#Haiku: Confession
First step –
Hard step –
Acknowledge failure.
Open
Emptily –
To receive.
Category: #DreamTherapy
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Haiku by Alysse Aallyn
#Haiku;
Taming Hateful Mind
Can’t hate
Your way to
Happiness,
Poison path finds no Peace;
Rage clouds
Choice.
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Haiku by Alysse Aallyn
#Haiku: Reincarnation
Are souls
Transferable? Is
Flesh loaned –
Hungry spirits
Questing for home?
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Haiku: Subterfuge Inc. by Alysse Aallyn
#Haiku: Subterfuge Inc.
Ruse patrol:
Dissimulating –
Saboteuse –
Guerilla guest –
C’est moi.
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Haiku by Alysse Aallyn – “Mastering Meditation”
#Haiku: Mastering Meditation
Experience
Intimidates.
Silence sees –
Compassion
Understands
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Haiku; Pupa Pluperfect by Alysse Aallyn
#Haiku: Pupa Pluperfect
Somnolescent
Caterpillars
Dream deep – the
Language of Butterflies
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The Emotional Archive – a haiku by Alysse Aallyn
#Haiku: The Emotional Archive
Sun withdraws;
Cry. Heat swells –
Sing. Intent
Blooms. Journaling honors
Life pulse.
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The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
I would have yelled at Derek
For manhandling me if I hadn’t needed it
So much. Was this the way
Mirabel had felt, impressed by Verne?
Climbing into crowded trains was a skill
I didn’t have. We could sit
This time. “I wonder if that guy’s
An Epstein flier,” Derek mused aloud.
“I wondered the same thing!
But I don’t know if he
Could get along with ANYBODY
Long enough. The way he clutched at
Mirabel; do those guys care
About anything that much?”
Derek seriously considered
This ill-expressed idea.
“It’s a club like any club,” he said.
“They’re posing for each other.”
Hard to argue with.
Hadn’t Verne and Mirabel
Been posing for ME?
“I had the most awful dream,”
I tentatively began.
“You believe in dreams?” I almost hit him.
Our first quarrel!
“People know things subconsciously before
They know them consciously.” I was
Quoting my drama prof, but
It sounds legit.
He was amenable. “So explicate
This dream.” I expanded.
“A ruined house – Downtown Abbey on the skids.
Shattered.
Sad and… threatening with a lot of
Broken stuff.” I found I couldn’t
Express the horned man.
Derek tried to locate the dream’s
Progenitor.
“Was it something he said?”
“He said Mirabel tried to live there and
Didn’t like it.”
“Intriguing,” murmured Derek. “Let’s research
this guy when we get home.”
Chapter 14 – A Ruined Manor
Derek’s family place was a
Penthouse atop the
Museum Mesko. Mostly glass.
In the “reserved” elevator
Derek grilled me:
“What do YOU think happened? You
Think she ran away
And left you holding – HIM?”
Unsure of speech when hurtling so fast
I breathed relief when the door bonged.
“I haven’t told you the worst part.”
“What’s that?”
“Our dresses for the wedding
Are the same. It’s
THE SAME DRESS.”
He didn’t get it.
“That’s worse than having
Fourteen year olds?”
“Yes, because SHE DID IT.”
Should I tell him Mirabel was some kind of
Flesh scout? He would never understand
Why I still sought her.
“You were her replacement.
Good that you got out of there.”
Through his folks’ dark foyer,
With the Tiffany lamps and stacks of mail
He led me to a long living room
With at least six sofas and the most
Fabulous view. Enough modern art to
Give anybody nightmares.
But the city laid out
Beneath the clouds was
“Ravishing.”
“Want something to eat?”
Why was I always hungry?
Was it hunger really or
Existential despair?
Existential despair can make a person
Fat. The microwave pinged.
“I can’t believe you didn’t Google this guy.”
I can’t believe I didn’t either.
Why didn’t I? Derek was good
At pointing out the logic of
The illogical world I’d just escaped.
Was this decompression something I shared
With Mirabel?
He levered out a plate of nachos,
Adding sour cream and guacamole.
I WAS hungry!
“I think I need a bib.”
