“Into the Mystic”

I don’t know why I am writing about dinosaurs and Van Morrison, kicking his legs on “The Last Waltz”.  These are pictures from a thousand years ago.  He was singing “Caravan”.  He was so chubby, almost busting out of his tight pants, thrusting his legs so fiercely into the air, like a baby who doesn’t want to be born.

All those voices from long ago remind me of snow falling. Dancing, twirling, acrobats of a trillion souls. A snowflake perhaps fell on the squishy green snout of a dinosaur, roaming the world, causing earthquakes with his great trampling feet.  But the air going into those dinosaur lungs was clean, pure and sweet, like these snowflakes falling now from the inky sky.

It’s almost pitch dark and still I shovel piles and piles of snow. It is covering every inch of my house, every corner, windowsill, ledge and eave.   The roof looks like it will collapse from the snow.  Where are the little elves to come and shovel it off for me?  The snow so heavy it obliterates the Christmas greens, the holly, the cedar, the evergreen,  the spruces, the dogwood that I so painstakingly arranged in the window boxes and doorways.  Everything is being pulled down low to the ground, big clumps of snow everywhere, hanging on everything… looking like ice cream for giants…..

Christmas cards will be late again this year, the house disheveled again this year, like my messy half cut hair, my head like a pineapple, a bunch of holly like the Charlie Brown  ragged Christmas tree… my eyes bulging, lids puffed up from too much drink?  food ?  sleep?  There were flowers still in September, October and even November, so many that I gathered all the pots of blooms in late November, put them in the garage thinking I would bring them out again,….they are now tiny pink blue yellow corpses littering the once clean floor….

I just came home from a party, a lovely lavish party for very special beautiful accomplished people… the biggest of the year the biggest I will ever be invited to ever again past or future, it was very big, had the most sumptuous buffet I have ever seen, surpassing even Cinderella’s anguished soot filled dreams…

I ate and ate and almost died at the trifle bowl.  A large cut glass square with mounds of  soft whipped cream slathered with lemon curd above and beneath, the sponge made by angels in heaven…. the layers of sponge and cream studded with blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, and the tiniest freshest strawberries picked by someone in a  hobbit’s dream…. oh the swishing of the flavors in my mouth, the clouds swirling there with the fruits of paradise, like the house of Vermeer, where only the choicest, the tastiest, the fluffiest most velvet texture in the mouth would do for the man in the silk scarf sitting at the head of the table staring and staring at you……as though he was dressing your lips for heaven….

The luscious food went down the many passages of my throat like silken lozenges of  violets of rose petal jam of apricots kissed by a thousand suns and whipped into froth for Kings and Queens….

I spent so much time at the buffet I missed all the speeches.  I missed the King and the Queen and the distinguished company of tuxedoed men and women standing with their smartphones catching every last piece of breath on every word and then goodbye and there was still the eggnog and brandies and cognacs and more champagnes… there was so much champagne I wanted everyone to go away and I wanted to drink all the champagne and visit each and every bedazzled room with the portraits of the long and the great but not forgotten..Lincoln was there flanked by two gingerbread men and there was even a room full of candy cane dolls about to dance the “Kentucky Waltz”.

My dress started to feel tattered and torn, my lips withering from the fine wines and champagne, and the salty taste of the salmon still on my tongue.  The silky salmon with the cornichons, capers, and lemons, the perfect disks of crunchy golden brown potatoes like the tiniest latkes, bowls of creme fraiche and sour cream.  We missed the jumbo shrimp and the rich claws of crab sitting in the huge crystal bowl.  It was so lavish so rich so extravagant I was afraid to go near it because I wanted to stick my whole face in it and eat all the shrimp and crab I never had…. oh the pristine waters where they spawned…..

I wish all the brocaded, jeweled, and sparkled ones would go away.. oh I wish I was in Isle au Haut, I wish I was in Wales, I wish I was the old aunt who drank the elderberry wine in the corner of Dylan’s house and everyone laughed at her, the lonely wrinkled face and rosy cheeks because she was having a little fun, she ran outside into the snowy cold garden and started to peep and squeak like a full throttled bird….

I wish I was a dinosaur trampling the earth with his gigantic feet roaming the jungles the ice the savannahs or maybe at the bottom of his obliterating feet. I wish I could turn into a six pointed star falling from the sky or floating forever and never having to wave hello or say goodbye.

I wish I was me in another world I wish I didn’t have to hear about all the pain and suffering 10,000 miles away.   I wish I wasn’t afraid to  say “Merry Christmas” or  “Happy New Year”,  I wish there were telephones that still rang and people ran to answer them, the tiny voice coming through the lines always bringing good cheer.

