Searching for Alexanderia
I am searching for a woman that I met first in 1975, then again in 2006. She is a wonderful green eyed lady, 5'0". Quite the horsewoman, and quite the sensitive soul. She holds my heart within her.
I am converting my two car garage into a library for my 10,000 books. I cannot decide on how it should look. Traditional? Post Modern? Strewn? LOL It is 20 feet by 20 feet and has 10 foot tall ceiling. I am going to turn two sliding glass doors on their side to put in the “door space” to have two large plate glass windows. Besides that, I am hoping for suggestions. Any Suggestions?
thequeenofpinup asked: How did you want me to send you the Bettie photos? Through e-mail?
yes, please. My email address is Masterwhosearches@hotmail.com .
Thanks so much!
David
The only known nude picture of a young dancer/starlet, Mary Tyler Moore.
He came is with two submissives. The were scantily and sexily clothed. Everything about him exuded dominance, and hatefulness. Looking for opportunites to show his control, at the slightest provocation or perceived provocation, he would punish.
Hoping he would leave, everyone ignored him for a while, which served to whet his appetite for attention. So, he became louder and more abusive.
A man almost 20 reached and stayed his swinging hand, firmly. Not being able to elude his grasp, the abusive Dom struck out. He found his fist stopped, twisted up, then around…. forcing him to the ground in a kneeling position.
Mr. Mooney looking on thought, the dark one cannot help it, he cannot stand to see people badly used. Then he said aloud, “We seem to have a problem.”
Mr. Kneeling was furious, “I thought anyone was invited to gatherings, where doe he get off…. AHHHHHH… Stttop.” The Dark One was bending his hand further, to stop the drivel coming out of his mouth.
Mr. Mooney, looking at Kneeling One said, “those that have mastered themselves. You are no master.” You do not appreciate what is added to you by the ones who give. The Dark one can teach you if you wish, otherwise leave.”
Kneeling one with his arm now bent hissed: “Why is he called dark one? He is white, not one of the Tsalagi. Mr. Mooney laughingly told him you do not realise how funny you are being. Dark one certainly is white, descended from white men, and the white Cherokee. Being a priest, he knows and feels…. and he can go places most dare not, that he wishes not to go. One such place, is your dark heart. So leave my house, leave the Land. Or begin the road to being a master of yourself, then others.
As he agreed, Kneeling one was let go. As he stood, Dark one released his belt, pulled it out, thinking he would soon be struck with it as he had struck many, he took two steps back. As his pants made to fall down he grabbed them with both hands. A Brother came from behind, removed his knife from his back waistband, and his pocket pistol from his pants. Dark one removed a bullet and put it in Kneeling ones mouth. Hold it there until you are done. Think of what that thing does. Taste it. Know it.
Looking at Mr. Mooney, he asked “Suggestions?” He needs to sweat frist before anything. Ask Maggie for some leaves, water and cup. Take him to the place of thought, near the old graves.
Contolling his breathing, Dark one slowly nodded. His dreams were never good at the place where the people had buried the priests in about the only thing resembling civil war the Cherokee had. He did not like the way that his emotions and spirit was touched and pulled at and the white man’s blood in him, The Celtic, responded to the death calls. That one part of his ancestors took life to claim power, while the other gave life, and only took life, to preserve life, brought on intense conflict from within, at that place. Mooney knew this. Trying to fit Dark one with Hawks wings, he sent him there constantly.
As he drove the Jeep, Kneeling one could not be silent. Dark One would not answer. He was seeing the white line on the mountain, with the red line first under, then over it. Pulsing, becoming one, then separating again, mixed together, then tearing, pouring over each other, breaking on each other, then melting, one again, to start all over, constantly.
Mooney thought that it was white man’s money and likker as he called it, that led the People to revolt against the preists. The White that purified and made whole the Red, after the Red hunted and killed, warred and killed. Restoring harmony. His daughter Maggie thought it was the language they made that led to the Troubles. Written symbols should never take on the character of spiritualality. In her quiet way, she would compare it to her knowledge of the Egyptian preisthood, teaching their sons from birth the 5000 written symbols. So that only priests could read and write, becoming a society to themselves. Communicators of information. No general could know the power of an enemy except a priest wrtite another priest of his observations, No ruler could be healed, except a priest read from the records, the cures. No building could be built, without the architect priests, drawing, planning, directing. Daughter of a priest she was, with a PhD in Egyptology, living in a log house in North Carolina with her father. She had been the one to grind the leaves, mixed with water and honey to tame the bitterness, and fed it to Dark One, when they found him half dead. Blunting his pain for 14 days, his spirit returned. Money told him one day he would find her agian. Not to despair and quit living. And not to ever to go to the old graves to think and die again. Go to think and live.
