It’s much easier if I just stay in bed. Force me out in the morning and I am like a sticky slug come in from the cold, to scof the cat food and leave slime on the floor… not a pretty sight. This is what Lockdown does….slugs break in and munch away inside your mind after eating the cat food first…. I mean to say, WHAT pray, do they think they are doing with our lives…..?
Don’t ask “who are ‘they’ ?” My lips, in this moment, are sealed ….
Experiments abound… give me land to grow my crops under greenhouse domes… let’s go back to carrier pigeon to message each other…. buy a cart and a horse…. so this means i need more land…. no houses for the poor unless inside mold clad walls of vile unbreathable stench…. oh yep and who do they put in these vile places? The black skinned brothers and sisters of this land. …….. not even stray dogs would have to live in those conditions….
I feel unable to do a breaking thing about it.. too old? Nope, but in truth, too worn down by the arrows that slice into the arms of me, my child, and grandchildren….. the poisonous words of the unwise…. the stupid people filled with hate and fueled by jealousy…. the money lenders who break the back of families in need….. break the back of all.
So, be done. Cast it aside as best you can. Get up in the morning and chant. Chant to overcome the torch bearer of the dark flame who eats away at your heart … you … I …. us. We have the flame of Life and Love…. put one foot in front of the other. Sleep when it’s time to sleep, sing when it’s time to sing and stand up for what truth, always.
Love is only cold in the heart, when we feed it with the junk in our mind…..
Love always, witholding nothing, but do not forget to Love your ‘self’ a whole lot too.
If you knew me you would brush away my weeping with a thousand gentle touches as weightless as a cooling breeze, soft as purest light, silent as a dark night’s moonbeam. If you knew me, your heart would know that you are my healing, you are my sacred self, you are the Belovéd.
8th of July 2020
Written from the inspiration of the mysterious nature of life and love. When we think, say, or write something of tenderness, who are we truly writing this for or about? Perhaps it is about ourselves? Perhaps I am the ‘Belovéd here? 🙏
I am sitting here in my pocket-sized garden in the dappled light of late afternoon sun. It is Good Friday, April 10th, 2020. I am three weeks into lockdown, due to COVID 19 running wild on the planet. There is but a little breeze, as a sleepy black cat lies deep in front of the doorway, moving only occasionally, stirred by a barking dog, a yelling crow, or the banging of dishes indoors, in the kitchen. I am strategically sat within a space where no one can spy me….. my seven years old me grins inside…. She doesn’t want to be found just now, regardless of who might want her for this or that, nicking bits out of her flesh, like hungry corvids, just to get to, and feast on the abundance of her bones.
I’m pulled out of my drifting mind by green nets of seaweed catching my thoughts, then tossing them nonchalantly into the brine and slime of weed and fish…..
Silvery shimmering strands of light seep gently through this knight’s tousled hair… Sweat upon his lips, syllables upon his tongue, a longing deep within his muscles, a knowing in his Wise & Sacred Heart
I have so many things I want to do… so many loves I want to squeeze and tussle and tumble in grass with ….. create a treehouse and dyeing my magnificent knickers to make the flag…. And the sign,’Owl’s Hoot’ outside my den….. and I, the twenty-first century Rapunzel, high up in my tree of Spring-green leaves and sticky buds, will dangle the plaited scars my life over the edge of this bower…… Soon he will come to the roots of my ancestral tree, and there …. Oh – and – there… he shall soft noises make, until the sound of life itself, the Om of time and space, resonates within the fibres of my heart.
I have spent my life building a ‘successful’ career as a Singing Teacher, yet at the age of 57 it crashed into a brick wall with the diagnosis of an autoimmune condition and at 58 my first cancer diagnosis. That was 7 years ago and I’m still on that journey, one which appears to have come as a gift in the form of a wonky gene. I find my world, which I am led to believe has helped many, has unravelled before my eyes, dissolving the notches of ego and leaving me more Spiritually naked then ever before. The bells and whistles have stopped ringing yet a simplicity, a sempatico, a sincerity is rising. Many times over the last 7 years I have heard these words in my head: “who am I without my work?” The answer is – “I am me” ….. now ready to listen more compassionately and with greater humility.
Cancer may well be what eventually takes my physical life, but it will never take my Spiritual life. Cancer does not have to be a ‘death’ sentence.
I had been thinking for some time that I would like to change the nature of my blogs. This wonderful short video written by the creatively erudite Eve Ensler, has come up for me this morning on social media and has given me the hefty nudge I’ve been needing!
All my life my body has needed, no…. y-e-a-r-n-e-d for a revolution, I tell you a damned great big, rooted in the fertile ground of Mother Earth, Revolution! Well, here I am at long last, ‘facing’ my body, standing in that revolutionary soil, feet first, head-on.
