Pamela Courson Morrison...Paris, a lifetime ago...

I wrote of the few times I experienced the beautiful redhead and all her shenanigans in Paris . You can find her on pages past in this journal. Her name was Pam. Pamela Morrison.


Since I have been sick for the past year I have had the horrible experience of a short term memory loss!

It has something to do about the toxic drugs or so many surgeries.

But I can remember things long ago. Some better forgetton but others like jewels that have been buried. Some are crystal clear. A certain song, the way the light shines.

And the light in Paris is like no other. The light there doesn't shine on any other part of the world.

I remember Pam's smile and the way that light shown on her hair - the identical color of my own. Seldom do we see an identical image. Looking at Pamela was like looking in a mirror on my best day.

I wish I had known her longer. But Paris is a place for poets, artists, dancers and those who live life fully and I didn't know I'd never see her again. It didn't seem important. I assumed we'd run into each other in Rome or North Africa or Ibiza or any number of place we ex-patriots lived back then.

We were at best aquaintances. Not friends. Yes friends. I guess we were because we enjoyed being together. The few times we spent was a blast of laughter and craziness.

The mind is a web of complexities.

However, we were not confidants. And I knew very little about her and what was underneath that beautiful smile.

Seems odd that we don't have time to really know those we meet.

We were too busy smoking the fine hashish and eating those wonderful pastries, flirting with the Frenchmen who were amused at our poor French.

Simply laughing like two redheads - content on the attention the Frenchmen were giving us.




Who said 'youth is wasted on the young'? How apropos.

Who would know her Jim would die so soon...

Who would know she would soon follow after...

Who would know that I am still here after all this time...

A bit wiser. A bit more cynical. A lot older.

Blessed and cursed in so many ways.

So was she.

These pictures are from various European websites. The one to the side is Pam and an Italian friend.

The one of Pam growing up comes from the Doors official website. Just a little girl already smoking pot. Truly a child and a woman of LA

This bracelet was on e-bay. It was said to be given to Pam by Jim - who knows? It looks like something we would have worn back then.

All I know about Pamela is she had a great love of adventure, travel and a zest for trying new things.

She wasn't afraid to travel. She wasn't afriad to meet people. She was full of laughter and mischeif.

She also had a lot of pain. From reading about her I don't think I know she was in such terrible anguish.

Much later in my life I would meet a person much like Jim. Much like Pamela. He would be my first son.

Now I know what torment she must have been under the sweet smile.

Demons...some people have demons.
There lives are not their own, they are doomed. No matter

what we do to try to ease their pain the demons often win.

At least Pam is at peace. I suppose Jim is.

I didn't know him except as a shadow in the Paris twilight when we would run by her place.

I pray my son is at peace as well.