I wish I could go into the Mystic with Van Morrison, I wish I knew the sages of old I wish I knew how to battle this new terror that grips my heart and very soul.   I wish I knew my soul I wish I had a soul I wish I could speak to my soul or that it would just go away.  That it would speak or shout or whisper or just take me save me fell me call me if only for a little while deep in the mystic land of far away.

It’s so cold today and still,  the sun bright neon yellow and it is a cold sun and the park is lovely but frozen, and the paths are full of ice, snow, cracks, crevices and leaves. Where are all the birds, and why do the dogs always bark and bark like banshees without end?  Oh where are the birds, where do they go, how can there be enough leaves, eaves, hollows, and shrubs to hide them all.

The river at the bus stop was clear and flowing, a few large blocks of thin ice like islands seemed to beckon me to go and sit, to lie and float away… it looked cold and clean and underneath I saw what I thought was a long carp a very long carp, or a pole, a young slender tree trunk like an old birch,  a long leather belt, a huge brown bone, a weird midwestern river snake about to jump out and grab me and take me down to the very depths of the cold water.

Oh I wish it would snow now again even after shoveling and shoveling and breathing and working and worrying all Sunday about how to get it all how to get all the white the fluff the frosty freezing six pointed star away from the house so it would not swallow me up.

This is a tundra now and I walk all bundled up like a Baba Yaga, or one of those Russian wooden dolls that go on forever and ever… a babushka all swaddled up going to Siberia… I bought a six-foot long three-foot wide scarf to protect me this winter and walking through the silent frozen park I hear something small and sweet, tinkling, like water somewhere, falling from an outstretched branch, a hand, a foot, and it’s very high in the frozen white blazing neon sky, and it is clear and pointed and fragile like a snowflake like a dinosaur, and it is beyond human understanding beyond human understanding how something so tiny, sweet and slender, made out of nothingness, could fill the park the air the sky as though it too was going into the mystic…..


A Daily Post Prompt

About O

I live in a suburb of an American City. I write to try and understand myself and the world around me. I love nature, art, music, literature and beauty in all its forms. I love food. But then food is a whole other world.... I think the world has gone mad and many of us will soon go insane from living in this world. What I love almost more than anything is my garden. I love its trees its shrubs and its many flowers. I love the birds, their flying and singing and dancing movements in and out of the sky and garden. Their freedom. I could watch birds all day long. They always bring joy. I love to work in my garden. To get muddy and dirty, digging, weeding, mowing, pruning and deadheading. Then, I like to have a cool glass of white wine or red, or sometimes a Manhattan, and drink in hand, I walk around and look at the fruits of my labor. And that walk each and every day in my little paradise.. because that is what gardens are.... brings me almost complete joy... My blog is whennothingworks because for a long time nothing has worked. Friends, family, jobs, money, houses, careers, lovers, things--- it all just doesn't work sometimes, or most of the time. The garden always works. Nature and its beauty always work. And, in my garden, I can sit quietly and think, or just breathe, and somehow manage to survive the world.
This entry was posted in Bus Stop Stories, Eating, Drinking, Cooking, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to “Into the Mystic”

  1. Pingback: Author Interview – Aminah Iman – The Vamperial Series, The 30 Pieces of Silver Series, Were: Chronicles of Sari X and Black Magick – The 3 Trilogy | toofulltowrite (I've started so I'll finish)

  2. ladycee says:

    Hello O,
    How I have missed reading your beautiful writing. I have read this post before and thought I had left a comment but apparently not!
    You have such wonderful powers of description and a wonderful eye to match. The way you describe what could seem ordinary and mundane never fails to delight.
    I love your descriptions of the food, the grandeur of the occasion you attended (for you to be invited to a party for the beautiful and accomplished you must be one yourself!) – how blessed you are to be able to enjoy such an occasion.
    Again, so lovely to be taken on a journey into your thoughts and way of seeing the world around you. I am always inspired, challenged to look more closely at the world about me and wishing I could write from an imagination of such beauty and passion like yours.
    Bless you O – whenever I can’t sleep and I happen to pay you a visit, I can guarantee that I’ll be richly rewarded. Thank you.


    • O says:

      Dear Ladycee,

      Well, I am rendered speechless not only by your intense reading of my blog… the time that you take to do so, the care that you take and the insights and feelings you reveal to me. You lift me up from the often hopeless feelings I have. You are the perfect reader and as I have said before, if any writer has just one reader like you, that is just enough. Wishing you the same blessings that you have bestowed on me.


      On Fri, Sep 29, 2017 at 9:08 PM, whennothingworks wrote:


      Liked by 1 person

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