Tag Archives: love

No, Your Hate Won’t Break Our Love

It is unexpressed emotions harboring latent demands for redress which cause violent disruption to society. The seemingly extremes of heinous actions and vitriolic words each casting blame, instead of assuming responsibility and moving positively forward, actually feed eachother to ever escalating destruction. It is in the never ending cycles of human history rife with the absence of hope which manifest anger and discontent and, in some, a call for ‘retribution’. A politician stands up and speaks ‘on behalf of a nation’ with words that only serve to inflame those who hate, and exacerbate the fear amongst the panicked flock who demand a response to their collective fear with demands of isolation, xenophobia, and more brutality.

As Eve Ensler, poet, so perfectly and simply wrote:

“Bullets are hardened tears”.

We must unharden. We must stop the tears and the subsequent bullets and bombs. We must find a way forward between the madness and genius and that fraction of capability to cope with inequities tipping the balance to terrorist actions.

Anger can be a gift that keeps us sane; anger will make us sit-in, go on strike (hunger, walk off our jobs), meditate, light candles, and engage in activism we never imagined embracing fostering beautiful life affirming change. And, just like hundreds of thousands of cherry blossom petals ‘we’, coming together, cast a pink glow over our hurting world.

In various locations in Stockholm statues of St. George figure prominately – in the 12th and 13th centuries his legend came to include the story of a battle with, and victory over, a voracious dragon. In its purest form St. George’s tale is one of good vs. evil, light vs. darkness, life vs. death. Stockholm, Homs, Paris, Zliten, Baghdad, Nice, Kabul, Brussels, Boston, London, New York, Orlando, and sadly many other cities share a pain created in the absence of love. Our responses in each of the tragedies we have borne has been resilience and community.

“Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great.” ~ Roger de Rabutin de Bussy

I believe that within us we are both a cherry blossom petal and St. George and the dragon we must slay is hatred, ignorance and fear. We must be kinder, more compassionate, empower not condescend, find a way to ensure hope remains a constant and together build a great reserve of universal love which cannot be extinguished in the name of any God.

If you enjoy my blog please consider ‘buying me a cup of tea’ in your currency via livelikeadog@gmail.com through PayPal, and do share it with your friends on Facebook, Google+ and Twitter – I am @TeresaFritschiPlease click here to order my book, thank you! 

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Left cheek kiss, right cheek kiss. Kiss the very ground.

“Going back to a simpler life based on living by sufficiency rather than excess is not a step backward. Rather, returning to a simpler way allows us to regain our dignity, puts us in touch with the land, and makes us value human contact again.”
— Yvon Chouinard

No where I have ever visited more acutely embraces the primal need of Chouinard’s words as HugsCroatia; physical human contact is a standard of ‘being’ here, vastly unlike the requisite three feet of personal space which Americans demand. Each greeting begins with this – you place your hands on the upper arms of the person standing before you, lean in to close the space between you, place your left cheek against theirs kiss, then the right, and kiss. You connect, you share physical space, you communicate with your heart as well as your whole being. If you are less than presenting yourself in ‘fullness of being’ you will be felt. Authenticity reigns supreme in this physical connectedness. I love this. I absolutely, unconditionally, LOVE THIS.

I sit here, four days back in Croatia after an absence of five and a half months, and I feel whole again. Really whole. I shed tears of gratitude for the wondrous gift of being here. I light candles in churches for the same reason. I stand calf deep in fountains in her cities and towns and the Adriatic (there is no time for a swim right now). I walk barefoot on Rovinj’s sidewalks in darkness and Pula’s streets in blazing July heat. I see fig and olive trees full of fruit and weep. The scent of the air dense with the sea, and earth’s minerals, pine, lavender and citrus assaults my senses and my heart.  I pull the energy of the land and its people into my being through every possible means as though I would perish from thirst and hunger should I fail. I am HOME.

When we arrived in Venice, (my business partner Ken Herron and I are in Istria, Croatia participating in the #ShareIstria campaign – the final week of a total of eleven – as #IstraKT), I was utterly exhausted. I was drained from the machinations of the culture of the USA, as well as the indifference and greed and IMHO the truly wrongheadedness of core values.  I was weary from the (foolish?) decision to simultaneously give up my apartment, put my things into storage, and stay not for the single week of the contest but through October. To embrace Croatia again, fully, and make sure that this is the path I will take – to make her my permanent home. [The truth is that were it not for remarkable friends in Rochester, NY I would not have been able to get on the plane to get here – they were still picking up the pieces of my life (and my shoes!) and putting these into storage for me as I simply ran out of time to do everything – my angels on Earth, I love you for this enormous gift more than you can know.]

