Metamorphosis by tamaya garner ©




am I awake,,,
notes drifting in low,, so,,, low
from the forest floor
s l i t h e r i n g over logs
dead from time pasted

there is something else
something,,, something like that sound of static
somewhere in the background,,,

so still the cellos notes float by 
oblivious, resistant, indifferent
to who they pass or why
they float on by

the skin on my feet have thicken
more than days or months, I faintly remember,,,,, did the notes first come
like memories surviving within the horsehair threads
every note played response to intuition
only through music do they emerge
like whispers floating in the air

I walk blind to the morning sun and the night’s moon
walking on soft decaying leaves
protects me from sharp twigs
I walk following the notes

static now turns into tapping
tapping like a finger on a window pane
attempting to draw attention without startling
tapping,,, tapping,, tapping

I raise my face to the sky attempting
to breath in fresh life, new thoughts

waterfalls gently upon my face
pooling in the pockets of my eyes
my mouth opens to release the spirits within
as I open my eyes the water floods in
like a tsunami wave

I now see the treetops
but they are underwater
birds have turned into fish
the sky is now the ocean
have I changed?
was I  larvae now metamorphosing
into,,, into,, what?
the notes I have been following are still here
only I am not following
as much as breathing them all in
they seem to be everywhere
or I am now, them
have I become the notes
that I once followed
was the cello my beacon?

now I breathe in
the life that surrounds me
I move effortlessly
with just a thought
static is now no more
for I walk on the ocean floor

january 29 2018


Inspired by the music of
Jesse Ahmann Cellist
‘cello with rain on a tin roof’




Fear Tries To Take Me Again

tension two

You never know what your body is going through till one day it stops you in your tracks so you take notice. This past year I have cocooned in a basement flat while the world of snow and sun turned. I covered myself with feathers so high that not a breath could be witnessed.
Each day my breath got smaller and smaller till a major panic attack struck.
I thought I was having a heart attack.
The ropes tightly drying around my torso till there was no room for any air in my lungs. Once I recodnized the shock left and I started thinking about how great it was going to be to be reunited with B.
Was this the time?
Had my sorrow finally found the exit door?
Would I now be looking for the great white light to walk through?
The anticipation of seeing him in the distant.
His wonderful distinctive silhouette waiting for me.

No…………. Was not to be
Then what do you have in store for me I ask!
What could I possible contribute to this very angry world
Have I not suffered enough?
Can I not now be re united?
My belief of the power of the universe and its purpose comes to my mind.
I submit to it.
Trying to be grateful and open to the next step in my lessons.
The old art of following your instinct is a difficult ability to ignite.
Once you do its a long process of trial and error.
Like fine tuning an art form or magic trick.
Understanding that even though we have fate to guide us we still have personal prerogative in our destinations.
This is where my fear comes in.
I am quite familiar with my fears they have been with me since I was a child.
I remember being so terribly shy that I would detour my walk home by blocks if I saw someone I knew.
At times I would slow down and present to tie my laces or I found a penny or pick leaves anything but walk my regular pace.
Why you may ask?
Well because I did not know how to walk past a person.
What do I say?
What if our walking ends up at the same pace?
What will I continue to say?
Oh the emotional pain of a young child not knowing how to relate to others.
When I got a bit older I found that if I made of fool of myself that people would laugh and the pressure left sooooo I continued to be a jokester.
The losers [if I dare say that word] were always much more accepting then the bright students so I neglected my studies and was instantly accepted. I started to smoke cigarettes and that made me even more accepted. I even got the grade 8 bad boy to notice me and we became an item, kissing hugging daily at the doors of the anglican church next to the catholic school that I went.
I have lead my life based on my fear. Still the universe did protect me in many ways. Always putting things in front of me that would help guid me back.
The Universe brought me back to my husband and the second time I followed my gut even though I was scared.
I trusted it and I trusted B.
One day I was sitting on the floor of my attic flat looking through the art schools fall classes.
Turning the pages I spot a name.
Bells went off my instinct was flashing lights and music!
Needless to say I took what ever class this person taught. After a world wing affair we part amicably.
Two years fast forward and a friend insists I go out for a beer with her.
Reluctantly I agree.
On our way to the car around the corner I hear a motorcycle being started and I look to this mass of leather and helmet but I am drawn to a salt and pepper beard.
Being drawn in to the point where I lean over and look straight into the visor.
This is potentially a stranger on a motorcycle and my friend say ‘What are you doing?’
I hear my name being said and the voice is unmistakeable.
I say his name.
His visor comes up and my friend says
“Oh god!,,,, call me tomorrow!
Her voice laughing as she enters her car and I throw my leg over the back seat of the motorcycle with all my yards and yards of pleated cotton skit.
I put my arms around that chest and I felt like I had found my home.
It was the fall and by spring I moved in with him and five years later we were married.

Now I am again sitting here in fear but following my gut and trusting it that this trip to Fogo Island will somehow bring me peace.
I apologize for the length today and must really get myself some breakfast.
Follow you gut, your instinct and don’t forget to continue writing no matter what it is.



New Land, New Memories?

I had thought that coming to Newfoundland would somehow transform me. Like my right of passage. “You have grieved long enough now go forth and live, breath as others”

Does not work that way,,, apparently. I am speaking to B more now then ever.

Look Love, check this out!

Ahhh isn’t that wonderful?

I hear youuuuu.


Yes finally. The sweet guy at the hardware store only had a hand saw, Yes a friggin hand saw!!!!!!! so I asked ever so sweetly I will pay you more can you cut the 4×8 sheet into four pieces so I can at least fit it in my rental car?

So Sweet!!!!!! Not so very straight but what the hell I can cut it when I get home. Here in lies the dilemma? Do I paint two on each section? Well hell you would think so. But am I? no not at all I have 2 x 4 and I am using 2×4.

I miss talking about my excitement with him. I know al the stuff everyone says but I really don’t care!

It has only been two years and in so many ways the reality is sinking in now. So wait for it!! you think your doing fine your so used to working and living alone. NOpe it does not work that way. There is another blogger that really seemed to be dealing with things in such a mature manner. Man I was impressed and yet felt what is going to happen when they wake up and have this shock of being alone? I personally do not wish this on anyone. I understand from all the grieving  sites and books that we all have to go through it completely before we are over it or at least to the point where we can comfortably put one foot in front of the other and hopefully there is a destination.

I want to move here! I want support and encouragement but I know it will not happen and thus the wind will be stolen from my sails and I will be back where I started.

I can’t argue with people. I rely on my gut instinct and my heart they say what will you do you know no one there.

There is a 3500sq ft church for sale for 55,000.00 asking.  not far from the airport. It could be my place and an artist residency. I could advertise for artists to come stay a month at a time. all year long.

If I do this I can at least go to my ashes and afterlife knowing that I did something for me and because I wanted to. Is that so bad?

To conclude: Its hard making decisions just based on me. No children, no husband, just me. I’m going to be 60 next tuesday. How much more time do I have to do one thing I want?IMG_9155 IMG_9021 IMG_9152 IMG_9168 IMG_9201 IMG_9145 DSC_0081 IMG_8943 IMG_8985 IMG_8833 IMG_8820 DSC_0041 IMG_8746 IMG_8740 IMG_8729