WHAT IS A MAN

WHAT IS A MAN ???

THIS IMAGE, THIS MOMENT in First Wife has stayed with me from the first viewing, and with each revisit, I am left with the same strong emotions.

AT ONE STAGE, further along in the story, Bree asks Claire what Jamie is….Laird, Chieftain, Warrior, Soldier…..does he know what he is? And her mother, busily pounding herbs for a tincture, says “Oh yes, your father knows. He is a Man…..and that is no small thing.”

This scene was written for Television….it isn’t in VOYAGER, and it’s one of those perfect additions that compliment Diana’s Story….in fact adds to it, in such a beautiful way.

HERE IS A MAN torn apart by conflict, with his second wife Laoghaire, and the love of his life, his heart and soul, Claire, his newly returned to him, First Wife.

We all know what has gone before these photos….the shock, anger, both blaming the other, rage, passion, betrayal and above all else, fear….fear and misunderstanding.
Jamie is SO afraid of losing Claire again, and yet, when wee Joanie cries out “Da”, “Ma”, her face contorted with anguish, Jamie walks away from Claire, and we see him here…..putting his fear aside, to tend to wee Joanie.

“Who’s that woman?” she asks of him, and he stands there, answering her.
“She’s my wife, my first wife Claire…. I thought she was dead, but by the grace of god, she returned to me.”
And wee Joanie, brilliantly portrayed by Layla Burns, lifts up her face to him, asking.
“Wha’ about Ma?” Those words, the sorrow on her face, pierced my heart.
And Jamie tells her, gently, patiently “Your mother and I didna have a bond, that keeps two people together.” And she says to him “And you do with this woman?”
“Aye”, he says, “I do.”

THIS IS WHAT MAKES A MAN…..this ability to put aside every raging emotion that burns in his gut, his terrible fear that his soul mate will leave him, and comfort this small child.
This child he read stories to, took fishing, embraced with love, as his own even though she was not his kin. And as he tells her to go find Marsali, he drops down onto the stairs,sitting for a moment, catching his breath. The little girl walks a few steps, then turning, flings herself into his arms, and he enfolds her against his big body, once more, comforting her.

AND THEN, ONLY THEN, does he return upstairs to Claire.

AN ACTOR HAS TO DIG DEEP, and this is to me what Sam Heughan is.
Yes, he’s acting, but drawing from the deepest core of who he is, this rare, lovely, big hearted human. It is my belief that you cannot Act with this level of emotional integrity unless it’s a natural part of who you are.

A MAN !!!

MargaretArlen ©️
Spring. Central Victoria Australia 2019

Photos belong to STARZ

TIME TRAVEL

TIME TRAVEL, The all pervading sense that it’s real, that in another space and time my Ancestors exist….that they live, going about their daily lives unaware that they are dead. I am in a constant state of emotional turmoil….my head cannot grasp the concept at the same time as I am buying into it completely. We all have, haven’t we?

AND THERE’S THAT BOX OF LETTERS ….Sent from Jamie and Claire across the span of two hundred years, where they finally arrive at Jamie’s old home Lallybroch, to be read by Bree and Roger, and eventually to their Grandchildren. An act of Faith.

Listening to An Echo in the Bone a few days ago, I once more felt the sharp sting of tears as I hear Jamie’s voice speaking across the void of time…..December 31, 1776
“My dear daughter, as you will see if ever you receive this, we are alive.”
And yet, as Roger reads this to Brianna, we all know they are by now, surely dead.
Those letters, some written on the paper Bree made herself with tiny inclusions of an insect’s wing, a small flower petal or leaf, still in good condition, real, held, touched with love and awe, and read as we do the books, over and over again.
Bree sometimes feels the need to open the box when Roger’s away…..just to touch the same paper her parents have touched, to hold them close, sure as she opens the box that a soft whiff of medicinal herbs floats up and out through the opening lid….knowing the painful difficulties her beloved father has to endure to write to her specifically, with his maimed right hand.
“It is the Feast of all Saints….pray for me.”…..and her tearful response…..”Bloody man, I knew you’d make me cry.”

I cannot wrap my head around how those letter arrive in the Twentieth Century, I understand the concept, I believe they have arrived, yet no matter how many times I hear or read this story I am left asking the same question….”how did that box of precious letters travel through time???”

In a phone conversation with my eldest son today, he asked as he always does, what I was doing….so I told him I’d been searching for photos of handmade paper and an appropriate box for the piece I was writing tonight. That got us, mainly me, talking about Ancestry….about the very few precious details I have found out very recently.
And mentioning Outlander and the idea of time travel, I found myself too choked up to speak….I was trying to tell him that because of this extraordinary story, I feel my Ancestors near me, in a way I never had before. I suggested to him that perhaps they still exist in their own bubble of time…..My Grandmother and Great Grandmother, Little Tailors in London…..the three generations of Scottish Sea Captains…..of course I carry them with me, they live on through me…..but I meant more.
Are they still doing what they did, even though I’ve read the dates of their deaths.
I couldn’t go on, as my son spoke gently to me, patient, perplexed, puzzled.
He’s not been seduced by this strange, mysterious story…..that asks so many questions of us….leaves us caught up in its perfect, elusive mystery.

