Blessings to you, Paco de Lucia

Posted on February 26, 2014 by AlianaAlani

I first came to hear the amazing sounds that poured from the heart and guitar of Paco de Lucia a few years ago while sitting in a modest house on a hilltop in the foothills of the Sierras in the ever moody and majestic Alpujarra of Andalucia.

I was house sitting, it was winter, it was my first time in Spain, and I was alone – alone with an exuberant mountain wind flicking through olive branches, the sound of distant tinkling bells as goats were herded through the fields below, and the whispering whispers of the poetry of Federico Garcia Lorca mingling with the air (this was the region where many felt he had been murdered long ago).

It was a place ripe for the music of Paco de Lucia. And so was I.

One day as I sat sipping red wine, eating Spanish cheese, and pondering the mysteries of my life, I came across two DVDs sitting on the shelf; one of Paco’s life and music, another of the music and dance of Blood Wedding, a play written by Lorca. I became entranced by the power and passion, the sense of perfection and haunting beauty of both. From that moment on I was fascinated – with the music of Paco de Lucia, and the poetry of Federico Garcia Lorca.

I speak no Spanish, yes sadly still, so everything I know of it is from translation, and perhaps most important, from the heart –of the poet, of the artist/musician, of the music of flamenco and of an incredible Spanish classical guitar – to my heart. For me it is a music whose touchstone is pure heart. What an amazing place to emit from. What an amazing place to be brought to.

It is of course possible that in order to travel to such a place, it will demand from us an inner quest for nothing less than excellence. Such a journey can be arduous. It certainly asks the best of us. From everything I have read, that is what it did for Paco de Lucia.

When I listen to his music I know that we, you and I. are blessed because of it.

Paco de Lucia left us today. He slipped away from our arms somewhere on a beach in Mexico.

He leaves behind a wealth of music. Like Andalucia, it is a musical landscape rich and vibrant, one that can colour the very fabric of our lives, if we open to it.

So gracias Paco, thank you. May your music kiss the angels as you grace their skies with your heart.

It occurs to me that lately I am writing about profound talents who are leaving our world, some far too early. Talents, and yes, souls who will be truly missed, both for their journey into excellence, for the jewels they have bequeathed us, and for the beauty of their spirits and hearts.

I cannot help but wonder – what does that ask of us who are still here?

Raining Sapphires …

Posted on February 1, 2014 by AlianaAlani

I wrote most of this a couple of years ago. Suddenly woke up yesterday knowing I had to dust it off, edit & update it a bit, and share with you. I hope that in some small way it touches a positive chord in your heart. Blessings to you, Aliana

It was raining sapphires along the sands and beaches of my heart. The sky kissed the air with perfumed stardust and the earth trembled, shivering like a fragile expectant lover. It beckoned as lovers often do in a strange hypnotic fashion, its rhythm enticing and provocative, its inner smile illusive and tempting. Yet somehow I could not follow, not fully, not yet. Perhaps it was the dust that clouded my vision. Perhaps it was fear, of the known and the not. Perhaps it was the one thing I frequently chose to ignore, to dance around, to two-step, to tango, to fox-trot, from there to here and fro; the one thing I knew would eventually happen, and yet … Perhaps it was all of these, and more.

This was, after all, my story, hence my world.

The picture comes in fragments. It is unstable and will not hold. That is its illusion, and to some, its reality. It appears increasingly bleak and fond of monochromes, especially shades of grey and black, as though its creator had decided to cast it all in shards of steel and bones of white ash, with a dash of startling midnight blue. Its waters pound against timid shores. Its winds blow like hurricanes of ancient memory. It does not speak of tomorrows, only what was, what might have been, therefore by lineage and association what could be, today. It tantalizes through threads of adrenaline pumped with escalating chords of anxiety. Its song is of flight and fright, of dread and fear. Its clothes are many layered, yet its costume remains the same. If it has its way, soon wherever we turn, this will be all we see. It will be all we feel. It will be all we think we know. We will be wrong but…

For this is a road of dissolution and dismembering that ultimately can know no air.

