Homage to Love – Lasko and Laska

Though at the time I was silent on the subject, here, in the Archives, it was exactly one year ago, today, that I chanced upon the Bohemian. A random invite came for Jeb to play with a friend and I decided to take the free evening time to go and watch the sunset at the beach.

He was there with a rose on his arm. The sunlight was touching the water just so. Clouds were pink in the sky and when he told me his name, it was foreign but familiar. The connection was profound enough to make no sense to my mind. So I left the words alone where they simmered quietly.

About three weeks later I became so full that language started seeping out. My first post to actually name the Bohemian (at first “the Bohemian Lover” but soon, simply,  “the Bohemian”) came on 10/11/11. I was tiptoeing around a tsunami, trying, oh-so-hard, to be careful. To not be overtaken by Love’s force, the one I knew could both kill and birth me.

The following is a small collection of threads woven from those first months when I began to let go to love this man. They’re offered here as a snapshot to how life weaves, as I am still in awe.

Did I know on that 11/29/11 post when I drew a picture and asked “what’s going to happen next?” that one year later – 11/29/12 – would be the day we chose to wed? I did not know consciously, but maybe I felt a hint. Somehow, I believe, we’re all creating our stories in a magical blend of choice, intent and mystery.

Here’s to that infinite essence we call Love (Laska) and to the Bohemian, my Love (Lasko) who has graced my life, opened my heart and still dances with me in the kitchen.

all rights reserved

LOVE WITH A CAPITAL ‘L’ – 10/11/11

“Laska – Love, Lasko – My Love”.

This is my text message, Czech 101.

Oh, how I wouldn’t love to hear us turn that a into an oLasko.

But I’ve been reminding myself since the day I met this Bohemian Lover that he will never be mine. That the only way I’ll make it through this heart-opening is if I keep it to love in the Highest. So that would be Laska with a capital L.

There was only one word spoken between us on the day we met. I looked all around as he looked at me. “Beautiful!” I said.

Still gazing at me and smiling, he nodded. “Beautiful.”

The day before our chance encounter, I found myself perusing and collecting vintage photographs of women. Most seemed sourced from Eastern European countries. One picture in particular touched me deeply. A woman exuding utter beauty and peace, ethereal and magic, yet real. Perhaps she was my harbinger.

Spending time with the Bohemian Lover is an experience in fantastical beauty. We beam at one another and say, “Nice dream!” Watching stars, eating kale, letting evening breezes wash our skin. Sometimes I will look at him in awe. He sparks colors of gold and green. Sculpted arms, the warmest hands. He is some sort of greek statue, come to life and reaching out to me. Loving eyes, completely unafraid to look and truly see.

“Whatever you do, do it with love,” he says.

And he does.

And we, we will never be together.

As in, happily-ever-after. There is nothing conventional about this connection. I know the stars that crossed our paths will continue crossing.

Lasko – My Love, this means my love. This love that he evokes in me, already resides within my heart. It is my own true love I’m feeling when his thumb gently traces my cheek.

And even more than mine, the Love that touches me is greater than anything that can be possessed. It is Laska, that capital L Love that lives between our gazing.
Love, free-flowing, is the ever-present wellspring bubbling forth from our hearts – yours and mine – beating at our center in each living moment.

Some days we may be barely conscious of a dull pumping in our chest, that life-force pulsing us through our days. Sometimes we may hardly remember we are breathing.

And sometimes there wanders into our world a dreamy reminder of Love’s vital essence. Once in a while we may be gifted by a soul with which we can share the beautiful.

And in their presence, for however long or short is promised, that’s exactly how you feel.

The Kiss – Gustav Klimt

BREADCRUMBS – 10/12/11

So the wee hours of yesterday were spent crafting words that swirled in the updraft of blossoming hearts and golden love.This morning, I’m all mom.For some unknown reason, Jeb wakes at 5:23am and never goes back to sleep. Though he knows this is my writing hour, he can’t help but interject his seven year old self as I type. There’s that dream he had last night with Harry Potter and the lightening bolt.Or, “Just real fast mom,” he opens his palm full of 50 dimes, “do you have a five dollar bill to trade me.”Counting coins before 6am (there’s a lot of jangling coming from his room) would be unnerving except that it’s buying me some time here at the keyboard.The post that was brewing will most likely not be birthed here, as my living offspring – though being respectfully patient – will soon need breakfast.

Yes, the thread I was following, which I thought to share with you, was something on the topic of privacy. Ironically, this morning, here in the Archives, Jeb’s peripheral presence does not quite allow me the typical private space I rely on to express myself.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

It’s 6:20am now and the sun is rising to shine light on all things tender. Yesterday’s post, “Love with the Capital L” still stirs in me with all its vulnerability. There is no one on my small island with whom I have revealed this sacred sharing. What compels me to post a piece on the world-wide web announcing an affair with a character deemed the Bohemian Lover?

