This might be the start of a new book-short poetical momentum's in ones life- strong enough to be told...judge for yourself!
Can a house 'morph' into something alive?
I never asked myself that question, until late autumn last year when I visited my 'chosen' soul sister Upstate New York, after circumstances of life made us loose track of each other for over twenty five years. Only destiny can play this kind of tricks on people,I think. When I stepped out of the cab and saw her running at me, we both fell back in time and we immediately were surrounded by that old warmth,that awesome feeling of 'belonging', of coming back home to one another. I don't remember for how long we were standing there, silent, enjoying that precious moment of togetherness. It must have been for several minutes.
Then all of a sudden my eyes caught the sight of the house behind her back and I thought 'wow', what a big house this is.
It was in the midst of a spacious, somewhat wild garden, covered with a crispy carpet of fallen leaves, in all shades of brown and yellow, golden even where a ray of sun touched them, and I knew, this house and me? It was love at first sight!
I looked up at the windows and they gave me a naughty blink and I got the message, loud and clear. I was welcomed, not just by the people living in the house, but by the house itself.
All smiles, we entered the house where I met with the rest of the family, and there it was again, like a friendly pat on the shoulder. I was touched by the heart of the house, the soul of the house. I'm not a very religious person, but I felt that the angels protecting this house were clapping their wings for me.
In the days that followed we would discover each other slowly, gently as lovers use to do.
It's a house that would be a perfect decorum for a 'mystery' film, or one of those 'old fashioned' family movies, depending on the creativity of your imagination. A house built with several levels, lots of rooms in which one can hide secrets. Small stairs leading to another floor and another one, with closets all over as perfect hiding places. A paradise for children playing hide and seek games.
Everywhere was the sweet scent of candles, from the bathroom to the attic.
The rhythm of life of the house was dancing on a jazzy beat.Sometimes frantic and hot as a Miles song, sometimes slow and smooth as a Gershwin tune, or just easy swaying with a touch of Bossa Nova.
As each room probably had its own story to tell, so had mine. It was a light room with windows looking out at the garden. The branches of a big tree in front waving me good morning and good night, the sound of the whispering leaves changing with the winds.
There were books and magazines all over the place and big plants gave color to the windowpanes enjoying the abundant daylight. The walls were covered with an incredible collection of hundreds of L.P records any collector one day will just be delighted to spent a fortune on.
When I stepped in bed I was confronted with a big poster of 2Pac watching over me with serious features.And every night I fell asleep with a smile and in my heart I wished him all the best, and I had a vision of him entertaining an audience of angels and devils all alike rapping on his music.
There was also this picture of my sister, looking young and gorgeous receiving a music award, and I thought how gorgeous she still is looking, with all the mature power that comes with age. She is as 'phenomenal a woman' as Maya ever could have had one in mind 'exept for herself of course' when she wrote that poem.
As I was almost always the first one to wake up in the morning (much earlier then I do at home), I made it a routine to go to the bathroom and when I came out I sat for awhile on the little staircase that was leading into the living room. A lamp that had been burning throughout the night gave a warm, soft, yellow light and created long shadows. In that dim mornin'light paintings and artefacts seemed to get a new depth, a different dimension. And I could see how the African Heritage was worshipped in this house as well as the part of Indian descent. It was part of the pride my sister was radiating.
During these moments of reflection I also listened to the house breathing.
Softly, quiet, not awaken itself yet, it was like shaking its head at me saying:
' come on woman, go back to bed, it's gonna be another long busy day for you. Come on girl, move your ass!' and so I did, the house made me feel like a little girl again that had to listen to mama.
I snuggled back between the sheets still a bit warm, and lay there in lazy content with my eyes closed, in balance with myself and the world, words started spinning around in my mind to probably end up later on in a poem.
The house and the people had accepted me as family, as one of the tribe, so for the short time I would spend here, I would be part of it, it would be not just a house, but a home.
A save haven.
Through interviews with Lauren's doctors, along with those of other physicians, researchers, and clinicians who specialize in lung cancer, readers will have a better understanding of the disease.
With the same passion and honesty Lauren exhibite
She never felt safe at home as a young girl, and didn't understand why when she finally escaped she wasn't safe in the big wide world either ...effectively jumping out of the frying pan into the fire!