The very first Croatian ‘touch’ on this return trip for me was on my left forearm. Our driver Glen, hired by the Istrian Tourist Board to collect us in Venice, did this several times as he listened to me speak of his country during our three hour drive to Rovinj. This was not uncomfortable to me, this is a balm. This tells me in the most elemental way that someone not only hears what I am saying but wants to reinforce the importance of my words to them on a personal level of what I am saying without using words of their own. I told Ken “I get petted a lot in Croatia.” I haven’t quite figured out the why of this, but it means the world to me that my energy is such that people feel comfortable in doing this.

We drove through Italy to Slovenia, stop at the border to get our passports stamped, drive on 20150724_114904-2perhaps 200 yards, and cross into Croatia, another stamp. ‘Dobar dan’ is expressed, smiles exchanged, our passports handed back to us.  A large sign another 200 yards ahead welcomes us to Croatia. My throat clenches, my eyes fill. I look behind our car quickly but there is traffic, no opportunity to get out of the car, kneel, and kiss the ground (I have now quietly attended to this ritual of a traveler returning home.)

From the 24th to today, the 28th, I have greeted each Croatian I encounter through an introduction not with a handshake but with this intimate touch and kisses on the their cheeks.  Our handler Goran said that I am the first person from all of the #ShareIstria teams to do this; I am shocked. How can anyone come into a culture and not make a tiny effort to know? Yet my reaction isn’t prideful. Rather it is concern that I might have offended. No, no, no he says, it is appreciated. Croatians generally, Istrians in particular right now, make me feel beyond welcomed, as we hug and kiss I better understand this (the second time around) the context of closing the space even further with me on parting company, Istrians are making me feel as though I am a native daughter returning to the nest after being away too long. For all those I have met along the journey to be here, amongst you again, your kindness and hospitality swamp my heart in the best possible way. Hvala lipo.

We would love your support of our participation in the #ShareIstria contest I hope you will follow us as #IstraKT (across social media platforms Twitter, Instagram, YouTube, Facebook and help amplify our various posts on social media. Hvala lipo. Aj bog.

If you enjoy my blog please consider ‘buying me a cup of tea’ in your currency via PayPal to livelikeadog@gmail.com and then, please do share the blog with your friends on Facebook, Google+ and Twitter – I am @TeresaFritschiTo order my book, please click on the cover art of my book below, thank you! 

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Dear Sir, I dreamt of you last night.

Dear Sir,
I dreamt of you last night.

ekaterina yastrebova lovers

Art by Ekaterina Yastrebova

I have no idea who you are but the conversation we shared as I slept, in my dreams, was lovely. On waking I recall but snippets of the content but all of the associate energy. It was the kind of conversation generally held in business, pragmatic, evaluating risks and rewards, benefit statements – yet, we spoke of love.

You had asked me if I would love you. Not in the sense of immediacy associated with ‘hey, would you like to get out of here?’ but in the sense of ‘build something with me’. I have the sense this morning that something ancient ran through our words, surrounded them, infused them with deeper meaning and gravity.  My reply was measured, as in negotiations related to a contract – the greatest contract, the one where two people amplify each other, and in doing so their love expands the universal love that is filtered through the air we breathe and the stars that fall through ink black skies. I told you ‘it never occurred to me to think of you “like that” because I have worked with lots of intelligent men, piercingly handsome men, charming men who made everyone around them weak in the knees – except me’.

But here it was – logical. A question posed and a conversation following. No sweeping, Adrenalin fueled, rescue from epic adventures or courtship based upon glass slippers, letting down one’s hair from a turret or a single kiss to awaken from a sleep of a 100 years which determine the outcome every faerie tale instructing little girls and little boys how it will be when they meet and fall in love. No. You knew, and pressed your suit.

Emily Dickinson wrote, Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
I think it is better phrased as, Dawn makes up for mornings without you.

My days have never begun without you. You are experienced as the pre-dawn air stirs across my skin from the open window, your hands combing through my tangled curls coaxing them into submission. Your scent mingled with dew, grass, trees, the smote fire in the grate, seaweed and salt water, lashing rainstorms or snow gently falling. The heat of you, as the manifestation of the Sun, pressed against the cool alabaster of my body as manifestation of the Moon. Ying and Yang. Harmony and balance.