Perhaps all of this loving, sweet magic has gone to my head, simply clouding my discretion. Maybe.

If so, my current mood says, “so be it.” There seems to be gold in the sharing. Something rich in being this raw in uncharted territory. Maybe these words are survival instincts. Tossing breadcrumbs in my wake, hoping that if this trail leads to overwhelming places, I’ll have some lifeline to lead me back.

Oh how I wish there was the time to really articulate these thoughts, but breakfast calls. I am a woman putting lunch snacks in Tupperware, crafting poetry in my head over dirty dishes and sifting in the memory of strong arms around my waist as my son asks me “how do you spell ‘wizard’?”

These morning words from me, simply breadcrumbs, while I follow the thread.

IN THE FOLD – 10/17/11

Last night
there was a true Bohemian at my table
three mugs of ginger tea
my two eyes watching
four hands folding
aerospace creases
for origami flight

“It’s a brand new design”
he says
then returns to whistling.
I know that tune
at first I think it must be
“Zip-a-Dee-Do0-Dah”
but it soon segues
to “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

How did the Bohemian Lover
end up at my dinner table
eating macaroni and cheese
with me
and my seven-year old?

He folds paper airplanes
with such intent
that they glide
like a feather
in perfect spiral corkscrews
leaving a child to gape
and ask
“How’d you do that?!”

MY VISION – 11/3/12

Humor me with this verisimilar vision

He stands at the kitchen sink
jeans
no shirt
biceps flexing
above suds
intently
washing
my sinkful of dishes

the sponge moves methodically
clockwise
then counterclockwise
until the pots shine

is this a dream?

real
not real
maybe I’ll wake up
or not

for now
I’ll go along
with this gorgeous man at my stove top
making me lunch
clearing my dishes
then kneeling down
to wash my feet

I’ll say yes to the contents of all his bags
full of handy tools
homemade chocolate
fresh-picked fruit

let him trouble shoot
my outlet’s faulty wiring
and dance with me in the kitchen
all in the same afternoon

who’s authoring this story?
is it fact or fiction?

I did feel the warmth of those soap suds with my hands
heard his chuckle when my dance step squashed his toe
I saw the light go on when he ran that electrical test

maybe it doesn’t matter if my vision’s true or false

I’m smiling in this story
so absurdly beautiful
the awe
just keeps me laughing

GOOD THINGS 11/8/11

There is graffiti at the entrance to the temple
my natural beach cathedral
where a sloping foot trail
begins with an entry way
upon which
spray-paint faces in day-glow green
request that
“tourists go home”

look closely and you’ll see
down in the corner
one positive affirmation
among the random scrawls
good things happen to good people

on the day we met
his bike was at the entrance
leaning on the good
(though I didn’t see it then)
we were opening a combination lock by flashlight
the reminder
proclaiming in the shadows

In the mornings
I come to worship at this nature church
pass that adage every day
I walk sand
traipse through sea foam
settle myself with the hiss of white water

I am big among crabs
small beside cliffs
my heart pumping blood
with my breath

I walk the tideline
alive with open-hearted joy
unfurling
loving Love
saying yes

yet so tender in exquisite risk
I am but one step away
from utter
annihilation

so afraid I am
of being swallowed
whole by Love
though
I want nothing more
than to be absorbed
in its great force

I say my prayers
and chant my mantras
I walk the tideline
smiling tears
living yes and no

breath in
admit
breath out
I still have one foot
propping open that exit door
two eyes assessing
the safety of my situation

Oh let me be destroyed
by Love
but only if it won’t hurt
hah!

good things happen to good people
I stay
walking the tideline
each step
into the next
feeling
into the immense
heart
of Love

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

FOREST AND TREES – 11/16/11

This morning I see the count.There are 11 posts here in the Archives related to The Bohemian. And it appears as though this morning will mark a twelfth.Friends who subscribe to my daily posts see me on the street and smile. “Been reading the Archives…” they say with that tone that lifts and trails into all things hopeful, hearts and roses.Oh, God.One girlfriend gives her assessment plainly when I see her in line at the bank. “You’re so in love.”I squirm beneath fluorescent lights and such a defining statement. Lose all eloquence and grip my deposit slip. Stammer something vague about how I’m just having an experience, staying in the moment, “who knows…”, et al.

She looks at me squarely and says, “Call it what you will. I read the Archives.”

Mmmm. The wordsmith in me tries to summarize something even I don’t understand. Language falls short. “Ok,” I smile, “you can say I’m smitten.”

