About the author
Samantha Cauliflower was born into a family that descended from Irish potato farmers who immigrated to Australia in during The Great Potato Famine. They settled in the Riverland and farmed an alternative white spherical vegetable - the Cauliflower, until the Great Floods of 1957 saw their farm washed out. Her family then retired and Samantha went on to publish four albums of her own music, and now the sequel to her new e-book series, Polyamorous Love Letters – volume two.
Preface by Violet Franke
The second volume of the Polyamorous Love Letters again takes us into the intimacy of love, and the existence of discourse that shapes our understandings. The two volumes have both spoken of the universality of love. Again, metaphor is often used to touch the intangible, allowing the reader to rest their head on the author’s shoulder.
Importantly, the author avoids writing specifically of empathy, listening, and silence, because she says, “those elements are found in love in almost every word”. The interpretation of her letters and the fictional experience occurs in layers. The layers are a pouring of efficacious and concise emotion onto a canvas of the author’s experience, from memories of all the wonderful types of love found in life: of friendship, of family and of romance.
In this second volume, there is still the witnessing by the male and female voyeurs, however there is sometimes a drifting into more intense aspects of love as the author explores monologues written in a more direct voice to her lovers. All in all, the author has continued to capture the elusive. I hope you enjoy this volume as much as the first.
Importantly, the author avoids writing specifically of empathy, listening, and silence, because she says, “those elements are found in love in almost every word”. The interpretation of her letters and the fictional experience occurs in layers. The layers are a pouring of efficacious and concise emotion onto a canvas of the author’s experience, from memories of all the wonderful types of love found in life: of friendship, of family and of romance.
In this second volume, there is still the witnessing by the male and female voyeurs, however there is sometimes a drifting into more intense aspects of love as the author explores monologues written in a more direct voice to her lovers. All in all, the author has continued to capture the elusive. I hope you enjoy this volume as much as the first.
Tenderness
I realise it has been a while since I actually told you, how I love the way you feel. How you touch me when we are in public. How your smile falls upon my face. The softening of your eyes when we talk. The way your laughter wafts over my soul. It is tender. Just right for me. Let alone our kiss. Oh my goodness.
Tender is what we also make together. Our breath and heat and sweat. Either in the cold of Winter where you keep me warm. Or the height of Summer where we stay up late talking, only to cooch and mingle our waters. I see a stream of water flowing down sculptured steps, slowly taking in every texture. I feel you. Often. And it is a great blessing that your being gives to me in this life. X
Tender is what we also make together. Our breath and heat and sweat. Either in the cold of Winter where you keep me warm. Or the height of Summer where we stay up late talking, only to cooch and mingle our waters. I see a stream of water flowing down sculptured steps, slowly taking in every texture. I feel you. Often. And it is a great blessing that your being gives to me in this life. X
Acceptance
Oh friends. I am accepting of things now. I have stopped fighting myself.
There is a time when the leave falls from the tree and it cannot be stopped. It is the way of things. And to find this out I have been staring in my mirror. Noticing how there is very little room in my own reflection, for the space between the shadow and the light. Where I breathe. And I have no more control over life, than the exhalation of my lungs. I have to accept life. Its ebb and flow. The way sometimes I am out of step with you. Usually because I am focused on myself. But if I fight that, I do not win. I hate winning anyway. Why conquer someone? Why not light their light? Instead of exsanguination. Sow. There is much to accept in the world in any one time. Politics and environmental issues that are determining our futures. But when you arrive on my door, it is like the promise of a blank piece of paper. If I can accept myself.
And that blank piece of paper is such a beautiful thing to go on to create with you both.
There is a time when the leave falls from the tree and it cannot be stopped. It is the way of things. And to find this out I have been staring in my mirror. Noticing how there is very little room in my own reflection, for the space between the shadow and the light. Where I breathe. And I have no more control over life, than the exhalation of my lungs. I have to accept life. Its ebb and flow. The way sometimes I am out of step with you. Usually because I am focused on myself. But if I fight that, I do not win. I hate winning anyway. Why conquer someone? Why not light their light? Instead of exsanguination. Sow. There is much to accept in the world in any one time. Politics and environmental issues that are determining our futures. But when you arrive on my door, it is like the promise of a blank piece of paper. If I can accept myself.