It’s a tragic and terrible thing to ‘awaken’ and find yourself emerging from sleepwalking through life. She, I was a ”fat little girl” who ached from the disrespect coming at me… the energetic violations of a world hell-bent on making me wrong, or at least, squashing my voice, squashing me, suffocating the screams. They weren’t actual screams you see, they were on a parr with Edvard Munch’s ‘Silent Scream’ … a scream that rips apart the fascia in the body, MY body.
Climbing trees to escape was my way. Hiding in that oak tree where no one could see me, hear me, smell me …. touch me; I didn’t want them to touch my soul. I hid in fields of tall grasses, hollow trees, dry ditches where Cuckoo Pint grew with such voracious sexual beauty that they embedded themselves in my six year old mind, to be replicated, unwittingly, in my fifties on canvas.
Cuckoo Pint growing wild in the British countryside.
‘Passion Fruit’ Acrylics on Canvas circa 2005
I hadn’t realised as a child (who would?), that I wanted to break free with the insanity of a woman who could be stoned at any given moment, the psychological pain in me was so great. The wild young thing who had rising passions … in the body in the Soul …. in my heart… passions for sounds, colours, shapes. The desperation to be dramatically daubing colour everywhere…. in my hair, you know what I mean, like people do now…. oh-bring-it-on…… I feel it brewing… damned convention, wretched polite society, that girl is still there waiting to be met…. Of course she found the Cuckoo Pint voluptuously divine in its shape and colour. Of course she recognised its significance in her own physicality…… but not in words…. it was a kinesthetic sensing and knowing. Only looking back do I see the fog, smog sticky old bog in which she tried to breathe. N.B. not being able to breathe can cause brain fog….
You could ask me, “but what happened to you in your childhood then?” and my answer could be and is….. “You will have to listen deeply. You will need ears that can permeate the impenetrable. You will only understand if you can come to the rawness of the psyche with me, where there are the bones of the bare and broken; the molten lava of Gravitas and Expansiveness of Life.”
This is where I now invite you to come on my journey with me. My amazing life of a woodman’s daughter where suddenly, smashed and grabbed at the age of fifty-eight, it all changed. In 2011 the diagnosis of colon cancer was upon my body and my heart and then ALL that follows on from that is not even circuitous, but more a direct shaken by my bones sort of story….. the story of little c. Please note, dear traveler, there is no Big C in MY life and never will be… I am bigger than it will ever be, regardless of how this all spins and weaves its way through to my transition into the next bit of my journey ……
This is the first of, who knows how many posts, exploring my body’s need to be all ‘present and correct’ just as it is! If you’re interested or know of anyone who might relate, please share……
I explained to my therapist on Thursday that, having been on and off diets since aged 9 years old (I am now 64), I had a major breakthrough on Wednesday evening. I was flicking through TV channels (as you do!) and came across that nauseating programme: ‘Embarrassing Fat Bodies’. Being the self-flagellating person that I *was*, I watched 10 minutes of it, enough to then turn it off. What I did hang around for was a segment where a
I was flicking through TV channels (as one does!) and came across that nauseating programme: ‘Embarrassing Fat Bodies’. Being the self-flagellating person that I *was*, I watched 10 minutes of it, enough to then turn it off. What I did hang around for, was a segment where a 56 year old woman had lost 14stones. She looked older than 56, but the real shock came when she was asked to remove her upper clothing. All the weight she had lost had left her with incredible amounts of loose skin which, had she been 95 years old it wouldn’t have been a shock, it would have been a natural progression of the physical body changing.
Suddenly, even though I have seen images like this before, I realised I shall stop this struggle to be an average weight because I have never been and now, I never will be because I refuse to put myself through this a minute longer. To have my body turn into a collection of shrivelled creases, where it cannot spring back to youthful smoothness, is not what I want and neither would I intend to have it surgically removed.
A lot (most) of my adult life has been spent *TRYING* to be acceptable, beautiful, lithe and slim…… That’s it…. no more. IT’S ME TIME NOW …… JUST AS I AM!
It’s so easy to think we are ugly… I have been there, have done it, still do it, am beginning to stop it….. I empathise…. but I also say, we see more of our own imperfections (what are those anyway!?) than anyone else does. I/we can easily say how beautiful I think you/we are, yet… that is a fleeting consolation to you/us unless you/we believe it ourselves…. I know you know this. There is something about living this life where one of our many lessons is to truly embrace our humanness, with our beauty, our ugliness, our suffering and our elation. At the end of the day, you/I/we are perfect in our imperfections and WE ALL make up the majestic mural of what it is to be gloriously human. You are stunning;
Falling into your tired
and gentle eyes,
I found in you a
from the silver moon
through the clear,
stark window pane.
I looked with my
humming heart at you,
and then moon,
in her vibrant wisdom,
threaded and melded
our sacred sounds with
the eternal line of time.
Time – which has
no beginning and no end
and asks nothing of we two
but to simply be