We allow so many to rent space in our heads and our hearts. So many of the so many we would not rent a one room shack on a tug boat out in the New York harbor to.
So many are there of the so many that if we stand back and stand up straight…we soon see that the persons we have bestowed with a key to the loft of our lives are really just sick. Sick in the head. Sick from being ‘conformed’. Ill mannered elitists with which the silver spoon and the almighty dollar have made bosom buddies with.
An ill tempered mismanaged group of disposable persons looking to find another place, space to rent for they have been kicked out of their last tenement and are in need of a few good references.
I am Brangien [Brangaine] of Weisefort, Ireland, lady-in-waiting to my cousin Isolde, who became promised to King Marc of Cornwall. His nephew Tristan escorted us to England by ship. But Tristan and Isolde fell in love at sea. As ye may know, or will find out, they cite the philter they drank as the cause, over which I was supposed to keep vigil. I would like to share my perspective of how I have created good in the world through my herbs and observations. There is much to tell, including how I have adopted this odd language. In good time. My life is in God’s hands. –Inspired by the modern French translations of the Tristan and Isolde texts