Source: Brain Aneurysm Foundation Memorial: For my late husband Rian Butler – who I lost in May… 100% non-profit donations to research and screening … at The Brain Aneurysm Foundation
The Colosseum from an off the beaten path vantage point in Rome, where we all want to feel beauty and find love.
Rather than just street views up close, some of the ruins can be viewed from greenery, captured like a stolen moment between lovers.
The sun breaking through the “windows” of the colosseum still inspires excitement in me after 20 years in Rome.
See how small we are in this world, and how the ancients wanted to remind us of that?
The view of more centuries of history mashed together from atop the crowds, with the ancient symbol of fecundity a pomegranate in bronze.
Arches built for faded triumphs, still gazed upon thousands of years later.
The verdant hills of the Palentine whisper of a pastoral Rome found normally on the winding road of the interminable Appian Way.
Angels were found in Classical Antiquity, and have guided me along my own travels in the Eternal City.
The marble of Roma seems the only thing built to last some days.
A Roman bride as bright as a white dove sent as some augur of hope amidst the ruins.
Love can not wait for time to take over and wreak havoc.
A Renaissance fountain and umbrella pines tucked away quietly from the crowds.
Water and moss glint in the sunlight and shadow.
The present is pulled between the past ashes and the future hopes.
When in Rome embrace love, life, and passion in the moment… bathe in warm sunshine before the sun crawls west and the moon rises in the east again, except for two days of the year.
The moment is now, the touch is palpable, the hum of machinery is drowned out by the flight and song of sparrows, the cypress and umbrella pines wave in the breeze, and the scent of wine and food beckons like a kiss from nearby.
Laugh in the face of death while you still can, make love in the dying of the light to make your embers burn deeper, richer, more wildly.
The gods have left their dice behind, we only have to roll them.
Remember what has been, recognize who you are, breathe it all in, and then move with the traffic to the next thing.
The vestiges must be broken from something solid and beautiful before we are all dust.
I want my own bed again
and I want to be alone
because that’s what
life is now
a series of good nights
in symbolic acts
of contrition and intimacy
exhumed in the
burning of daylight
not afraid of the abysm of death, afraid of the abyss within.
I tragically and suddenly lost my dear husband last week and have had to temporarily halt my business – orders will be sent out after the funeral this week – thank you for your patience. firstname.lastname@example.org i will fulfill all orders by later this week. romepix.com
there is a consolation i want to share with everyone right now – we did living wills – which i recommend – and i know he did not want to suffer or have life prolonged under certain irreversible states – he also believed in the soul – so if anyone has reached samadhi or peace or freedom, it’s Rian.
cold comfort when you see the void left in the world by the bright star and spark you will love forever, but it is a comfort all the same. it keeps you strong enough to honor their wishes and to try to live out what they would have wanted. they’re freer than us now, hard as it is for us to not lament how TOO SOON it is, lament all the joys they will miss out on, and not wanting to enjoy ANYTHING without THEM… but we know they want us to snap out of self pity and not only survive until it is our time, but to live FOR THEM. Also, he had an SAH, which means the damage was instantaneous and would not have been saved even if it happened in a hospital. Horrible horrible horrible condition but we could’ve would’ve should’ve doesnt apply.
tomorrow is the traditional hindu ceremony. it is raining today. i will prepare my house for family. i will play his favorite chanting. i will make tea. i will love him always.
The splendours of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not; Like stars to their appointed height they climb, And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil. […]
— Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Adonais: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats”
A candle as it diminishes, explains, gathering more and more is not the way. Burn, become light and heat. Melt.
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Spend some time in the eternal city and you will feel death like a whisper on the back of your neck.
Go there young, when you still feel invincible, and watch the tombs and monuments to a crumbled past deathmask-smile at you.
Return after you’ve loved and lost a little, when you’ve begun to collect possessions interchangeably with memories, hold hands past paupers and ruffians and the modern courtesan; the tourist liaisons hovering by menus, beckoning, offering, waving.
Return next when you’ve hit your peak and now the edges are fraying a little. When fountains and paintings once trumpeting romance and pleasure are grimier and more worn than you remember. When the seducers and the money takers suggest more pallid languor than…
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On a little boat floating around the island of Capri we gazed up at the rocks and watched as the sun slipped slowly down behind the cliffs.
Old barricades, canon heavy forts by the English and later the French, ancient walk ways of Romans and shepards, medieval paths with goats grazing on them, modern swimming clubs and fashion designer villas now sprinkle the soaring cliffs of Capri.
The sea is calm for a moment, the south wind changes, the sun slinks further down and there is an upheaval in the waves.
The boat rounds the entrance to another hidden grotto.
The famed Faraglioni rocks, with a boat passing under it’s arch. We are about to enter it ourselves.
Another boat races us to get there first. And yet we are all at a leisurely pace here. We are on “Capri time” as the locals say.
The shadows and light meet…
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Are they a shadow now? Can they hear your thoughts now that they’re ether, a chimera, soon to be dust? What becomes of love when you lose the object behind it?
To think you will join them one day; older, wiser, less you than they remember.
Your dust will never become theirs. There is no map to follow, no compass, no ship or footpath to take, no direction to fly in except to fling oneself back into space.
The will of love, the struggle, the battle for tender ownership is gone. They have vanished, you will vanish, it appears life is lived to once more succumb.
What are subterraneans to each other but cells divided once more and spread through the earth? That cold science of it, when emotions which once ran hot have now ended.
What is love but a bargain with a dream to not yet wake up?
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