Thinking Made Simple
You want a physicist to speak at your funeral.
You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed.
You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world.
You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.
Read on and Laugh... as Donna did.
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There are women we see just once, and we see them completely… and others
that we only discover little by little. Like you, Dona Conchita ...my Mnemosyne
and My Isis…
I never fully found you. Always transformed, you ran away, re-appeared enriched, turned over your golden fruit and fled once more with the hope, but not the certainty of your return. You, my pretty bronze crab. Moving gracefully over lifes rocks and washed in the oceans warm swell.
I wished to be that ocean to wash your skin.
To be that ocean that brought you life.
I wanted to find the harmony of the contradiction that nibbled away at
the apple of my life. To find La Conchita without ever finding her completely,
was like never returning to a place, experiencing the comfort of recovering
it there, but knowing that I would never completely know it or understand
it. Like the secret of my soul.
The idyll of our meeting, the secret surprise: “Now, after this, I can only ever be your lover… my brother spirit”
I place my life at risk, and close my eyes for a moment while I smell your dark hair – and pray that I will never fully understand you, that there will never be a third desire in my life, that I will never be tempted again to include my erotic life in the collective disorder in which I have sometimes found myself.
I know that you have your own dream. I met you in the garden of our spirits… You dream that you never left that garden: as in some ancient book illustrated with the romanticized image of our sweet childhood. The curious girl opens her bed-room window to see the forest and venture out into it, but the forest had another door to a garden and that garden yet another door to a park, and the park led to a jungle, and the jungle to the sea – which is the most mutable garden of all.
I thought that I had found you in that garden – never knowing that you had lived in gardens all your life – and that it was an illusion to think that I could have found you anywhere else. I have not just found you – because I realize that the garden has not been fully explored by me - but if I had to reach the end of the exploration, the doors of this storybook could well be the lock on your bedroom door, Conchita – My dark haired girl of my heart.
I never knew of a morning with you,
That when I awoke, I was not happy.
My heart sung just to see your eyes…
And, when I sleep and see you in my dreams
And swim in secret oceans,
Listening for your song here in The Deep
Your whisper of the Emerald Beyond…
Revives me ... Beckons…
I spent my life time loving you.
My good love, and beautiful friend.
We have no choice but to Keep Moving Forward
We go to where we have always lived...
Warriors, in battle.
You are My Hero, Donna Darkwolf
The best of Hunting Dogs. Donna Darkwolf...
My Beautiful "Strega Donna Ragazza!"
And the Last "Soldier" to serve with me...
WE are each, the Last of our Kind. Together...