Emptying the Jeep of the heavy canvas, Dark One and RJ (not Roy, not Joe…RJ dammit) formed them over the frame that was the sweat tent, sweat lodge. Explaining that as the body sweated, slowly the impurities would leave. Fasting, cessation of body functions, digestion stopping, one could think, view, maybe travel. Kneeling RJ DAMMIT could ask for anything he wanted from Lisa, the only one allowed to assist and serve him for three days.
They started the fire, and took the top off the five gallon bucket of clear well water. In the old way, David showed RJ dammit how to stick the pine bows in the water, put them on the edge of the coals, making steam. Recapping the bucket, so it did not all evaporate. All you need to do, is chew a leaf, and drink a dipper of water. Water every fifteen minutes, leaf every two hours. Counting out 36 leaves, David left them. All you need to do if you need anything, is to ask Lisa for it. She will stay outside. You ask, she will do. She can respond to your request from you.
“I do not need anything from her, Kneeling one spat out.” “She is trash. I use her like trash. I give her to others like trash.”
“Maybe when you are done you will know what she gives you” the Dark One said. As he let he told Lisa, stay next to the tent, hand in what he requests. I will observe through the nght then walk back. When he is done, come back to Mooney’s house. We will see what he has to say.
Walking up tp his tree he smiled a wry smile and greeted his tree, “Hello tree of contemplation.” He laughed at his own tendancy to name things and think of them as personalities. Pulling his long black hooded cloak around him, he then pulled a small canvas tarp over that and him, lest it rain. Secured from the rain that happens most nights in the mountains, he sat back, drank some water from his canteen, and chewed and closed his eyes.
He could see her running, green eyes flashing, eyes darting around, head swiveling like an owls almost, checking for danger from behind. He thought she was a boy at first, hair stuck down the back of her t shirt. Cap on her head. But as she turned, he saw her. That was a girl. A live wild creature. She looked in his eyes for a second, his heart melted. Rendered to wax. he KNEW this one. Off she ran, ducking between cars in Houston. Down a side street, between buildings. Putting money int the cup he found, and putting his fresh coffee in the garbage she was looking trough, he withdrew to watch. he know how to watch even then. After a long time, she came walking down the sidewalk like she was strolling, not a care in the world. But her eyes, always darting, gave away her inner tension. finding he coffee, she gulped down. then took it in her mouth and savored it slowly. Like it was the first cup, or last cup of her life. Looking down she found the money, little though it was. All he had. She finally saw him looking. As good as he was at watching, she was better at looking. He smiled slowly, She smiled BIG, then fear and tears came on her face, and she ran again. Ran again. Ran again. He did not follow this time. Not wanting to spook her. Noted the place he hid. He decided to come back to find her.
The thunder and hard rain woke him from his haze. Sitting for awhile in the half sleep, half wake state, he remembered every inch of her. He remembered her big smile, then, her fear, He cried. He whispered something to himself. She is mine. Bless her heart. I need to find her.
Rain pouring down the hill, got under his jeans. so he stood and carefully walked down. Telling Lisa who was huddled that she could drive the Jeep close, and stay in it with the window down, he stuck his head in to see about RJdammit. “Are you ok?” Sneering he said “I am fine bitch.” “I do not need anything, I will not need anything. Tell JM I will see him in three days!” Not Mr. Mooney. JM, like he was a friend.
Dark One walked back. It ws too wet for hawks tonight he grinned to himself. Chewing more, he thought, this is a wolves night. He reached for her. He always felt her. Did not know what it meant. Distress he cold feel at times. Content at times. Sometimes he smelled joy and horses mixed. Wet dogs and joy mixed. Sometimes he felt her singing death. Not understanding until years later that she would stop and pull dying animals off the road and sit with them, cooing and talking and singing until they pased. His heart always opened when he really felt her close. he would snuggle her close. Opening his eyes to the storm, he got naked, letting it rush over him, cleanse him, clinging to her spirit, his heart pounded to the crashing thunder, his soul raced along the lightening… And she ran. And she ran. And she ran. Always the same.
Turning his back on the fight betwen reds and whites, walking away from Kneeling ones determination to learn nothing, ignoring the girl Lisa’s mixed emotions about what she was doing, he walked the long wet slippery road back to JM’s home. Cpld and shivering from the rain now. Cold and dark inside. Alone again.