Within the fragments reside people, lands, countries, and stories. Within the fragments are hearts capable of soaring yet feeling broken, their worlds crumbling around them – security, sustenance, love – all seem to vanish within one large long cosmic breath. The classic, Poof, and there is no more. The cause varies but the result appears the same. The world watches in horror, its compassion tinged with a hidden worry that any minute the breath will turn in their direction. What then? What happens after that? So we begin to speak in apocalyptic terms, with words and gestures both large and expressive. We speak, often forgetting the power of thought, the energy generated by sound and intent. Forgetting what many of our ancestors knew; that by doing so, we may indeed be calling our own little apocalypse into being. We may be helping to magnify its possibility.

For it too travels a road that ultimately can know no air.

Like the many sides of a fine diamond or those sapphires on the beaches of my heart, inside each facet of the stories that make up our lives, no matter what appears to be happening in the moment, no matter whether we love it or hate it, lives an inner jewel that hovers like a secret key waiting to be discovered, a key that can unlock untold mysteries and bring with it endless peace and happiness. A key that is ours to have and use; that has always been there and always will be. The key may appear unique, perhaps even exotic, yet one thing that it carries is a link to beauty for beauty is a corridor to the heart, and the heart is one giant door to love. Love, as many have waxed poetic, is all there really is. In case you have forgotten, as many of us do.

Beauty is often said to be in the eye of the beholder. Where one person sees devastation, another observes within its skeletal midst an awe-inspiring splendor. Where another perceives garbage, someone else sees a dance of wonder hovering midst an air-floating plastic bag. And where some envision approaching death with fear and horror, others see within the light of life waiting to be reborn.

If you track this thought with me, you will perhaps find that hidden key. That lingering midst despair and devastation, no matter how impossible or painful it may seem (and it often seems totally impossible and incredibly painful) is an opportunity to view hence feel the beauty of existence, even if it is only for a moment, a seed of possibility blowing in a wind of turmoil. That in so doing, you may find yourself bringing that solitary seed of beauty to the fore more and more each day until one day, amazingly, within you only it will exist, having now blossomed, as seeds are apt to do, into a magnificent abundant garden of life, your life, and death, whatever form it had been taking, will have vanished mysteriously into the endless unknown.

Every moment is an opportunity, especially for love.

With that those sapphires sparkle and glitter, tossing their brilliance into the centre, into the heart finally, sprinkling their ethereal wisdom like starlight upon the ocean of my soul. A door within blasts open.

And I am home.

Friends…

Posted on January 12, 2014 by AlianaAlani

Some waft through your life like bits of sky cloud – here one moment, gone the next. Their impact is pleasant, perhaps important, maybe even dazzling.

Others linger over tea and a few biscuits of time, even a life experience or two. You toast a year together, perhaps another, and they are gone; their names etched delicately in the treasure chest of your heart.

But there are some whose presence mingles like starlight and something magical is brewed within the tempest teapot we call life. The halls of memory ring with laughter and poignant moments, kindness and bursts of wisdom, and of course, because how could good friends be without this, love. These are the ones who never quite leave, though time or distance might test the threads. Their well of caring is deep and whether you speak a thousand times a day or only an email now and then, they are with you (as you are with them) through the celebrations and the challenges. They are the jewels that linger.

I have been blessed with meeting many people in my life. I have also been blessed with friends. Like most, I suppose, there are but a few who become the lingering legends. They are what I lovingly call the elite circle in my life, and they are small in number.

One of them recently left to ride the skies and dance with the angels.

His name is Bill Murphy. And this is my oh-so-tiny way of honouring his presence and now his memory.

Bill is/was from the land of sun and sand, heat and light, an Australian. Like many Aussies I’ve known, he went tracing his roots back to Ireland, and like some, never quite left. We met in The Green. Bonded by a love of sun, wrapped in a mist of Ireland, sometimes wondering what the hell we were doing there, often marveling at its depth of magic, longing to feel the heat again, we became friends.

Bill had a twinkle in his eyes that made you wonder, as though he knew something delicious you might want to know. He was funny. He was wise. He had been gifted with the ability of insight, which he used gently. He was my introduction to Australia, a land I came to love, and I will always be grateful for that.