THE BOX OF LETTERS is an ongoing Enchantment.
THE SEDUCTION AND ENCHANTMENT OF OUTLANDER

MargaretArlen ©️
Summer, Central Victoria, Australia 2020

Random excerpts from An Echo in the Bone
By Diana Gabaldon

Photos of Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe are property of STARZ

IN DREAMS

STRANGER THINGS……

I’ve just finished watching the first Series of SHETLAND…..captivated I was, by the stark bleak open country, wild, craggy coastline and open sea…..calls me, almost painfully…. such uncompromising beauty beneath a vast open sky.
Many years ago, I took a course in Transcendental Meditation…..it was ok, I followed instructions (a bit like learning your tables at school, by rote)…..nothing changed, I pushed through to the end and was glad to be finishing. I didn’t believe in it.
On the last day a final ritual had to be performed……
Facing my teacher, I followed the Chant he gave me, which involved a particular form of circular breathing…..the Chanting was strange, eerily beautiful. Eyes closed, head bowed, I became at one with the music……
Next thing I felt my great strong wings stretch, lift, reach out and up…..I was airborne, my wings carrying me in strong, effortless beats… no longer in Melbourne, but flying over flat, silver grey ocean, and stark black rocky coastline …..
that place was SHETLAND.

No…..I’ve never been there.

TIME FLIES

Time Flies, Somewhere Somebody Dies…..

Bracing myself
For the terrifying ravages
Of daily life
The deep dissatisfaction
Of food shopping
Account paying
Who will
If I don’t
Yet, where is there time
To dream
Create
Live life fully
The bed needs fresh clean linen
Weeks ago
Days of dishes
Piled neatly in the sink
No time for Art
For writing the words
Cluttering my mind
Like a swarm of bees
As I think…..

Soft grey clouds
Of shed hair
From cats and dog
Drift about the floor
While I dream of
Culloden moor
Jamie and Claire
How will they fare
And Iris’s want gathering
To plant before
Night falls
My heart calls out
In desolation
For maybe rather
A wild nesting place
Than this domestic socalled grace……

Nick Cave mourns in
Deep soft tones
His heart ‘s love’s
Long Black Hair
And I care
For all and every living soul
While dwelling in
My prison hole
Of hard won security….

Why me
Who’d live like
Beloved Ravens on the wing
Harsh voice broken
As I forget to sing
For daily duty calls
I sip a fiery taste
Of single Malt
Butt out my cherished
Cigarette
And get up
Go out the door
Armed with Iggy Pop
And Lust for life
To fortify me
Against mediocrity
And so
Food shopping
Accounts paying
Into the car
I go

MA. ©️ Winter 2016

WINTER

When morning came
The fog lifted
Cold damp lay upon the world
Frost burnt plants
Sagged sullenly
All hope gone

The ravages of Winter
Scoured sodden ground
Limp, leafless, lifeless
Under a leaden sky
Yet, not so long before
Hot sun beamed down on
Every little thing
And brought forth
New life, teeming

It will be all right

MA. Winter 2017

Land Of Dreams

I dwell in a book
The book dwells in me
I’ve places to go
People to see
But I’m not really there
I go through the motions
Yet my fingertips twitch
To return to the page
I find myself smiling
At secret devotions
At words that I hear
In my quiet inner ear
The world that I know
Is a sorry deception
Hurry up
Let me go
Where’s my book
No reception…..

Go away, go away
I’m reading right now
Go away
Leave me be
The door’s locked
Anyhow.

MA. ©️ Winter 2017

REMEMBERING

RETURNING …..

IN JUST ONE MOMENT
AS HE REACHES OUT TO TAKE HER HAND
HE WILL LIFT HIS GAZE
EYES BOLD WITH WANTING
AS HE SOFTLY SAYS THE WORDS
“WILL Y’ COME TO BED WI’ ME, THEN”
HIS BREATH HELD FOR SECONDS
UNTIL SHE ANSWERS “YES”

ALL DOUBT, ANGER, JEALOUSY
FALL AWAY
AS THEY RISE FROM THE TABLE
MOVE AS ONE
EYES FIXED NOW
EACH UPON THE OTHER
SURRENDERING TO TRUST
LETTING IMAGES EMERGE
AND SETTLE THEM
REMEMBERING HOW IT WAS
BEFORE…..BETWEEN THEM

DISROBING
SLOWLY
SHE SEES THE PULSE BEAT
IN HIS THROAT
AND TAKES COURAGE FROM IT
UNFOLDS ANOTHER LAYER
NOW SHE IN SHIFT
HE IN SHIRT
THEY SMILE SHYLY
CAREFUL WITH EACH OTHER
THESE REBORN LOVERS

AND ALL THE HUNGRY
ACHING YEARS
OF LONELINESS AND NEED
SLIP SOFTLY TO THE FLOOR
AMONG THE LAYERS
OF THEIR CLOTHING
NOWHERE NOW TO HIDE
THEY LIFT THEIR EYES
NAKED, BOLD YET SHY
THEY SMILE

