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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.

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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 o. Lasko.

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.

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Subtle Change

In Hawaii, the seasons vary by a matter of only a few degrees.  I’m not complaining, though I do love all four seasons.

This does help one hone to the subtle shifts.  It’s mid-September and everything looks like just another day in paradise.  But I can feel the slightest dip of temperature.  A new angle to the light that casts on the garden in the afternoon.  Things go golden.

Ok, so the shot below is an oak tree in California.  And on Kauai, I’m not going to see leaves shed. But tis the season – my favorite.  Autumn’s falling on…

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Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Time

The light shifts to golden September hues, as autumn slowly seeps onto center stage.

Yesterday’s post was titled “Space.”  Today seems, aptly, to be named “Time.”

Like some cliché of an “adult”, I’m thinking about time and how it passes.  Sometimes racing with it.  Sometimes watching it slip through my fingers.  On occasion I dwell in the place where it does not reign, where I’m free from its ticking illusion.

This morning we are all spinning through stardust in a vast universe, swirling through sunrises and sunsets. Trees root and birds fly.  We chew our breakfast.  Jot down future appointments in our calendars.

courtesy of jikatu – art by Salvador Dali

I can type away here, but we have a 6:55am meet-up with a yellow school bus and my son needs to be there to climb on board.

Another day on planet earth – in time, on time, free of time…whatever we are doing, something is passing.  May we soak it up as precious, inhaling every oxygen particle that lives between the moments.