Falling asleep on the pallet Maggie had made for him, he slept for three days. When he woke up, he went to the outhouse to relieve himself and heard men outside talking. JM was saying, I thought it could happen. The red ones said, all is done. It will not be spoken of. JM went with them into the place of purification and he could not longer hear.
Waking back inside, there was a cup of coffee, oat cereal with apples and raisons on the table. “Thank you Maggie”. She was quiet. Not ignoring quiet, thinking quiet. He knew the difference.
JM came in an hour later smelling of wood smoke and pine needles. He grunted hello and dropped into a chair. Maggie gave him a cup of water and one of coffee. Thank you little daughter he said. She giggled. She thought it funny that her daddy still called her little daughter, and her nearly 260 pounds. She was her daddy’s little daughter. Would be until the day she died. Such a crisp blue day that day was.
“Well, you will not believe this.” JM said working straight to the point. “I am 55 years old, and have never seen this. The woman Lisa came in the Jeep, and said that 36 hours had passed and she had not heard him ask for a thing. So, I told her to go home and she and her sister gather thier things. They could go stay at the hotel, or go anywhere they wanted. They asked for $300.00 for gas money, and said they were going to an uncles in Texas.”
“They are gone. I sent the red ones to sort out what was going on. They buried him with all the leaves still poked in his mouth. And the bullet as well. He never tasted it and spat it out. The water was gone. He never even asked her for more water. She had 5 gallon buckets full. All the wood had been put on the fire at once. All the leaves chewed. All the pine soaked and put on the fire, I do not know what he did with the water, maybe poured it over himself. But he was in a hurry. He did not want anything from anyone. Whatever his purpose was, is buried with him.”
I cleared my mind. emptied myself. I could hear him saying, “I do not need anything from anyone.”
I thought how I need. I need the care of these friends, I need love, I need to give love, I need to help where I can, I need to build, and most of all, I need light into my darkness. Then I realized, She is my light, into my darkness. And maybe, I am hers.
I could not speak. I sat. Maggie turned and said something to her father. I could not distiguish the words. He answered. I could not understand.
I contolled my breathing, I reached and felt her. She ran. And ran. And ran.
JM put his hands on my cheeks. “She does not run from you. She runs to hide her longing for you. One day she will come to you. Thinking she wants you to find her, she will come to you.”
Maggie said, “You are Hawk and Wolf together. That is scarey to one who feels. It is comforting to one who knows. Both hunt, both kill, both protect. Both, have only one other. She is your other.” With that the Egyptologist turned to make me a snack lunch. As I took the bag and walked to the car. JM said, “come see me before I die”. I figured I would see him the next weekend. Maggie cried as he hugged me, then she hugged me. “Come see us both before little brother.”
I saw them both about thirty years later. He greeted me with “I was waiting for you”. We had a long weekend visit. He said a lot for once. So did Maggie. I came home. By the time I got to work Tuesday, he had died. Maggie saw his things organized, then she died too. They are buried where I cannot go. A place those who are still secretly priests and family of priests are buried. Those of the blood. Sharing only in their blood, I am not even allowed to know where. It feels like a cave, with a fire going. Always light, looking out over the land. My soul mourns that I cannot sing them joy from near. So I do so from far.
And in what is sometimes the absolute silliness of life, I sit and search, and wait and spend money on searches for her. I found her December 30, 2006. Only for her, to run yet again. Run again, Run.. yet again… The silliness is I was listening to music and came across this song, that speaks of her being the light in darkness.
Of all things. An almost hip hop beat drum line, to a mourning loving story, sung by a black man. I think his fathers and mothers were shamen. I hear the droms of the Tsalagi. I hear the drums of green eyed Celts. Not the ones with eyes of blue, but the green eyed the priestesses. And my soul knows a mournful call, a singing call, it hears it.
Bringing all of this story out of me.
Having gone to try out for a baseball scholarship at the University of Houston, I was staying with some players in their off campus room. The needed a catcher that could hit. I was a catcher that could hit. While I was there, they took me to me a couple of Houston Astros players and coaches. They gave me a blue Astros jacket. I cannot remember how often the Astros have changed teamed colors over the years. It did appeal to me that if I played for the Houston Cougars, the Houston Astros might give me a look.
I had not idea how much money I would need on the trip. I did not spend much and still ran low. The players and coaches kept offering me money, but it was wrong to take it. So I made do. On Saturday morning of that week, I went across the street to get a cup of coffee and a sweet roll for breakfast. When I came out, I saw a boy in a baseball cap bending over into the sidewalk trashcan, scrounging.