AND SMILE, REMEMBER HOW IT WAS
BETWEEN THEM
IT …WILL ….BE ….ALL ….RIGHT
AS THEY SMILE AND SMILE
TASTE THE AIR BETWEEN THEM
TAKING THAT FINAL STEP
TOWARDS SURRENDER
SHE FEELS HIS WARMTH
SURROUND HER
EMBRACE HER
MOVES TOWARDS THE JOINING
TWO, BECOMING ONE
ONE BODY, ONE SOUL
ONE LOVE, ONE LIFE
HER BELOVED HUSBAND
HIS CHERISHED WIFE

RETURNING
REMEMBERING
REJOICING
RENEWING VOWS
UNSPOKEN
NOTHING NOW
WILL BREAK THE TIES
THAT BIND THEM

Photo belongs to STARZ

MargaretArlen ©️.
Summer, Central Victoria, Australia 2019

THE FALLING

THE FALLING Continued
(And the rush of memories is akin to drowning, a nervous twitching need to get it down while the punishing, controlling mind, whispers maliciously, “but what about the daily grind you’re ignoring”….and the tiny crushed creative heart of things, whispers back….”do it, write, tell this story”)

She fell into the natural rhythm of the Community with ease, because of her voice. Invited to sing, with different groups, as a solo artist, fuelled by whisky and the local weed, she felt the stress and tension of her body leave. She really felt the freedom, the nature of her wild self come into being. A reckless release of ALL the years of tension….going right back to early childhood beginnings. And through the exposure, up on stage, singing smoky, sultry songs of sex and longing (1970’s JJ Cale), she would lose herself, look boldly down at him, holding nothing back, falling into his amber eyes, looking back, looking up, looking at her.
Nothing mattered but feeling….feeling every strong, hot, subtle, overt, reckless feeling.
She met him, his girlfriend….the connection was so….very …
easy.


A Street scene more than 30 years ago, plays in her mind’s eye….a sensual movie.
Coming through the Nimbin Bakery doorway, famed for their heavy Wholemeal Bread, their Lentil Pies, she sees him on the opposite side of the street….he’s heading up the hill towards the Pub. Riveted, she “takes him in, sketches him”.
Tall, beautifully boned, dirty from a long day labouring on a building site. Head thrown back, thick dust filled dark brown hair, shoulder length, brushed back, James Dean style.
Scarf around his throat, denim jacket and blue jeans, heavy work boots. His jeans, loose enough to show the shape of him, long legged ease of movement as he strides in tandem with her, relaxed and graceful as a big cat.
She is impervious to the rumours, the aura of danger, his sexual charisma holds her attention, utterly.
She feels the pull, deep in her belly. Wherever she moves in that very crowded, close knit community….there he is.
And what of his past???
Whatever sense or intelligence she may have had, before, is lost, given over to biology.
It is, always has been, simple.
She wants him.

MA©️. Winter 2018
The Falling
To be continued….

Seduction

Stay with me

THE FURIES

Unravelling
Like a ball of string
They whirl
Spinning
Endlessly
Spinning
Beyond control
Spitting vengeance
On every soul
On each small thing
Rage
Shame
Who’s to blame
But you
Who else
Who?

Deep in the Forest
I heard the trees
Shift and murmur
Not me
Not me
They stand there
Calling
To their dead leaves
Falling
Not me
Not me

And holding hands
On the Ocean’s sands
We two
In the shimmering blue
Hear the whales call
Who
Who
Look up at the sun
What have you done?
Was it you
Who caused this
Ferocity

Yet the Furies
Keep spinning
Whirling
And grinning
Faces fixed
In a terrible smile
And all of the while
The children weep
In their deep
Dark sleep
Who did this
Who did this
To me

On a cold dark night
I woke in fright
Nightmares
Galloping
Across my dreams
Hideous scenes
Above the screen
Of my tumbled bed
While rivers of blood
So vivid and red
Soaked into the mud
And I struggled, stuck
In silent screams

And the Furies
Kept spinning
Grotesquely
Grinning
Spitting
Terror
And blame
Hatred
And shame
As they whirled
Beyond care
As they crafted
Despair
Screaming you
Yes, you

That’s who…..

MA©️. Winter 2018

FOLLOW THE MUSE

A fragment…..

If it couldn’t be ALL
She would settle for nothing
Middle ground was never an option
In this thing called Living
PAIN…..She’d done her time
An Old Woman now
With a fire still burning
No problem stepping over the line
Into the apocalypse of yearning
Heart Wilded
Still a Child
Her mind a dream
Unfolding
Holding
Holding
Holding
Onto Love….

Don’t blow a fuse
Thinking you’re alone
There is always a Muse
Willing to bring you home
Doesn’t matter how far
Away they are
A brilliant
Shooting Star
Can remedy
The most fractured heart
Tormented mind
Find
Two hands
To hold ….
Enfold
Entice
Your pain away
Your Blessed Muse
Will stay
Will stay with you
Through the thick and thin
Of
Blood
Skin
Flesh
Bone
And sinew
Holding on to You
Holding You….

MA© Winter 2018 (new beginnings)

Photo Edit by Fairlie Sandilands
Original photo by Tony Standish R.I.P.