I smell ….

when i smell   the ocean  i  feel as if I have come home  i feel primal as if i am taken deeply inside the magic of life itself   the air scented with salt and sand cleanses my body mind and spirit  purging all that is not important away  i am drawn into the present moment with every endless wave lapping at my feet   i inhale the sweet salty ocean and my body opens wide  my arms extend to reach way beyond the galaxies i know of into a space and place of unknowing   I am floating in this space of clear clean magic   the salt lingers on my cheeks and touches my tongue  i am undone, unwound  unbound and free    it takes me home  to my source  to that place from which I know i came and into which i will pass into someday again     i long to lay down and be carried away by the waves floating me beneath a sunny sky, releasing my feet from the ground surrounded by the water floating me free  letting go deeper and deeper into a freedom of love holding me   supporting me like a leaf in the wind  twirling and swirling not knowing where i come in and where i will end

when i smell I remember my cat KC  short silky shiny black fur she always smelled of flowers  outdoor sweetness  where did she go   where did she play or lay today   was this her fragrance or was it infused in nature    i loved to hold her near and inhale her fur   it made me smile   she would beguile me with her smell   it was as if she were a magic cat   light and magical  and perfumed with the scent of god ..

I remember my father’s studio where he worked, designed, drew for hours on end, did airbrush and some painting. I am reminded of it many times walking into an art supply store. I can smell the gray gum erasers which he kneaded like plastic dough, to refresh again and again during the day.  Pencil lead actually has a fragrance when drawn upon paper for hours on end.  Faint fragrances of water color paints can settle around in the room, urging one to find a brush to bring them onto the page.  The huge drafting table, metal and wood, standing in the corner surrounded by shelves upon which he kept his paints and pencils and drafting materials.  I can almost see my father there working, in the middle of the store, metal drafting pencil held between his teeth, eyes fixated upon the drawing he was working on, and the smell of coffee lightly scenting the air.

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