I have no picture of you from my dream. I could not tell if you are dark or fair, whether your eyes are blue, green or dark.  A girlfriend shared weeks, perhaps months ago, “you will know him from his smile”. Have I been manifesting you from Mary’s words? I have not a clue in all the universe of who you might be, yet, I felt the essence of your character, your physicality resonate with virile strength, I felt kindness and loyalty and, most of all, I felt safe. Was this a prophetic dream or a memory etched upon my soul from another lifetime?

Do you read this and wonder, what was my answer in this morphing of reality and subconsciousness? When we meet you shall have it.

Teresa

If you enjoy my blog please consider ‘buying me a cup of tea’ in your currency via PayPal to livelikeadog@gmail.com and then, please do share the blog with your friends on Facebook, Google+ and Twitter – I am @TeresaFritschiTo order my book, please click on the cover art of my book below, thank you! 

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Fear. Less. Giving a F*ck, and not. Shift. Your. Thinking.

I have written lightly about ‘living exponentially’ in my blog post about Walter Mitty – but this post is planningsomething different. Despite there being plenty of perfectly rational things in my life to be concerned about, however naïve or ridiculous of me it might be, I am not a worrier. I really don’t possess fears. I have this un-erring belief that everything will be ‘just fine’. I have friends that I drive absolutely bonkers over this attitude of mine. Why aren’t you worried? What’s your plan? Plan. Plan. Plan. You aren’t REALLY going to write that, are you?? You aren’t really go to send that email are you? Let go of it. I most certainly am, primarily because I care. There are far worse things.

And, like my girlfriend Mary who has experienced much of the same, there are always going to be people who want to ‘fix me’ ‘help me’ or somehow ‘rescue me’ and I am having none of it (neither, thankfully, is she). I dedicate this blog post to Mary, and her journey of self, because we can’t walk in anyone else’s shoes and everything we carry with us is about reconciling our pasts so that our souls can accomplish their objectives for living in this lifetime. I only ask that Light and Love surround her and keep her safe.fear 2

I dislike high places. I have an inner ear ‘thing’ from damage caused by repeated ear infections as a child that gives me a wicked case of vertigo but I am not necessarily afraid of heights. So much of the lens in which we are viewed by the world around us, by our colleagues and our friends, and very often how we view ourselves, is a powerful catalyst for our continued behaviours – whatever they might be. A refrain of my life was repeated (yet again) fairly recently. It’s a huge compliment to be told that someone perceives you as being fearless, and that because of their perception of you they are pushing away the boundaries of their fears, to fear ‘less’; three people expressed the same in a matter of two days. Respect for danger, preparation to face it squarely, has absolutely nothing to do with fear or worry. Fear is a choice. Worry is a choice.

We all have things that we have cognition of but that we (largely) keep hidden; fear of offending, fear Harrellof failure, fear of others thinking us foolish, fear of dangerous situations. These fears are not necessarily bad things but they can be debilitating things. Fear is always having a monkey on your back. Fear keeps us from fully living.

I function best from the realms of authenticity and love. That expressed, I vividly recall my father saying “I don’t care if you like me, as long as you respect me” (generally directed as dinner table conversation about people not in the room). Close friends can attest that as a result of my having been bullied from the 3rd grade onward by boys with the names of Joe and Victor (amongst others) I have honed my fathers’ attitude to I don’t much care if you like me or respect me, please just leave me alone and, if you can’t for some inexplicable reason respect polite boundaries, I assure you that you will simply ‘cease to exist’ (I have found that indifference is the greatest survival skill ever learned). Which is why in reading Mark Manson’s The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck yesterday I was like, well “Hell Yes!”