And that blank piece of paper is such a beautiful thing to go on to create with you both.
Intimacy
Quite often it is your intimacy I prefer. You hold space for me. And for yourself. He still mansplains, although he will hold me after sex. You Woman, hold an independent place for me to exist. You take care with your emotions and your words. I feel you. And connect. It is more than the basic reflection. Often there is no need for words. Something, tender and gentle and graceful and intangible. Like in all these letters I have been writing to you both, I still have not quite captured the fairy spirit that’s present. Maybe because the intimacy is always between us, and not belonging to the individual. It’s beautiful. And magical. And you have it in spades with me. It is simply another blessing in life that we ever met. Thank you. Xx
The heart and the ego
What links the heart and the ego? The heart does not need the ego but the ego needs love. Love then becomes the prize for the ego. But love is Love alone. Despite what anybody may think of it.
I especially have found this to be true in my past heterosexual relationships. Where the partner is a prize. But when ownership is no longer a matter. When I do not have any right over you or even for you. When we are together in love, simply because of love and its freedom. The love resides in my heart alone. I do not possess you. I do not want to control you. But then I do ask for respect. Respect is simply the air we breathe. Essential to every moment of life.
Now that my ego is separated from my heart, my heart just swells. With you both I have found a new place to exist. And a new way of existing. A word of it only ever carefully passes my lips. For what matters is that I have found you both. And not that others need to know this as fact or gossip. It is simply the positive result of a heart’s conception. And I am so glad it has become real to me.
I especially have found this to be true in my past heterosexual relationships. Where the partner is a prize. But when ownership is no longer a matter. When I do not have any right over you or even for you. When we are together in love, simply because of love and its freedom. The love resides in my heart alone. I do not possess you. I do not want to control you. But then I do ask for respect. Respect is simply the air we breathe. Essential to every moment of life.
Now that my ego is separated from my heart, my heart just swells. With you both I have found a new place to exist. And a new way of existing. A word of it only ever carefully passes my lips. For what matters is that I have found you both. And not that others need to know this as fact or gossip. It is simply the positive result of a heart’s conception. And I am so glad it has become real to me.
Hair
You know I was born with it. A certain number of hair follicles. Some woman have a diagnosable condition, but I just have my genes. And I love you for accepting me and my hair. My arm pits. My legs. My face. And any other place I cannot see. Woman have hair! I have been so sick of the world yelling at me to manage it. I grew my beard for a while. It confused people. They thought I was transitioning. Simply, I just wanted to be seen as a woman with hair. Because women have hair. But they thought it was a sign that I did not want to be woman. However. It was the very very opposite. So I thank you. I love you for it. Noticing the texture and colour and feel. For accepting and loving me as woman and including my hair. Most men don’t have the same understanding, so raveling our femininity together is for me just like weaving gold.
Frustration
I love how you listen to me when I have to vent. You know I try not to do it. But sometimes I wonder why I ever bother with men. Their focus on money and power in general means they are always distracted from the importance of simply loving our relationship. When it’s going well, the positivity fuels their optimism. When it’s not going well, they toxic up and its fuels our destruction. I’m just frustrated with the repetitive conversation – making circles in my concrete mind. I think I have to walk away from him. I am not coping with the mental load. And I want to stop whining about it. And I don’t want to bring it home to you anymore. I will do the deed. And I will need to be alone for a little while. I will call in a couple of days. From my heart to yours, my breath will be waiting to capture your lips. xx
Earthing
Hallo my love. Will you lay on the lawn with me tonight as the sun goes down? And press our bodies into the earth? I need to meet you there. The earth reaching up. And me reaching down. It makes me cool. It makes me light and free. It is another one of those happy places. No need to be anywhere else. Our feet caressing the lawn. Our curves being held in the arms of many single blades of grass. Bending. Not breaking. Reducing our inflamed body. Charging us up. I find it so relaxing. Yet often I forget to make time for it. And with Winter approaching, there is little time left to enjoy the blessing. I connect with the Earth. And I connect with you. I am just asking if we can do this together soon. xx
Writing
I know you may think there is no need to write of writing itself. You love these letters, and you understand that I need to write them.