He added piles of napkins.
I dumped nachos into my despair.
“Coffee? Tea? The wine’s
Locked up.”
“Coffee’s fine.”
On their home computer
I googled while he buttled.
The news was bad.
“His house looks like my dream!”
Valerian Hall, Verne’s “ancestral home.”
“There’s even a lake with folly.”
“Swear you didn’t look before?”
Derek was persnickety.
“Don’t you think sometimes
You absorb things from the air?
By osmosis?”
He politely considered the question,
Working his logic
Around this idea. “Remote viewing?”
“Peer Loses Bid to Break Entail.”
Screamed headlines as I scrolled.
Down, down, down.
“Looks like he couldn’t pry more money out.”
Derek typed – my research not
Enough for him.
“Says here he can’t go back because
There’s a warrant out for his arrest,”
“Look at the site!” I argued. “How could Royal Gossip
Know anything of value?”
“I admit you can’t trust exclamation points,”
Derek concurred.
“But it is a reason to avoid police.
Whatever it is,
“Can’t be enough to extradite.”
“I need a bathroom.”
To throw up?
I rose abruptly, headed down the hall.
“There’s a close one off the kitchen.”
Around the corner from the wall of refrigerators.
I checked myself in a tiny bathroom mirror.
Hollow-eyed, a girl who sorely needs a tan.
Completely different from my
Made-up, Russian hooker, Mirabel self.
“I found what he’s in trouble for,” said Derek
When I got returned. GBH.”
“Party drug?”
“Grievous bodily harm. He attacked someone.”
“A woman?”
“No. Some man in a pub.”
I couldn’t picture it.
Verne seemed more irritable than physical.
But then I recalled how he was about Ravi.
“So Verne’s on the run it sounds like.”
“It’s a new idea,” I agreed.
Derek moved effortlessly from coffee to seltzer.
The boy was a sponge.
“This is more fun than a video game.
Maybe I’ll transition to “criminal justice”.”
“What are your parents pushing?”
“Wealth Management. Fundraising.”
He made a disgusted face. “Tax Avoidance.
Dull, dull, dull. Studying rule breakers, though
You don’t find that interesting?”
Did I?
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The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
Chapter Ten – Is Lord Verne In the Epstein Files?
Cycling through museums of dream –
Christine, threatened forever by
Her hideous Phantom, Daphne
Sprouting as a laurel tree;
Philomela without her tongue.
Was that what Verne meant by
Classics? In the night’s dark heart
I woke and thought I saw him standing there or
Was it Mirabel – reaching out through a gold-framed
Mirror to beckon me closer
Or warn me away?
Somehow I became convinced
Mirabel was dead – murdered by
Lord Verne – he must have done it because
I was his perfect alibi, covering up
His appearance in the Epstein files
Of life, where old roués
Tarnish up the young.
If I stayed here
I’d be Mirabel forever – so I
Fled through shattered French windows where
Sheer white curtains blew across my face
Impeding me; supplicating
Me to dance, daring my embrace.
Where was I? Was this the ruined castle
Where the wraiths were tourists
Gazing at destruction paid for
With the lifeblood of the country?
The stone terrace beneath my feet
Was littered with the broken glass
Of Piper Heidseck bottles – picked my way
Between the broken statues – horny Pan
Whose face had split, cupids gaping with
Their fractured mouths, Vulcan lobbing
Stone pineapples down the mossy garden steps.
Pursued by something
Too disgusting to confront
I saw his shadow –
A leering man with antlers.
At least the distant view
Was comforting – pond encircling island
Ornamented by gazebo – forests crowned
By snowy mountains.
Surely he could not pursue me there.
Something amiss about this lighting –
Bleached too white – bad weather or
Apocalypse; eclipse of the sun or
The end of the world? I revert to
The “helpless bystander” dilemma of childhood –
This was too horrible: I forced myself awake.
Dreams multiplied enigmas –
I could not abandon Mirabel
Prance on home
And declare she’d
“Done it yet again.”
Either she was in danger or
I was. And all my life
I’d been preparing for this moment.
