Old Russia,artists and writers lives,synchronatic songs

Well I'm feeling slightly better today,in love with rich maroons,antiquated Celtic books,dark woodsy rooms,I can feel it only just as I did.Still bent on England.Id really like to be a Russian Doll blended with a haughty Edwardian English gal.I suppose I am.I read on past lives this morning and was contemplating my own Russian past life as a ballet dancer that I remember.I don't think it's good to delve into past lives as it can start to disrupt or meddle with this life, but some people find great healing from it.I was interested in Russia since I was a child,I would go into the Russian Bakery and feel very strange,I would buy old Russian music.I studied Russian Studies at university.But the weight of that life seems to have faded for me.Still Russia has great mysticism and meaning for me.

I long to be up and away looking at caramel truffles from Liberty,they have beautiful new silk velvets in that I love.I just wish I was awash in a hundred passions,I was so driven by all that.I miss it everyday,I still get in a little rapture over things,but can't chase it all the way through in my mind and feelings.I wrote a poem about poets being haunted by spirits, it is okay but not brilliant.When I had a measure of passion I spoke with passion but now I suppose I try my best.I am still stirred! I thought last night that I will have no descendants,noone to dig up my journals or to go over my wild interesting life, but I thought I was very glad I did not have children as it would have taken all my energies and time,parents to me seem to never have time for themselves.Children want all your time and attention understandably.Feeling so tired and depleted I can't even imagine if I had babies to care for.

I was missing writing my asylum novel which I called Bridewood Asylum,I would love to work on it.Something just so riveting about thinking of some old asylum in the glouchestershire countryside,an old country house converted and people full of magic,mayhem and spirits running through the place.What would have gone on before the advent of meds.It must have been pure bedlam,there was an asylum in which the term bedlam derives.I would have it there is a fine pretty thing in the asylum for bewildering visions and she falls in love with her male nurse,doesn't that sound romantic.True story.Wonder if they had males nurses in English Asylums.Maybe she walks about singing nursery rhymes around the place.Oh all this use to evoke so much for me.I wish I could write it.I had such small plans.I use to love reading the lives of authors,their writing habits,their inspirations etc but now I feel too sad that I cannot do it any longer due to what happened.

I think I will read the lives of poets,writers and artists today.I use to read on Modigliani and so many other artists and writers many moons ago and weep, before my life turned over.I was so certain my life would be as they,in a way it has been.I use to feel so very much.Songs that use to pull high emotions out of me and dramatic currents have no effect now.I mourn myself less as the years go by,certainly fate has found things in me still going on.I feel this month there has been some resurrection.Well I will go and drink my tea and listen to this song I just found that second by Florence and the Machine called "Shake it out" very apt at this moment as its all about burying the past,that its darkest before the dawn.I guess that is a bit of Synchronicity at its finest.Her voice is the nearest I've come to what otherworldly music I've heard in my episodes sounds like, only imagine even higher and more swerving and soaring,she seems definately at the mercy of spirits.