I watched for a while, realizing the boy was a girl with her hair under a cap, hair stuffed down her shirt in the back, to look like a boy. She looked up and around, constantly. Her eyes fixed on me. Green eyes, flashing green eyes, the sun glinting off of them. She seemed to catch her breath when she realized I was watching. She tensed, as if to run,
I held out both hands, showing her the bag and the coffee. She hesitated, the whirled and ran.
I sat down for a minute, hoping she would reappear. When she didn’t, I tried to trace the route she had taken, calling to her. After an hour, it occurred to me that I might scare her out of a safe place if I kept looking. It was very hard to walk away.
Her face had been dirty. Her face had been beautiful. Her eyes were full of pain, and life at the same time. She ran like a cat. Hid like one too.
I went back to her garbage can. I put all the money I had left, all I had in life at that moment in a blue cup. I put the coffee and the sweet roll in the sack together and out it in top of the cup with the money in it.
Exactly 30 years, three months, and 21 days later, I found out she had at least found the money. Someone else may have gotten the coffee and sweet roll, maybe she did. I do not know.
It hurts when someone you love runs from you, over, and over and over. You know that you have not made them know fear. And that while you made them know love, fear is sometimes stronger.
But sometimes it feels like that even when you give them all you have, it is not enough. But it is all you have. Love, protection, acceptance, care.
While the brain is the most erotic organ we have, sometimes life, just fucks us altogether.
Sometimes, lie would be complete, not by body banging joinings while soulful looks of love and lust flash in rhythm to the pushing, the squeezing and the throbbing…. but by sitting in a swing, holding, on a peaceful day, in a swing like an old couple.
I am prematurely old. I have the swing. All I lack, is a girl in a baseball cap and t-shirt to sit next to me.
I am your home girl.
llbwwb asked: Thank you Dave:) Did you ever find your horse woman? I'm a horse woman,but too tall to be the one.None of my friends are that short either,so it's not them. I follow 25+ horse women,so you could look thru my list. I think most of them would be too young,tho not all of them.Good luck:)
~lynn :)
I know generally where she is. She wants me to come find her. I met her in fall of 1975. I was offered a scholarship at the University of Houston, as a baseball player (I was a catcher). She had left home due to an abusive father.
In calling home I was told by my brother my dad was hurting my mom, I left Houston to come back and deal with that. Going back a month later, I could not find Alexanderia. She is very guarded and hides well.
All the years I wondered, tried Internet searches. But a lady who worked at ATT until she retired (early) knows how to keep her information secret. I found her finally in December 2006. We immediately grew close, our connection and love is deep. At my urging, she quit working three jobs (not of economic necessity, but so she would exhaust her mind and sleep at night). She decided she wanted to come to Georgia, to be near my grown children. At the last minute, she decided not too. In the final analysis, she is afraid to need and depend on someone, since people have always let her down. Yet, she wants me, loves me and wishes me to find her. I know this seems hard to fathom, yet I understand. How can I do otherwise, being apart, she has yet been a part of me since 1975….
She resucues horses and other animals. Had a Rotweiler once named “kitty:. When strangers would come to the door, she would cal; “Here kitty, kitty, kitty….” Imagine their surprise when a 150 lb Rottie came around the corner of the house.
She had a Cockatiel named Alan Jackson. For 25 years. Oddly, one day during a shower, he decided to fly at her current dog named Casper (because he can disappear like a ghost). Casper chomped him, which made her feel bad. I think it was likely the death dive that exotic birds can do when they are old. In their natural habitats, they commit bird suicide. Their form of bird population control I guess.
She rides equestrian and western. And is truly alive on a horse. Is part of the horse.
Thank you for yoru inquiry Lynn. Being new to tumblr, I just noticed it today! I apologise for the delayed response.
I collect a lot of yoru posts. Because they are beautiful. They are things she will love. :)
This wonderful question can have many answers. What is yours? Please re-post at will (I only have three followers, but you folks have many, and they have many). Maybe we can turn it into a common blog. My favorite adopted answer is “Because Poe wrote on both of them.” I like Poe’s approach to minimalist writing, weighing each word against the final story. Yet, not sparing words. Especially descriptive words.
My own personal answer to the riddle: While both can have sides of darkness, they can travel and take you anywhere, including places filled with joy and light. Even if you try to keep up a dark attitude, and stare at the ground….
Have fun with this please.
That way she could have the attic that was her sanctuary growing up.
Lucine