Now, most of you who know me in real life know that while I might “think it” and “act it” and “truly don’t” I also VERY RARELY actually use the word. Which is what made my Croatian-American friend Bruce’s “Croatians using Jokerthe word…” tutorial back in late January very funny to me. Evidently if a Croatian says IN CROATIAN F*ck You (or was it ‘off’?) it is actually 100x more offensive than the English use of noun, verb, adjective, expletive F*ck You. Who knew???!! So, TO EVERY ONE I LOVE, and the things I passionately care about (and you witness by not just my words but by my actions) it’s true, it’s true, it’s true – I do not give a F*ck if some unknown dweeb is challenged by my attitude to let it all fall where it should, and TO HELP IT GET THERE faster if need be. Because quite frankly my choosing to care, my giving a F*ck is one of the things I am most proud of about me. So when something is totally F*cked up expect me to do glovesomething and say something and take no prisoners in the process (though it might be a iron fist in a lovely velvet glove making it nearly impossible to distinguish what is actually happening). If that makes you uncomfortable then it is patently clear you will never be worthy of my respect or my giving a F*ck about you or your indifferent little life. I challenge you to CARE about stuff, about life, passionately. No regrets. No ‘what’s in for me’. Don’t try to control everything, or anything – it’s impossible to do so – but show up for life. Truly. Caring about what the wrong people think, SMH. And for someone that is deeply rooted in creating branding and identities this might seem contrary but it seems more reckless to me to be fearful of opinions and perceptions of the great unwashed masses rather than functioning from a position of authenticity and integrity.

Mr. Manson is spot on. Don’t “give your F*cks away” to the wrong people and situations. Don’t worry about the inconsequential – will whatever it is matter tomorrow or the next day? Fear is an extension of giving a F*ck about the wrong things. Shift. Your. Thinking.

If you enjoy my blog please consider ‘buying me a cup of tea’ in your currency via PayPal to livelikeadog@gmail.com and then, please do share the blog with your friends on Facebook, Google+ and Twitter – I am @TeresaFritschiTo order my book, please click on the cover art of my book below, thank you! 

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Croatia, my love, if need be I will walk back to you.

– Last year at about this time I wrote the post entitled A Thousand Years, when love isn’t a smaltz-y commercial event it’s still valid (I invite you re-read it or read it if you haven’t already).  Last week National Public Radio (NPR) in the United States asked its listeners to nominate love songs in conjunction with Valentine’s Day. The resulting list is impressive, filled with happiness and a variety of the kinds of love that cross our lives. But Mazzy Star’s “Fade Into You” sounds like I feel right now.

croatia88 days in Croatia. Standing on the wet tarmac in Split, waiting to board the plane that would take me first to Munich and then back to my other reality in the United States, the skies were grey and the fierce overnight rain had diminished to what would be called dreich in Scotland. I love that word dreich, I felt it and the sound of it resonated into the marrow of my bones even though I only thought it.  My throat clenched, my eyes filled with tears – I have fallen in love with a country, again. I have fallen in love with people, rather a population whose collective kindness, hospitality, generosity and understanding of what is truly important felt more authentic and organic to me than in any country I have ever traveled and certainly more than where I was born and currently live.  I walked upon sidewalks of pure white stone smoothed to a fine polish from 2000 years of footfalls that ‘spoke’ to the soles of my bare feet as I walked with a man in the same rain the day before I left.  I laughed more frequently (at myself and life) in those days than at any time I can remember, I cried tears of gratitude and humility just as often. I listened (rather than heard) church bells echo across urban and rural landscapes.  I knelt in churches (which didn’t fall down) to pray for dead I never knew from a war whose scars can be seen everywhere. I spent nearly three months becoming more of who I am than I have ever been – a striking revelation on the eve of a birthday in numbers that in most previous eras would have been considered old age.  I met a wonderful dog, named Medo (honey bear), who helped to heal a part of my heart that I didn’t Medoknow was in need of mending and in the process earned his trust and protection simply by brushing him, sometimes multiple times in a single day, for three weeks. I wasn’t running from anything, and it turned out I wasn’t running toward someone.  I found a home in the truest sense, a piece of Earth where humans have lived for 12,000 (or more) years. I became part of the Dalmatian phenomenon of pomalo. For someone whose family drama was about learning self-reliance, out of necessity I found (in not speaking the language) that I needed to rely upon complete strangers for survival and, I grew.

I wrote a blog post at the end of December which suddenly this week, evidently because Jupiter the planet of luck and expansion was rising in my Aquarius birth sign and despite Mercury being in retrograde meant that communication was heightened, went viral earning more than 110,000 unique readers in two and a half days.  While friends said OWN THIS, I was (I remain) humbled, I am just the messenger for the Adriatic – it’s she that rightfully stands in the spotlight. Over the last three weeks, from a wide range of people, I have been called to leadership which I shun unless I can be ‘in service’. Sharing lunch with a man that read my blog post about the Croatian bikini I was told that I was “Mediterranean but didn’t realise it” – as fine a compliment as I have ever received. The men who variously waited on me in Split’s hot chocolateLuxor and Bajamonti cafes smiled in recognition, touched my arm in fondness as I would take my leave, and yes, told me lies about the weather in the United States in an attempt to keep me in Croatia. People gave me lettuce, flour and millet, and homemade wine. The old women in the marketplaces dressed in black, smiled, made small gifts of Clementines or lemons with my purchases of dark, fantastic Pršut and pale gold Linden honey and almost always hugged me hello and goodbye.  As a huggie person this surprised and delighted me given the three feet of personal space demanded in the United States.

