Julian

Chapter 2

Julian has been having a recurring dream the past few months, ever since the turmoil in his new home began.

He is in the desert searching for Ynez. 

He is driving towards the mountains made of tawny rocks with the backdrop of the cerulean sky. 

He is on a movie set. 

Julian and Ynez: the DNA of their brittle marriage shared and smeared all over those petrified rocks.

He woke up and thought, what a fucking film this has turned out to be.

That same day Julian boarded a plane to Paris with the hope of mending the fractures.

Let the charade begin.

Let the humiliation begin.

Let the struggle begin. 

Let Ynez see me. 

Let Ynez help me. 

Let us heal.

Excerpt
Drowning In Batik
By Suzanne Limozinere

Ynez’s Potion

Chapter 3

What turned Ynez on was to travel far away, to tuck her self into the smallest corner of the world, to do nothing but eat and sleep, to wallow and think in the solitude. That is what Ynez craved.

Her pages were moist. The pen was dripping. She was at home in Bali. Nothing was an issue on the Island of the Gods, even when there was an issue. Ynez delighted in her new way of life. The Western bubble of privilege and despair no longer interested her. She abandoned her ego and gained her soul. It was the day before Nyepi, Day of Silence, in Bali, Indonesia. Yes people, shut the fuck up and listen, she thought. Imagine, silence! Truly listening to yourself and to others. It could be a remedy for the prevention of wars—personal and global. Be kind. Spread Love. FORGIVENESS. She ain’t on no soapbox. She’s preaching to herself. Let go of the pain and love comes a bangin’! She fixated on the beauty of her gardens while luxuriating in the daily Bali life of motorbikes and massages. Ynez carried it all in her knapsack like her children carried Rudolf Steiner’s morning verse in theirs.

Full moon was pulling some kind of weight down and spoke to Ynez in universalities beyond comprehension of this mortal-ness. The wooden figurines sitting on her shelf were dusty with years of human particles, crying, laughing, yelling, fornicating, humans being human, leaving their mark. These statues peered down at Ynez, she heeded their gentle warning.

Heavy rain graced the midnight heat, the night before Nyepi. Sweaty sheets. Creatures crawling, sneaking, gnawing at crusted piked fruit carving deep jagged holes taking what they want, without permission.

Then Nyepi arrived! And there was silence! She was tucked away on this island,

in this compound

in this garden

in this bamboo nook

surrounded by temples big and small and offerings to the Gods that shined upon her.

Waterfalls and roosters and whispers.

No airplanes. No internet. No motorbikes. No unnatural noise.

She adored, not loved, adored days like these to contemplate.

Being alone was not an issue for Ynez. She feared loneliness.

Bali was her cure.

When you stop. Really stop. It all kicks in sister, she thought. Her own truth and conclusions were finally beginning to emerge. Ynez’s skin was moist with the morning dew. She ate her breakfast and delighted in her belly full of anchovies. You can take the girl out of Italy but you can’t take the Italy out of the girl. Her black slip dress was tight in the bust, crushing her Madonna medallion between her breasts. She felt nourished. She thought of the blessed event between her legs that supplied her children. And was grateful.

Her grey polished nails sparkled on claws that sported no rings!

She pulled at her left ring finger. It’s all gone.

The crickets, cricketing away eased her pain.

The Majestic Green poised and proud to be serving this earth.

We are not worthy, she thought.

Nyepi fell on Lent.

“It’s the beginning of Lent. Give up self-loathing,” Ynez said.

She needed first to forgive herself.

Excerpt
Drowning In Batik
By Suzanne Limozinere