Innerdialect

For Oka-san* , Mae, Moeder, Cher Me`re /Mother

Art :MothersDay Card from my kids,Innerdialect

 

Some are  sung  with  gifts of Love, but not all are  known just yet . Consider this  : is hers'  the  Most Challenged  State of Art ?

For all  True Angels  everywhere who ever loved, or  lost /e'vn  thought they never were/ did not do enough

not all are sung ,  not all are  known just yet , oh  Love like that  is  perhaps The  Most Creative  State of  Heart?

For Some must  live or die alone ; await  a  smile, a  child/ or child's return,  that first gurgle, or that  one last glimpse,   not  Time  nor Tide can Return or Give  perhaps...

and Some  walk /walked this Earth for us , and bear and raise and let us grow; Or Those who never  speak  this Word, thinking they never had one of their own /or were called 'Ma' ; and Those not here, but where Love goes when Time is  done, Mom,  Oka-san...

from Us and Some  who never knew that Touch,   to all, Wherever Whoever, this We know, the Heart of  Truth  lives on thru us

a  Hiding Place when it is cold : warm summer smile, the colours bold  for All and  Those Who celebrate  the One they had or are, or  never knew.

Beloved  Humans :  those who yearn, or think they can  never be, just yet, True Love  loves another as their own,  beyond the farthest shore : 

whoever you are / whate'er the Call,  sometimes alone, sometimes out loud,if You're living for Another, if you have shared,  never counting  the hours ; and no one saw the price you pay, each day, for Love   alone :

this Day is Yours,  yours the Greatest Art of all : for Love, tested true, asks nothing, repays no evil, seeks not its own  ; is tender, forgiving.  We wish you Things you wished / thought no one heard :  may  your prayer  be answered. And know you are more than "Mother" here you are Earth's darling human.                                                                                                                                                                

*Japanese for "Mother"                                                                                                                                                            

 Inner Dialect

 

 

 

Why Mona Lisa Smiled

Digital Art, by Vihann N

Pg 3,  The Lounge, written,  Innerdialect

 

They sat together. Two cultures in one.  Three ? Schipol airport. Holding hands ,  coffee and themselves : the world somehow also there with each their cabin baggage.  They were both Caucasian. Mid 20s, Parka , white Tees , well worn jeans.  She was a brunette, pixie beautiful violet eyes , a Renoir mouth. He was a head taller than her, easy 6'2" , smiling eyes  that somehow came across as serious. Light grey .  Their babies dark. Little curls and irises  deep black ; midnight velvet. Twins.

They were talking; yes Flemish! His accent was more NewYork. Little half words.  You could tell they weren't talking about Roots. Not Kin and cliches they  had separately grown up with, but  something about where they were going and you wanted to understand  their Space ;   War and Peace,  and Love. You wondered what they had just seen yesterday, knowing you'd never know. But they'd moved.

Maybe it was in the way  he  reached in and took out the Flute.  Piccolo ?  Gentle notes , now sharp,  now  low.   She listened. Like she were the only one he was playing for. But he had a following  :  the German couple in new leather coats  , the  French lady,  electric blue  streaks in her hair.  To the left, a  young  man and  girl both   red heads ,  white white faces that  hadn't rested.

No one really rested in the Transit Lounge. There was always the departure ;you had to be alert. No matter who you were. What the status  of your ticket or life back home at work or where no one else suspected.

After the man put down his flute, there was that stillness  : like at the  Opera. And some other Places  sacred to each .  She leaned her face against her little grey pillow ; he leaned into his self and they  rested the way people do over  conversations and other Trade,  that can wait for a telling tomorrow. 

Outside some one laughed and there was that familiar mangle of scents. Perfume and deodorant, carpet, wheelies, a distant click, a nearby rattle of wrap and cellophane :  some of the  things associated with people  in movement..

the flute was new today, its  notes  a new presence among  Travel Pictures, and other Glossies.  Mona Lisa   smiled  knowingly. What had she seen ?

It was 1 am. That in between moment , sometimes an exit, sometimes an entry. You never knew which. Somehow now, both mattered. Both mattered. They went together. The man and woman , the Germans,  the French lady, the young couple,  Madame Lisa, the Twins.

The young man was looking at a Brochure from The Crest Hotel , deep maroon and white Crest. Beneath that a rectangluar white card : The Rai.  The girl with the Red hair yawned, " Ja". He put the brochures away, and they smiled at the twins who woke up and cooed at the New Yorker.  New Yorker's name was inaudible. He called her Martine. Martine Schraeppen read her tag.  Martine nodded at the French woman who suddenly frowned.  She looked sharply away as a new day  sifted in through the pale blue lights in the Lounge.

It was never midnight dark in some Places. Unlike other Places.  The French woman hugged herself and steeled everything within for the flight she was about to catch. ..

 

 to be contd.

Harmony & Da Vinci

Do you not know that our soul is composed of harmony?
         — Leonardo da Vinci

Pic "Tables of Content "RNoel

 Diary Transit Lounge Pg2

Yes It is here again, The Transit Area between Morning and Noon, our Work hanging together, wordlessly.

We sift our schedules without much conversation except the Faith that pursues. Faith the substance of Things hoped for, the Evidence of Things not seen. Unheard. Untouchable. Intangible.. here, and yet...

Like Music.

Did Da Vinci find these Words  in  Chaos   : Unequal fingers working together, little Chords in throat and scribbled Alphabets assembling  in one Quote

Little Words. Seemingly.

 

 

RNoel

Diary of a Transit Lounge

 
"Where ?" Medium Pencil /  drawn written  by RNoel

Page 1   :     I am Home here   :  among  Journals, Dates,Time Zones, Words,Silences, Delays, Bars, Make overs,  Baggage , Visas, Duties, Destinations, Calls, Contracts, Cancellations, Arrivals, Departures , Delivery, Farewell

 Approvals,Rejection.Deportation. Delegates.Stars.Status. Hijack.Terror. Salvation.Drinks, Soda,Salads, Tissues. Compacts, Chippy nails, Tears, Cologne, Fresheners. Sighs. Naps. Napes. Jetlag.Hosts. Pilots. Corridors. Counters.Encounters        

I am Transient -Permanence                                 Growth in Change , Static movement forwards , Space Runways,airborne -earth , nauticals, winds, fuelling, wheeling , taking, speeding, rising, heights, steering, stalling, tilting, diving, hovering, listenings, signals, tailing, waiting..                                                           

Even if ,even if, even if

 

RNoel