CARRINGTON

I met you once,in that no man's land
that hangs somewhere between
sleeping and waking.
I sensed, rather than saw you,
physically felt the wild pounding
of your desperate heart
electrocuting my own aura.
You were a vortex of nervous anxiety,
frantically searching for something.
Or someone?

I could almost - but not quite
recognise you.
Those obsessive compulsive mannerisms
seemed somehow familiar.
Then I saw you,
a tall, emaciated, boyish figure
with unflattering cropped hair;
an unhappy lost Soul
wandering around in circles,
totally alone
in a dreary place of shadows.
Yes, of course I knew you then
and instinctively reached out to comfort you,
but you remained oblivious to my presence,
were too intent on your manic quest.

Dora,
(I apologise for using the birth name you so despised,
but it somehow seems appropriate now.)
I know who you've been so desperately trying to find all these years,
that you truly believe he was your inspiration
and without him
you were nothing.
But, Dora, you were the talented one.
Those stunning works of art
we prize so highly were the offspring
of your beautiful complex mind,
not his presence in your life.
Your paintings would still
have enriched this World,
even if you'd never met
this much older, homosexual man
who became the sole reason for your existence.

Dora,
how could you love him this much,
while being forced to watch his young boyfriends
come and go, always excluding you
from their intimate glances?
It must have torn you to shreds.
Yet you stood by him unflinchingly,
more than willing to put him back together
when his affairs inevitably fell apart.
But who was there for you, Dora,
when the next Beau came along
and he'd disappear,
often for weeks at a time
while you starved half to death,
terrified to move from the phone
just in case he should call?
But at those times he never did,
did he?
There has never been a nobler
more faithful heart than yours.
And he really didn't deserve it.

As I sit here today
gazing at your portrait of Lytton,
I see such heart-felt adoration
in every brush stroke;
the differing hues of his skin, hair and beard
glowing, as though bathed in your undying love.
But above all,
those soulful eyes say it all.
In their depths, I see your own
beautiful highly evolved Spirit.
Dora, you were as close to perfection
as a human being could ever come.

Sadly, when cancer claimed him,
and you took your own life
because living without him
became too much to bear,
this World was robbed
of a shining light.
There has been an extra cloud
across the Sun since then.
But at least we still have
a part of you in these brilliant masterpieces
you have left behind.
And, Dora, you are recognised now.
Here in the twenty-first century,
your unique talent is finally appreciated.
That shy, sexually-confused eccentric
who always faded into the background
and was so often overlooked;
that self-deprecating person
who only rarely signed her work
because she honestly believed
it was 'not much cop'
has become an icon of the Art World.
Dora, two of your pieces are exhibited
in the Tate today!

For your sake, I hope
that you eventually find peace,
because I know you will never find
who you are looking for.
You are destined for a much Higher
Plane of existence now,
and have evolved way above
we mere mortals.
And when you can find the strength
to believe in yourself
as you believed in him,
those restricting shadows will melt away
like early morning dew,
leaving you free to take your rightful place
among the ascended Bright Ones.

Then, when I gaze up into the sky
on a clear night
and see an extra radiant Star
that wasn't there before,
twinkling in colours of the rainbow,
I'll know for sure it's you.
And the following golden dawn will give way
to the most glorious sunny day.

Dora Carrington,
if you'll only allow it,
your light will illuminate us all.......