Bill was a generous man with a huge heart, and like many whose hearts are big, it was often fragile. Life challenged it like it challenges us all. As a friend, to me one of the greatest blessings in his life is that he finally found the love he had been searching for and the family he had always longed to have. Jacqueline is a jewel and they are beautiful together.

Bill travelled the slippery slopes of lymphoma for a couple of years or more. It wasn’t his first illness but it proved the toughest. There were moments when it looked like he’d come out of it (I confess I never quite ‘saw’ him leaving). He made it home for Christmas – my last email from him was of a triumphant man having been able to eat a Christmas dinner with his family!

Bill left us on January 3, 2014.

In Australia, they call a friend – a mate. Bill Murphy was my good mate and I shall miss him.

G’day to you Bill – enjoy that light, and buckets of thanks for the moments and the memories. Love ya!

Posted on December 29, 2013 by AlianaAlani

This is one of the most beautiful planets in the universe.

And you are one of its most beautiful stars.

Find a way to be the best you can be.

And above all – LOVE.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

To dream …

Posted on December 26, 2013 by AlianaAlani

As we begin to crest the wave of the holiday season and move closer to the end of a year, many of us start, once again, to ponder dreams and desires, both new and old. Forget the resolutions. This is more about the questions that help us sculpt a new world for ourselves. Questions like: what is a our heart’s desire, what do we truly love to do and are we doing it, how would we like to spend each day of the next year of our lives, and for some, with whom? Are we daring to love? And then there’s the larger question – what do we want for our world?

Dreams (and desires) are like stories waiting to be told. Sometimes we dare to look in their direction, feel a flutter in our hearts, and act. Sometimes they filter through the night space rather than the day, hovering.

As I ponder the power such dreams can hold and what waits in those proverbial wings, a wonderful Irish poet comes to mind. Someone whose work I have a fondness for – William Butler Yeats.

Below is a poem in which resides a segment many have come to know. I offer it to you as food for thought. I sense that Yeats would have liked that.

AEDH WISHES FOR THE CLOTHS OF HEAVEN –

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

Had I the heaven’s embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Posted on December 22, 2013 by AlianaAlani

May this Holiday Season bring you much joy.

May our beautiful world find true peace and happiness.

And may we all celebrate the spirit of love that is the meaning of Christmas.

Merry Christmas to you all – wherever you may be!

Me & the writing of BETWEEN WORLDS …

Posted on November 19, 2013 by AlianaAlani

Awhile ago in what is beginning to feel like another life, I wrote a book called, BETWEEN WORLDS. Sculpted from within the mist and memory of Ireland, it tells a tale of a man many later came to call a saint, and a woman remembered, if she was remembered at all, as a sinner. It is an archetypal story. It is also true.

Like many stories locked within the mists of time, it comes laden with baggage and hidden agendas. Agendas, as other writers might tell you, have a nasty habit of not liking their stories to be told. That is, quite obviously, why they have been plopped usually unceremoniously into the depths of that deep dark place sometimes called (at least in Ireland) – the bog.

It is from the bog that they must be retrieved and that, as you may have guessed, is the beginning of what Joseph Campbell would lovingly call – the hero’s journey.

Thus began my quest.

Did I want it? Not consciously. Did I ask for it? Again, not to my immediate awareness. Did I take it on? You betcha.

You see, there was this woman, like an often fleeting apparition, walking around Glendalough – that’s in County Wicklow – think old monastic city, ancient times, power, and yes sometimes light. She was hard to ignore. As was the energy of the place and the sense of whispers and messages slipping forth from the very fabric of the land – the ‘tell the tale – you must you must’ kind. Perhaps you could have walked away from that. Clearly I didn’t.

Frontcoveronly - half size - for internet

I’m mentioning it now because, though I have shared the how-I-got-to-it story to friends, I have very seldom spoken of it to others. The book is not yet well known. It’s self-published, it’s in eBook, it’s on the blog, you have to find it.

I could quite simply let it stay that way. It did after all take many years of my life and I could be forgiven for being tired. But it is a story that begged to be told, and told for a reason most honourable, and I, the storyteller, would be remiss if I didn’t give you a glimpse of why.

… stay tuned please

– book cover by Tannice Goddard – Glendalough photo by Kevin O’Kelly (Ireland)