Month: February 2024

Virtual Me

Posted on by Sybil Fix

I thought I had lost track of me, and that was bad enough.

Which me of me was I looking for?

Was that the me in the flowing flowered dress

Luring the gazes down the street,

Or the me alone with my creased skin, thinking back to  

A toy I lost at sea.

Me the brilliant one culling the word for the stranger to succeed,

Or the me left speechless

In the wake of the crass

Appreciation that empties me.

Is it the promising me

Or the failing me

The me with the shoes

Or the me without.

Is it the me with the infinite inside

That only I can see

Or the one who cannot find a way

To be.

Is it the me who laughs in the alleys

My magic stone in my pocket

Or the me who wishes to fly

Secretly from the height to the ground

Or to drown in a blood-filled pool.

Is it the sun-drenched cadmium who sings with the green

Or the rose that pales and dies.

Which one will anyone ever know but me?

And now, now the virtual me. The long-distance me

The Zoom me the LinkedIn me the Facebook me

The blog me the website me the text me.

Is she the same as me? Who is she,

Please?

How will I ever know or will anyone know who she is?

I need keywords to find her,

And the words fail me.

The Pigeon With The Moon on Her Eye

Posted on by Sybil Fix

Where did she go, the pigeon

With the moon obstructing her view,

Pecked while picking the corn

I put out to bring them near me

To feel

The flap of their wings

And the purple of the frail necks

My gaze meeting theirs,

Ducking and bobbing orange with the black pupil

Staring furtive.

They trust me now,

They come onto the balcony

Congregating they vie for the grains

Coo cooing coo coooo,

And she was pecked, leaving her with the moon over her eye.  

Infected, I fear, her moon is now a mortal wound.

Yesterday she stayed behind on the roof,

Seeking a solitary morsel in a ray of winter sun

Unsteady under the weight of her eye

A peril to her flight.

Now I look for her in vain,

Her loneness like a flag

Her absence ignored by all but me.

Did she fall from the roof, did she die alone,

Looking at the sky

Wishing she could fly?

No Time to Waste

Posted on by Sybil Fix
Monte Cetona from Piazze, 2024

So, what happened since that flirtation with mask in that store in Carrara?

Nothing, and yet a lot. A lot of learning about art, some travels to the sea to the other side of Italy, and a bout of cancer that… well, that is a long story. Let’s just say that it led me to understand why fate had taken me to Carrara, where I was treated and cured lovingly, and then brought me back here to Cetona, seeking physical recovery and emotional balm.

Throughout it all I did not write: I painted, but did not write. Color and the smell of linseed oil seemed to feel more necessary and instinctive while trying to survive and stay in the moment, right there, to not panic. Canvases of effervescent pink and sanguine clarets flushed me with serotonin and hope. So, will have much to catch up on with words, my long-lost beloved words. And perhaps another book to write, a sequel to The Girl from Borgo, if some things work out. Or even if they don’t.

Regardless, Steve Jobs (though certainly not the first to say this) was right in his speech to a graduating class at Stanford some years back: the dots connect, if you look closely enough and give the plot the time to mature. Follow the dots, and you will see that it all makes some kind of sense. That there is nothing random in the move that feels so random. It just takes a while to see it.

The other thing he was right about is that death is imminent and we can’t be reminded enough of the urgency to live fully, passionately, with single-minded commitment to what we love and those we love. So many people I knew and loved have died since I last wrote here—and it felt for a moment like I might too—so we have no time to waste.

I am looking forward to revisiting some thoughts with you on these pages soon, reflections about life, and love, place and purpose. For today, I look out on the denuded trees in this winter Tuscan landscape and recommit to get busy. Do it with me.

See you soon.

From Cetona, with love.