Being away from my apartment for three months meant the cupboards and refrigerator had a lot in common with Old Mother Hubbard’s, so six days after returning I finally went to the grocery store, and wept over pears. Not because they were beautiful, they are, they are perfect – too perfect. I shed tears over these pears because I didn’t know who I was buying them from, the people behind the pears, I was disconnected from the person selling them to me as well as the person who grew them and it felt like I had been abandoned.  I have been back in the United States a week and the scene in my local Wegmans was not about the pears so much as the experience of any traveler. When we have thoroughly immersed ourselves in another culture we are never the same, we can’t go home again. Not really.

The DanceMy dear (never met in person) girlfriend Jocelyne has an uncanny sense of what will touch my soul posted a picture on my Facebook wall this morning. It is a painting by a Greek man named Antonis Kalantzis called La danza, Quint Buchholz. I see the woman I wish to be in the centre of this composition, held in the arms of her lover dancing the Argentine Tango in a snowdrift. A fleeting moment of human connection and restrained desire, something ordinary and extraordinary, a rendezvous realised by riding in on a white horse for one, and a yellow bicycle for the other. So close to Valentine’s Day it’s easy to think about romantic love, wanting it if we don’t have it, cherishing it if we do. I have no regrets about my requited love with Croatia, anytime we fall in love it is a gift we give ourselves. While mountains of snow pile up around myself and my fellow Americans from Minnesota to Maine the ‘things that matter’ that touched my being keep me warm now – at a distance of 4400 miles.

If you enjoy my blog please consider ‘buying me a cup of tea’ in your currency via PayPal to livelikeadog@gmail.com and then, please do share the blog with your friends on Facebook, Google+ and Twitter – I am @TeresaFritschiTo order my book, please click on the cover art of my book below, thank you! 

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Love in the present, and The Velveteen Rabbit

lovers“The present moment is really all that we have. The only place you can really love another person is in the present. Love in the past is a memory. Love in the future is a fantasy. To be really alive, love – or any other experience – must take place in the present.”
— Jack Kornfield­­­

Three months away from my home base in the United States has taught me precisely who will make an effort to maintain connection, the same is true here in Croatia, people I swore would make the time to be part of my experience here have ‘been too busy’, whereas others have delightfully surprised me in the dynamic of friendship (shout out to Ivica, Carmen and Daša).

I genuinely appreciate Jack Kornfield’s words because I have, like so many, at certain times held onto a memory (or established an illusion of parity) as a dynamic experience when I should have let go – long ago. Why? I assure you I am not delusional but as an eternal optimist I 3rd eyesuppose each of these events in my past come down to hope… that if you respect space, focus intention, believe sufficiently in the connection or your actions or messages received through the 3rd Eye, or Heart Chakra to the vibrational energy  given and received then it must be real. Bonnie Raitt had a very popular song as I was going through my divorce in 1991 (Adele’s cover is stunning) I can remember hearing over, and over, and over again while learning to sail that summer to mitigate the pain of loss, to process who I would be next. But it was the husband and wife that I was sailing with for whom it was more resonate – but neither knew the truth of their loss, they held onto the marriage like people cling to part of the helm of their destroyed boat. I never cried about this for myself in hearing the wife play it on the boat’s sound system, but for them – always.

Ah, love. Like living well, treating it as the miracle it is to be elevated and cherished requires the same active engagement as your exercise régime. There cannot be indifference, there cannot be procrastination, to have an intimate relationship (of any kind) means to participate and practice at it – daily, hourly, and sometimes in the space of a breath.  Not because you ‘have to’ but because you recognise that if you don’t you will both loose an essential aspect of yourself and the person who loves you will take to higher ground (or grasses greener on the other side of the fence).

Being RealAnd so, The Velveteen Rabbit and what can be real, even when it isn’t.