Her eyes twinkle. “Smitten is a good word. Alright then. Whatever it is, I’m happy for you.”

Is this part of the artist’s experience when they share their work? The inner, private realms so vulnerably revealed?

One Archive reader says, “Everyone loves a good love story.”

Is that what’s being crafted here? Do readers see the forest of my trees? Or are they simply finding their own stories in the words that I present?

I’m never going to tell you everything. But I’m compelled to tell you more than what is comfortable, at times. Show you more than what the Censor thinks I should. And with that comes a risk of baring some things tender. Places even I don’t understand.

I’ve often said I’m following a thread. Showing up to the WordPress screen and chronicling the everyday. For these 11 Bohemian posts, I’ve guessed the words were breadcrumbs. Some way to insure my safety if Love lured me into uncharted territory.

I’d say I’m officially bushwhacking now (he even loaned me the machete). At this point, my feeble attempts at marking the place from which I’ve come may just be gestures offering a false sense of security.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

I’m not sure I want to back track anyway.

What’s the worst that could happen? I could find myself in foreign land, alone.

But even there, I could map the new place with words. Keep feeling. Sharing. Trust the unknown.

And if I am trying to orient myself on this trailblazing adventure, I’ll take note of my surroundings.

Where am I now? Well, it appears as though 11 posts are enough to officially give The Bohemian his own Archive Category and Tag, making this thread even easier to follow. I notice this comes about the same time that I’ve given him one half of a drawer at my house, inside of which are kept two sarongs, a t-shirt, battery tester and sketchbook.

If we want to play with metaphors, we can say I have a compass in my back pocket. But lately I’ve been wanting to see how far I can get by using my own sense of direction.

These words are my scattered breadcrumbs. I’m walking further in…

MYSTERY TOUR ON THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED – 11/29/11

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

GOOD THINGS HAPPEN – 3/19/11

There’s a draft that sits on my desktop, dated March 16. Last Friday, for anyone that’s noticing, there was no post on the Archives.

A rare occasion – I came to the page, took the time to write, but could not complete the piece.

The theme?

My first sentence began, “I think I’m being overtaken,” as I went on to list the three “biggies” in life of which I have had strong opinions.

Marriage, pets and babies.

Babies, well, Jeb sort of fulfilled all maternal longings in me. I’m thirty-eight and finally getting free. Diapers and toddling are in my distant past.

Pets are simple. It makes no sense to get a dog when you’re renting month-to-month with dreams of traveling the world.

And marriage. I’ve spent a lifetime puzzling over the it. Living through my parents’ divorce(s) and experiencing major separations of my own. My heart has forever held a sweet space for a love that was so enduring, but my mind has wondered how the heck a person can promise a constant love when the only certainty is change.

So befuddled by the marriage concept, my brain so tied in knots, I could not articulate myself enough to finish that March 16 piece. And so the Archives remained vacant last Friday.

That afternoon, the Bohemian and I found ourselves finished with work, alone together, and the sun was shining. It’d been at least a month since we’d been to the beach. So we threw two sarongs, two oranges and a beer in a bag with a camera and headed down to our favorite spot – the place where we met.

The rest of the day is a collage of signs and symbols. There was that naked man standing under the waterfall springs. He was overflowing with giddiness, yipping and howling at the pure beauty of being free and alive.

A shard of pottery with a blue feather. A circle made of 11 stones and bamboo stalks. A piece of rose quartz embedded at its center. An avocado seed, two halves. Albatross soaring over our heads. The soft warmth inside that circle where we lay our blanket down.Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

Things happen. Sometimes good things. The Bohemian tells it that he saw light. All around us, all around me. And in a soulful moment of divine inspiration I was hearing my full name come from his mouth in question.

Jessica Lynn Dofflemyer. Will you marry me?

No answer would come from my head. I dove deep into the depths of heart and soul. And what I found there were no more questions. No doubt. Only an overflowing fountain of love that reverberated through my being and enveloped me in joy.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reservedI would get to live and love with this man for the rest of my days.

Simply put, this made me feel ecstatically happy.

And so we both said yes to Love that day. Got naked ourselves and got tossed in the winter tide of the ocean. Dried off and watched the sunset. Marveled in the very spot where we had met six months before. Said ‘thank you’ many times.

The Bohemian took those two halves of avocado seed. Brought them back together and buried them in the circle’s center, right next to the rose quartz.

Marriage, pets and babies. There’s decent logic for all of these three.

Baby? Well, it’s doubtful.

Oh, I’m sure we’ll eventually get a dog.

And marriage? Looks like there will be a barefoot Bohemian wedding in the Fall.

Sometimes, good things just happen.

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