts 

The pigeon is looking at me

Impressions in ink

Thoughts sliding across the mountain

Like tiny dots of fluffy white

Waves crashing against the shore

Reminders of the wild

And the untamed

My Africa

Adventure pulls at my soul

My heartbeat quickens

A smile twinkles in the corner of my lips

I stand

I go to cook dinner

Maybe tomorrow.

We Are

We are all the ripple effects of each others’ consciousnesses

As we laugh

As we cry

As we reach for another cigarette

Or whatever our kind of poison

We touch a soul

Somewhere in the distant skies

So maybe

If I smile, just a little

I’ll tickle your soul

With a feather of delight.

old_9554Ralph Gibson; Leda

The Battle

Opportunities palpable

Breathing; whispering in the distance

Chances pulsating through the night

Giggles rising as your dreams chase them

You wake

Thoughts overpowering

Logic so illogical

Debates inside your mind

Pros and cons

Predicting the future with your head

Round and round

So many thoughts

So many roads to get there

So many things you could do to manipulate fate

Instead you slumber

You listen to your heart

It asks you to set it free

To let it roam

And trust that one day the thoughts will be silent

And your path revealed.

The Confines of Your Mind

I dance

Outside the confines of my mind

A choreography of lunacy

Illuminated by moonlit spells

Truth emerges

Until the confines no longer confine me.

Lovers

I’ll be Rimbaud, you’ll be Verlaine

I’ll be Kahlo, you’ll be Trotsky

You’ll be Byron, I’ll be Lamb

You’ll be Shakespeare, I’ll have black wires on my head

You’ll be Da Vinci, we’ll be arrested for sodomy

The path of true love

Never did run smooth

And we’ll go down in history

Because lord what fools these mortals be.

Ludicrous Enlightenment

Between Jungian metaphors

And split consciousnesses

You’ll dance

I’ll play the fiddle

Dreams in waking hours

Sleep deprived nights of lucid moments

Echoes of truth

Amidst foolish thoughts

A wolf tooth for wild adventures

A dolphin’s call to play

Idiotic synchronicity

As the stars chase your name

And I knit the fabric of my soul.

By Yours Truly, a.k.a. Maria Montgomery 

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Zlatan Ibrahimović and I…

Zlatan is kicking a ball. Right now that means a lot to me. Not because I’m into soccer, but because of what it symbolizes.

I was raised in Malmö and so was Zlatan. We went to high school together (the same high school Anita Ekberg went to, but that was before our time…). I can’t remember ever seeing him, though I must have seen him many times. It was a large high school and we attended different programs – he attended the soccer program and I did the International Baccalaureate.

Zlatan used to play for Malmö FF. Three of grandma’s brothers once upon a time played for Malmö FF too. They made quite a name for themselves – the Hjertsson brothers. Sven, one of them, notoriously pulled his shorts down during a game in Brazil, as he felt it would take too long to walk off the field to change to a new pair. I suspect that only fueled their fame. Kjell, on the other hand, ended up training a young Zlatan at some point or other.

I’m on “workcation” in Sweden for a couple of months and was staying with my gran this week as she’s recovering from cancer surgery. Zlatan’s dad lives in an apartment opposite of hers, which she reminded me about when I was there.

I ran into a guy in Morocco, outside Marrakech, who, once he found out I was Swedish, told me that Zlatan always passed by when in town. I bumped into someone else recently as well that had a story about Zlatan, but I forget what country I was in. I think it was in the UK.

Of course, if you open the sports pages of a magazine, again, there’s Zlatan. Right now, my dad is watching Sweden play Italy and, well, there’s Zlatan on the screen.

Wherever I go, there’s Zlatan.

I don’t care much about soccer. I never understood the pleasure of chasing a ball and, even less, watching others chase it. Of course, it can be fun for the sake of the atmosphere where you watch the game though and some goals are spectacular. Especially Zlatan’s.

The thing is, in so many places around the world right now there’s fear. In some countries it’s because neighboring countries don’t get along. In other countries, it’s because different groups within the country don’t get along. There was a mass shooting in Orlando that wasted so many people’s lives for no comprehensible reason. At least no comprehensible reason to me. It makes me scared to think there are people out there capable of murdering like that. Yet, I look at the images from Paris and thousands of people have gathered to watch people kick ball. They’ve stood up against the threat of terrorists and as different as they all are, they’re united in the pleasure of watching a game. A simple game of kicking ball has removed borders and barriers and made people come together in joy.

It gives me hope. I work in a township in South Africa and many times I’m so bothered by what I see and experience it feels like a part of me gives up, because I don’t understand how man could create such a cruel world. Then I see one man, by kicking a ball, uniting people all over the world in their admiration for how he kicks that ball. It’s such a simple thing – the love of sports. The love of playing a game. The love of team spirit.

One day I hope that team spirit encompasses the world and what we fight for is not our way, but the best way for the earth and all who live upon it. I know it’s not that simple. But look how far we can get just by kicking a ball.

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French kissing…

“Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.” That’s what Shelley says about kissing and it sounds damn good. Personally I think I’ve experienced anything but.

There were the kind of kisses that tasted like fairy dust – you knew the men would magically disappear as soon as the moment was gone.

Other kisses were so good you felt them in your knees…but somehow the same guy never had that effect again.

Some kisses were just persistent – you ended up with a rash on your chin for weeks to come. And maybe the stubble was sexy and the kissing good, but soul? It was the kind where two souls are drawn together in a storm; fragments of the souls flying about and meeting on your lips without any kind of binding love. Like two magnets filled with parts that reject and attract at the same time. You see something in each other, but the rest you don’t want to see.

Then there were the kind of kisses where you could taste the regret in your mouth, whether his or yours. Rancid kisses sprinkled with attraction. Possibly the worst kind.

At times kisses tasted of love and maybe there was a bit of their soul, or even all, but  you asked yourself if it was really meant to feel that way? Because it didn’t feel like when you were fifteen and madly in love with some guy you’d never date. It felt different. Like a friendship with kissing. A soulmate you were drawn to, but not attracted to. Not in that way. It’s like discovering there’s salt in your honey – it just tastes wrong. And so you can’t get lost in the kiss. Even if you kiss them for years.

There were air kisses too. The ones where you felt they meant nothing, whether you wanted them to, or not. Like kissing the air looking for meaning. Only the air was empty.

Of course there were also kisses of desire. Maybe you thought one day they’d be more. Or you thought spice would be nice, for a change. Either way, it never led to that soul meeting. Then again I guess each meeting is a meeting with a soul. Even if none of you put your soul in the kiss, or the other can’t taste the soul given.

Personally, right now, “I want a red dress. I want it flimsy and cheap, I want it too tight, I want to wear it until someone tears it off me.”* With their soul. Tear me naked with their soul. Bare me with love. Till then, I’ll…refrain from kissing. I think. Maybe.

* quote from Kim Addonizio (I came across some quotes whilst writing product descriptions for Magique. If you don’t know my brand it’s a lot about love. And desire. I’ve spent half the weekend trying to invent the scent of sin. It’s hard going. I think I once smelled it, but unfortunately it wasn’t essential oils. And I have a deadline. For the scent of sin. So help me lord.)

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