When we are most able to be “real” is as Margery Williams nearly a hundred years ago wrote – we are shabby and have loose joints but we are are most beautiful to those who love us, and whom we love.  When we are most real, when we are truly worthy of love, outward appearances matter not.  Five or thirty extra pounds, failed hearing or eyesight, peculiar habits are ignored because the authenticity of loving is sitting right beside us.  When we are real, and not an illusion, we reach for our others, we call, we send postcards above and beyond social media (although how easy that is you would think more people would actually bother to connect in this manner), we engage and make our lives meaningful in the reality found in laughing loudly, hugging tightly, crying softly, sharing life and all the joys and sorrows that accompany our journey.

“Each day is a miracle that intoxicates me. I want more. I greet every morning like a new pleasure.”
Malika Oufkir

More so, I want to share that miracle with you…everyday. When I reach for you – reach back for me.

If you enjoy my blog please consider ‘buying me a cup of tea’ in your currency via PayPal to livelikeadog@gmail.com and then, please do share the blog with your friends on Facebook, Google+ and Twitter – I am @TeresaFritschiTo order my book, please click on the cover art of my book below, thank you! 

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What lovers do

“White Lace” – Jeremy Mann, oil on panel

I have been lending a new girlfriend here in Croatia the collection of books about love, famous lovers, courtesans, geisha, and, of course, seducers I brought here as reference materials for my second book. She is engaged to marry a lovely Dalmatian man in his mid-fifties. Evidently the content, shared, is producing some much appreciated surprises, (for both of them), in the bedroom; exchanged words have always been powerful aphrodisiacs. I hope all my writing efforts have the same net effect on all its future readers.

I don’t think romance is necessarily about seduction, I believe romance is about bringing ourselves and our partner delight; a heightened state of anticipation of mutual pleasure.  Small things not grand expressions – just as it is the small things that build up unchecked will also destroy love. When? why? did we stop being ‘romantic’?

“It isn’t possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.”                                                        ― E.M. Forster, A Room with a View

1770 Billet DouxI recently discovered Billet Doux because of Musetouch on Facebook and I do not mean the French lingerie company nor from the “1670s, “love letter,” French, literally “sweet note,” from billet “document, note” (14c., diminutive of bille; see bill (n.1)) + doux “sweet,”. Rather the small exquisite masterpieces of handwork used to transport the letters which lovers used to write to one another. I am charmed. At some point, the right man, will understand that his words tucked into one of these would make me swoon more effectively than any diamond worth a hundred times what the average price of these archaic treasures sell for.  Let us consider, for a moment, the circumstance of receiving such in an age before telephone, television, the Internet and all of the immediacy offered to lovers today… the anticipation of waiting for words, the promise of reuniting or escape to be carried by a courier (a stage coach or private hired rider) or, even left at a point of rendezvous frequented by lovers and unknown to others. A touch point of words, scrawled upon a small piece of paper with a fountain pen – or quill, perhaps scented, sanded, sealed and rolled into the carrying tube represented by the billet doux – private words, words that excite. Franz Liszt (1811-1886) sent Europe ablaze with his love letters – to a great many women – but, for example, I think none finer of precise use of language (as well as his music) to create longing and desire, to mark his lovers’ heart as his own (for however long or short).

Thursday morning 1834

My heart overflows with emotion and joy! I do not know what heavenly languor, what infinite pleasure permeates it and burns me up. It is as if I had never loved!!! Tell me whence these uncanny disturbances spring, these inexpressible foretastes  of delight, these divine, tremors of love. […]

This is to be — to be!
ink
Marie! Marie!

Oh let me repeat that name a hundred times, a thousand times over; for three days now it has lived within me, oppressed me, set me afire. I am not writing to you, no, I am close beside you. I see you, I hear you. Eternity in your arms… Heaven, Hell, everything, all is within you, redoubled… Oh! Leave me free to rave in my delirium. Drab, tame, constricting reality is no longer enough for me. We must live our lives to the full, loving and suffering to extremes!…

Franz

One does not ‘need’ a billet doux to make your lovers’ heart race – one needs to actively contemplate the path to ‘un-doing’. None of us could actually use language like this today and be taken seriously. But the intent, the intent is something anyone can put into action.

If you enjoy my blog please consider ‘buying me a cup of tea’ in your currency via PayPal to livelikeadog@gmail.com and then, please do share the blog with your friends on Facebook, Google+ and Twitter – I am @TeresaFritschiTo order my book, please click on the cover art of my book below, thank you! 

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