But writing unfurls while it polishes. It is not just the act of purging my being into prose for you. It is also the witnessing of my words coming back at me. And you are a muse. Not the muse. But another facet of life and love and brilliance that I draw water from. You help me be alive. And writing to me is as important as my speech and your ear. As are your words and smiles that mould to mine. Music is much the same. Listening is a dualistic experience. The sound engages a relationship with me. It sounds and I feel.
So I write and we feel. Intimate. Secure. Closed. Yet open. I cannot be closer to God than when I am writing a truth. Whether in song or words, you are a carefully chosen audience for my heart’s conception and desire. This is how I love.
But writing unfurls while it polishes. It is not just the act of purging my being into prose for you. It is also the witnessing of my words coming back at me. And you are a muse. Not the muse. But another facet of life and love and brilliance that I draw water from. You help me be alive. And writing to me is as important as my speech and your ear. As are your words and smiles that mould to mine. Music is much the same. Listening is a dualistic experience. The sound engages a relationship with me. It sounds and I feel.
So I write and we feel. Intimate. Secure. Closed. Yet open. I cannot be closer to God than when I am writing a truth. Whether in song or words, you are a carefully chosen audience for my heart’s conception and desire. This is how I love.
Patience
The Buddhists say, be the branch that bends. In the wind. Gently. Don’t allow impatience to break you in a storm. Or to break you in a desert.
I often think, I can start over with the very next breath. And if that doesn’t work, I can start over again. Moving. Even if sitting still.
She really tested my patience with her temper, and another lover tested my patience with the banal. But I have no right to change them. I can only change myself. My reaction. To breath and bend. To breathe and bend. To wait. Everything happens in its own time. And I do believe that there is always a better time to say what you need to say. If you wait. Often we bloom despite words. If we wait long enough, we can witness each other bloom. And while we wait, we can dance. Thank you for dancing with me. xx
I often think, I can start over with the very next breath. And if that doesn’t work, I can start over again. Moving. Even if sitting still.
She really tested my patience with her temper, and another lover tested my patience with the banal. But I have no right to change them. I can only change myself. My reaction. To breath and bend. To breathe and bend. To wait. Everything happens in its own time. And I do believe that there is always a better time to say what you need to say. If you wait. Often we bloom despite words. If we wait long enough, we can witness each other bloom. And while we wait, we can dance. Thank you for dancing with me. xx
Brave
I tell you. You must be brave to love me. I come with all my skin and flow, and a single paint brush to draw across our skies. And you keep bringing new hues. You paint my face for war, yet you love me like I am peace. You pierce my skin with jewels, and you trace my figure with your approval. Even though I am no longer at my youngest. You must be brave really. To know my flaws. And to want to share your own. A perfect imperfection. Like some others that have tasted the salt, you often soften me like warm rain so quickly. So gently. Bravely available. Running your wind through my hair. Some thing I love and do not ever want to catch. And not a hairbrush in sight.
Memory
Threads that run through all our hearts making up the fabric of life and of our love. My memory ties all these things all together. Like a long red thread woven through all our hearts. Whether the past or the future, I am unable to escape it. So I embrace it with you both again now. It’s made of my blood. And made of my memory. Gifts dawning on my soul are a sweet kiss or a humbling embrace. Of course there are fragments. Like my dreams returning to me just before I fall asleep. Or a smell that rushes up along side, or passes with a stranger walking past. And my muscles remember you. My lips remember your feeling. My heart remembers your dark and light. But it is a gift of memory most, drawn through my every breath. I will not forget you. You have become part of me.