In the mirror I saw
Richenda Marshott complete with morning mouth –
Sunlight exacerbating a hangover
Not from overdrinking but
From over-dreaming.
Verne’s door was closed –
It would be awkward if I’d killed him
But I refused to check. Men
Should not be so dangerous.
I took control of the empty kitchen.
Some bad person – probably me –
Left out the cake – stiff and
Ruined now – only cardboard sugar
Which I guess it’s always been.
Tossed it,
Put the last espresso in the
Microwave and
Opened cabinets sadly.
Here’s finally a place where guests could
Unpack their clothes –
Empty, empty, empty.
The front door unclicked –
I jumped so hard
I banged my head.
“Ow!”
And Verne cried
“Breakfast!”
I hadn’t killed him after all. Seems
I’m the one who overslept.
“I haven’t slept so well in ages. What was
That stuff?” he
Eyed my mug with disapproval.
“You can’t drink yesterday’s.”
I’ve heard it said their lordships
Can’t comprehend the hoi polloi.
“I brought everything.” He went on,
Impossibly cheerful
Considering yesterday.
Waffles, eggs, fruit.
Coffee. No milk?
“It’s OK,” I said to his
Self-recriminating face
“I noticed you have ice cream.”
Vanilla works as well or
Even better.
“Mirabel never drank milk,” said Verne.
“She says it makes cowbones
And soy makes man-boobs.”
She would say that.
Charming Mirabel.
I could one-up and list the
Plant-based milks I willingly absorb but –
“Ice cream is better.”
Hard to one-up when one is
Drooling. Visibly.
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Purrsiflage – Daily Cat Zen with Alysse Aallyn
Feb 26
The Multiverse is Blossoming – You are awakened to the magical possibilities that surround you. Can you dream of eternal bliss? Are you floating in connectedness? In Love the boundaries of the other disappear; all is forgiveness. Merge fearlessly, knowing you will be able to get yourself back any time, soothed, improved, and healed.
We Are Purrsons for Love – Love is the spirit that animates the empty spaces between creatures. Once charged, these spaces become a powerful force for growth and change – uncharged they are so much dead air. This is the space that Purrsons protect. Love is the longing to be truly alive and to share life with the Blissed, Blessed Others.
Our Yearning Defines and Connects Us – As children we thought we knew about miracles but it seems we have forgotten. As Purrsons we fight for our ancestral memories of trust and closeness. How we long to be reminded of the ecstasy of selflessness, to re-experience the borderlessness between creatures that makes a dead multiverse come alive.
Love Is Our Being – Life is a spiral, our labyrinth, remember? We can’t go back, we can only go forward. We practice techniques and invent others as we design and redesign purposeful maps in a threatening and uncertain world. We have the collective confidence of all the brilliance of the Purrsons who came before us. Someone loved us once, eternalizing the golden moment, now we can re-create and perpetuate that magic by creating our own miracles.
Purrson Danger – Danger lies in narrowing, exclusionary definitions of what ‘can’t” happen, what “won’t” work. Purrsons explode restrictions all the time. Love must ever open outwards. As soon as we turn Love into a zero-sum game with a shut-off valve focused on our own narrow gratification, Love dies.
Purrson Opportunity – Love Is always a Miracle – It can restore the dead to life. It can open minds, it can awaken hearts. The possibilities of a Purrson are endless because we have chosen, with our flexibility and our sympathetic understanding, to be all-encompassing. Close your eyes and assume yoga’s starfish pose. We are open to what the multiverse longs to teach and once we commit to pass it on, we form an unbreakable chain, free at last from the bonds and the limits of selfishness. Clasp the hand (or paw) that generously, trustingly takes hold of yours. Let’s venture forth together.
Models & Mentors – ‘to love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides”
– David Viscott
“Miracles don’t happen to you, they happen through you.” – Mary Davis
“Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get, only what you are expecting to give, which is everything” – Katherine Hepburn
“Love gives you a piece of your soul you never knew was missing” – Torquato Tasso
“You’ve got to see the miracle to be the miracle.” – Jandy Nelson
“Love is the gift of oneself” – Jean Anouilh
“I love you for who I am when I’m with you”
– Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Alysse Aallyn 