Catpaws Cafe

Random musings from my virtual fountain pen

Archive for the tag “Liz Rosales”

Real questions & real answers

“Questions are infinitely more interesting that answers; you can get any number of answers from just one question…” (Liz Rosales)

Here’s a link to the questions Christina Salerno of Living Quirky asked yours truly
http://livingquirky.com/liz-rosales/

Can you tell I’m rather chuffed (read excited) to get asked real questions by a real person 😉 especially since Quirky is one of my favorite words!

The Oilskin Coat at Luccombe

Another sneak peak from my forthcoming book “the Spirit of Flying”, enjoy.

 

One evening, just as autumn was beginning to turn to winter, I’d spent the evening drinking (de-caf) coffee with a couple of close girlfriends and was driving home late at night. We used to get together for a girlie once a week and since I was the only one with a car, we usually met at either of their houses.

 
It was about 2am and I wasn’t particularly tired. My mind was multitasking as usual; writing a to-do list for tomorrows day off work and playing with designs for the gem stones that had arrived in the post earlier in the day. The very familiar road was empty but I was still driving quite slow. It was only drizzling but the temperature was close to freezing and there were lots of leaves on the road.

 
I’d just turned the corner coming down towards Luccombe Chine when I saw a figure beside the road. He (or she) looked about 5’10 and dressed in an old fashioned oilskin coat. Nothing unusual about that, they are rather popular with some country folks and on an evening like this the fashion police were certainly not out on patrol. How odd, I thought, I didn’t know there was a gate in the fence there? Who’d be out walking in the middle of the night in this rather foul weather? Someone who’s lost their dog perhaps.

 
As the figure began to cross the road, I was surprised s/he took no notice of the headlights of my approaching car. I applied the brakes and slowed down to let him/her pass safely at a pace that wouldn’t cause him to startle and slip. He stopped in the middle of my lane. Drunk? I wondered and slowed down further.

 
When I was less than 20 yards away s/he just faded, right where s/he had stood in the middle of the road. Huh? Oh. Yay. I’d stopped to give way for a ghost. Ok. I chuckled to myself. At least I didn’t have to feel bad for not wanting to pick up a hitch-hiker on an isolated road in the middle of the night… I then checked the fence as I drove past. Of course there was no gate in it.
Oilskin Coat

Sneak-peak; The Spirit of Flying

Here’s a little taster from my forthcoming book  The Spirit of Flying; realitales softly spoken. If you like this blog I can almost guarantee that you’ll love reading the book.

Please if you feel so inclined, consider pre-ordering by emailing me.

The Spirit of Flying - realitales softly spoken. Temp. cover. Art by the lovely Anja Lüder.

The Spirit of Flying – realitales softly spoken.
Temp. cover.
Art by the lovely Anja Lüder.

In search of the Spirit of flying; a letter to you, the reader

The mists are the place where this world meets all the others. The worlds you once knew, the ones you more often than not got told did not exist, until you talked yourself out of seeing. Unless you are a bit like me and refused to let go….

You refused to let go because the mist held an allure like nothing else. A muffler of noise, it also offered a welcome break that the (often) harsh and loud ”real world” could not compare with.

The “other worlds” tempted this walker between worlds with a magic of its own, offering ever changing perspectives and views of the once familiar. A multi faceted world that shifts its focus from an every day experience to a world perceived through the Third Eye and the Heart, if you let it…

Flying fills me with a kind of longing I don’t know how to explain or satisfy. Longing for a place I have never seen this time around and do not visually remember; for beings I have not embraced in this lifetime and know not consciously who they are.

Aeons ago if you think linearly, yet a short hop of a flight if you use your heart. Somewhere out there it still reverberates like a plucked string, singing a note that resonates with something so deep within my soul I have yet to find it. It whispers through years of frustration, built up over a lifelong and at times frenetic search, so far mostly in vain. That’s when the tears come once more, hot and despondent.

I’m twisting and turning myself inside and out.
Because flying still feels unattainable,
representing that which is out of reach thus keeping it so.
That which I believe I can never have.
Unless I figure out why I want it so and
what it truly represents to me.

The spirit of flying I need to define
in a way that at least I can grasp.
I have gone through the dictionary and the thesaurus too
the combination lock of this equation
stays firmly locked in place.

Then I’m dreaming…
I’m soaring!
I’m on my way!
Unlimited freedom of movement
excellent overview
me and my flying machine
together as one
Everything is in it’s place as it should be
trimmed and primed
I’m weightless and focused
here and there, all at once
spinning the thread that connects the two…

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