Brave II
I hope you understand when I keep my words to myself, I try to carefully only scatter them in fields that require the nutrient. I hope you can understand that when I hold back my emotions, I am trying to be brave… I have long hated the ranting that comes with anger or hysteria. It’s not very often I allow myself to go into that space. But instead, I see myself trying to be silent as being brave. Trying to be careful with words, as being brave. And trying to judge the right time and place to speak up, as being brave. Honesty has shown me to be a fool many a time. And conversely, I have been far too honest at times and hurt people. With age I have not yet finalized this conundrum. Presently I walk with care, and decide moment by moment if I should bravely hold my words, or bravely speak them. That is the only answer I have found after so many years. There is no absolute. Every lesson often comes rushing back to me, to be gentle, to be kind, to be quiet. I hope you can see I take good care of where it is I step these days. Of course, you catch me a candid in your company when you make me alive and laughing. I guess I am bringing brave then too, revealing myself. It is because you see me that I can manage that reveal. Again, loving you both allows me to continue learning about being brave. Thank you both for your loves.
Noise
Sometimes it’s emotions. Sometimes it’s the smell of rubber through the house. Sometimes it’s the neighbour’s music. Or a domestic out on the street. Sometimes it is my mind that I cannot escape from. Sometimes it is a dull headache. But you make that all quiet. Simply by greeting me with a hug. It melts away. And I don’t want to be anywhere else. I stop running. I stop trying to avoid myself. And I fall into you. He does the same, although sometimes he still tries to fix me. Whereas you just hold space. And the air to my lungs and allow me to fall.
The stars do only know how much I hang my love on you. I hitch myself up sometimes, and fold into a cloud of comfort. Your whisper. Your smile. Lies before me like no other bounds. If you ever have a doubt that you’d be welcomed in my home, please remind yourself you are always welcome. No doubt your light would reach my doorstep even before I hear your knock.
The stars do only know how much I hang my love on you. I hitch myself up sometimes, and fold into a cloud of comfort. Your whisper. Your smile. Lies before me like no other bounds. If you ever have a doubt that you’d be welcomed in my home, please remind yourself you are always welcome. No doubt your light would reach my doorstep even before I hear your knock.
Contemplation
She curls her head into my cupped hand to rest. Folded down. Holding and being held. Contemplation is such a quiet muse. A consideration that is a light as the wind. And I find your love there. Another intangible. But really the matter of the heart.
He thinks of me in want, often too busy to sit with the wind. Lost in modern masculinity is the art of listening deep. And then I found you, a man that lets the others run ahead only to stay behind with me.
You both have the gift of time to spend, and you choose often to spend it with me. I love hearing about how you relate to yourself. How that relationship changes in a way visible to you. That is such a powerful thing to share. I feel very privileged again. Because we can hold space for each other. And our contemplations. A love that is as light as the wind. Blowing through our hair.
He thinks of me in want, often too busy to sit with the wind. Lost in modern masculinity is the art of listening deep. And then I found you, a man that lets the others run ahead only to stay behind with me.
You both have the gift of time to spend, and you choose often to spend it with me. I love hearing about how you relate to yourself. How that relationship changes in a way visible to you. That is such a powerful thing to share. I feel very privileged again. Because we can hold space for each other. And our contemplations. A love that is as light as the wind. Blowing through our hair.
Expectations
I have really only one expectation of us. I expect us to be kind to each other. And as the Dali says, when you cannot be kind, try to be kinder still. I’ve been in places where I carried expectations. Monogamy set me up to expect my partner to fulfill my dreams constantly. Society expected me to find my other half in a partner. I was expected to not be single if I could help it. I still get pressure to be less of myself, and tie myself up with someone and only one. As I have said before to you, it is not about wanting to hook up with every possibility that comes along. It is not about wanting an open relationship. I just expect myself to love when it is good for me, and good for you. If it is not that then I will walk away from intimacy. After a long while of seeking to find somebody to fulfill desire, I realize that I am better off alone than expecting myself to be healed by someone else. And without having much expectation is how I found you. How I found us. And how she found me. For now, if love does not bring more freedom to love, then I do not want it. Thank you both for allowing me to be myself. I love loving you both with that freedom of spirit. xx
Past old wounds
I know I have written to you both about expectations. Some how I want to tell you about how I have found the healing of my old wounds. My old wounds have sometimes been like an old faithful dog that needed to be euthanised. But for so long, I just could not do that. So for most of my life I have been a seeker. Seeking the other half to heal me. To be One. Then I realized that I needed a healer’s help. Some times this has been through conversation or music or touch. Some times it is just a hug goodbye. Like a lost child I have wandered around and through my life. My memories and the scars that remain. Just wanting some body to take my hand and lead me forward and out of the fog. Out of the pain. Away from the memories that never really leave. And regret is something I am still trying to find deliverance from. However, instead you will find that your company – your acceptance of me in any moment – heals more than you realise. It’s a quiet healing. Again holding our spaces. Just being kind. I find Gratitude is a great companion for Joy. I am grateful to be with you both. Thank you for witnessing my quiet healing. And thank you for your loves.
Iterations
So I ravel myself up in you, even when you are not here. Reflections in water. Without your light I would not see. And I edit myself. I unravel at night and by morning I am anew. Another version. Another iteration. Your loves free me to grow and breathe. It allows me to realise myself, and quietly dance within. As though I was a meadow of wild flowers going from the day to the night to the day. I wake up anew. Like turning over myself with the next new breath. Yet my memory is a sacred chest that remembers most of my lessons. And most of love. And I cannot humbly thank you enough for being brave enough to love me. To enable me to grow. To enable me to give back to you such wealth and beauty as you bring. It is a quiet process, like heavy white clouds moving across the sky. Reinventing themselves as they fly. Authentically trying to be a better self if only to give to you. This is somewhat of what your loves have meant to me. Please know I don’t take our experience for granted.
And that all I can do is love.
And that all I can do is love.
Isolation
Sometimes when I have had the choice, I imagine myself hooking my gondola up to a star, and resting in the gondola while it rests on a cloud. Just to be alone. I still need this time to myself. I do not cope all smothered in chocolate and attention. Or sitting stagnating amongst things. That is why I find your company so particularly unique. It is a match for my kind of loneliness. And you don’t ever mind when I say, I need the next three days to myself. Sometimes I need to imagine I am all alone, the only wild flower in the resting field. Where the light wind can touch my soul. And if ever I do not have this self-care, you will notice a distraction in me.nAnd urge to run. A feeling of discomfort. That turns me away from you. So please understand that regular isolation is the way of my blood. And it makes me much more prepared to give to you when I see you next. Isolation allows me to tend the garden. To water the flowers and not the weeds of my mind. And to sow you a gift in time, that I can give to you, when your love comes once again, acalling.
Devastation
I am hurting from our conflict. And it is always devastating to me. It takes time, capacity and emotion, like the draining of the sea. And for many reasons, while I am wasted on the sand, I do not know how to bring the ocean back. But we have been here a few times. Enough to know that we can move through this. I have to accept the realities. It is unprecedented times, and we are all trying to cope in our own ways. It’s bloody patience again. I require patience from myself and from you. Our needs sometimes differ in a moment. And sometimes I do not register that. Sometimes I still put my needs first. And time apart always makes the reflection clearer. I don’t know any other words to continue saying sorry. But I do think we can make it through. I am stronger than you have been lately…I can carry that weight. Understand though, that I have been struggling myself. Maybe. Maybe if we just lean a little. Maybe we can hold each other up for the time being. It all depends.
Solace
A house full of the smell of roasted food. Or the way a loose feather on the ground can remind me of my mother, telling me it is a blessing of peace. The way my animal catches my eye for attention. The way water hydrates and keeps my mind clear and my body working. So I can love you even more.
I know I have been venting a little in my last few letters. My heart’s conception has not been clear through my cries. So I am writing to get back in touch with how a feather can touch my soul. Your love is not estranged from solace. And I feel blessed that you both still love me despite my recent frustrations. Before I met you both, it was the love of my parents that I drew upon to hold me up. Like two golden guide ropes in the universe, making sure I did not fall too far. Now they are gone from my physical life. Their love lives in memories and dreams. I have to remind myself that I am never estranged from them. Your loves, show me constantly, how a feather can move the wind. How there is no real need to be loud. You hear my quiet. And hold it with your being. You are my solace. I heal and grow and heal and grow again. I do not know how tomorrow will be. But I am always thankful for your gentle and kind solace in my daily life. It gives me hope. And it brings my love even closer to you. xx
I know I have been venting a little in my last few letters. My heart’s conception has not been clear through my cries. So I am writing to get back in touch with how a feather can touch my soul. Your love is not estranged from solace. And I feel blessed that you both still love me despite my recent frustrations. Before I met you both, it was the love of my parents that I drew upon to hold me up. Like two golden guide ropes in the universe, making sure I did not fall too far. Now they are gone from my physical life. Their love lives in memories and dreams. I have to remind myself that I am never estranged from them. Your loves, show me constantly, how a feather can move the wind. How there is no real need to be loud. You hear my quiet. And hold it with your being. You are my solace. I heal and grow and heal and grow again. I do not know how tomorrow will be. But I am always thankful for your gentle and kind solace in my daily life. It gives me hope. And it brings my love even closer to you. xx
Smell
You may not realise it, but my sense of smell as constant as the encoding of memory for me. It is a sense that layers such inspiration into my being. The ways smell falls upon me, is quite often not subtle. But grand.
You great me at the door, and our embrace is coloured by your scent. And the smell of your clothes and hair and breath and house and the wind itself. His scent is just as strong an imprint. A body odour that compliments his cologne. But your scent reminds me of the ultra high dive into a deep deep ocean. Heady. Lovely. Deep Blue. Your scent changes me. My mood. My smile. It unlocks my own essence that I in turn can give to you. I do not share this effect with just anyone. I actually find public spaces often overwhelming with the many scents of people passing by, wafting through my being and calling to me in nanoseconds. And I tend to present myself to the smell of food before I eat. Even when it is salty and sweet and full-bodied. Chocolate, whiskey, chili, spice. Sour milk or expired meat. Opening a new box of tissues or toilet paper. It is a universal experience that layers love into my senses. And when we embrace, I will catch you scent as it falls. I will not take it. But just catch it. As it falls. Into the memory of you in my heart.
You great me at the door, and our embrace is coloured by your scent. And the smell of your clothes and hair and breath and house and the wind itself. His scent is just as strong an imprint. A body odour that compliments his cologne. But your scent reminds me of the ultra high dive into a deep deep ocean. Heady. Lovely. Deep Blue. Your scent changes me. My mood. My smile. It unlocks my own essence that I in turn can give to you. I do not share this effect with just anyone. I actually find public spaces often overwhelming with the many scents of people passing by, wafting through my being and calling to me in nanoseconds. And I tend to present myself to the smell of food before I eat. Even when it is salty and sweet and full-bodied. Chocolate, whiskey, chili, spice. Sour milk or expired meat. Opening a new box of tissues or toilet paper. It is a universal experience that layers love into my senses. And when we embrace, I will catch you scent as it falls. I will not take it. But just catch it. As it falls. Into the memory of you in my heart.
Wildflowers
I want to share with you a place I go. It’s on a hill high above, that overlooks a city. It has one great big old tree and the field is full of wildflowers. Of us. I sit there often at the end of the day, and just be with you both. And all that came before and all that ever will be. All the many wildflowers. Flowering at their best and trusting their stem to hold them up. Existing alongside.
There with me is the big old tree still standing. It must be many hundreds of years old. It is one of my favourites. And it shelters me. I can spend the whole night lying with you all under it. Under the moon and stars and a sky that never ends.
I remember she once said to me, about my heart’s conception. That love is not staring into each other’s eyes and ignoring the surroundings. It is more like sitting alongside, and staring out in a similar direction. These wildflowers all look to the sun and the sunset. And in the morning they are all smiling with the sun. All existing alongside.
And that is all we are. Wildflowers in the same field. Smiling at the sun.
There with me is the big old tree still standing. It must be many hundreds of years old. It is one of my favourites. And it shelters me. I can spend the whole night lying with you all under it. Under the moon and stars and a sky that never ends.
I remember she once said to me, about my heart’s conception. That love is not staring into each other’s eyes and ignoring the surroundings. It is more like sitting alongside, and staring out in a similar direction. These wildflowers all look to the sun and the sunset. And in the morning they are all smiling with the sun. All existing alongside.
And that is all we are. Wildflowers in the same field. Smiling at the sun.
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