Enough is Enough!

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! 



Seize the day as night comes slowly
to gather and hide the Light.
Be present in your breath for
therein lies the wisdom of your Life.
Crack wide the rigid bones of your ribs
for there, nestled within that cage,
lies the cavern of your wild and glorious Love.

~ The Voice ~
Alan Rickman 1946 – 2016

I feel as if I only had you
for a brief moment,
and now,

Somewhere out in
vast mystical wasteland,
there is vibration new ~
a chocolate velvet
clustered sound ~

floating ~
suspended ~
light ~

you belong to many
yet to no one at all…..
nothing could be
more right…..
Enjoy the Mystery.

The Work of Hands

The Work of Hands
Staring down at my creased hands,
I see a journey with tales embeded in every fold.
Mothers hands were worn and tired
reast on her knees on her apron.
I would notice them when she was sewing,
mending my clothes, darning a sock
or stitching on a button which hung by a single thread;
I felt safe when they were busily employed,
her rough, sore, sad hands.
Here I am with mine, ageingly flabby,
now for the first time, with long, manicured nails.
At sixty one I feel just a little bit more like a woman.
I wonder what mum’s hands would have looked like,
manicured and cared for. I wish I had known.

Retreat Day 1: a bolt hole from the world…..


Here I am … slept like an irritable mog who can’t ruffle up the cosy cot enough to be happy.

It was grim at 7am – no rain but a very sullen face on the sky hanging around up there wondering what to do…. It looked like it too had woken up too early. Damn… no milk. I wish I were a vegan or something as I’d know what to do. I find that. Those skinny (no slight intended here!) vegans I know always seem to know what to do about food….. I don’t get it somehow…. but then they are the ones who still drink soya milk….. so, maybe not such a good plan to envy them, or anyone else, as we all end up as dust in the end anyway…..

A dear friend of mine was batting ” What the hell” up into the air with almost a singing tone to her voice last week…. “Yeah, what the hell” said I….. “What the’trucking’ hell does any of it matter at the end of the day?” ( I have coined the word ‘trucking’ as a substitute for an expletive my daughter typo-ed yesterday!) I mean, we have lived this life into our sixties and are tired… (are you tired too?) yep, wretchedly exhausted with having to meet everyone else’s targets, other people’s requirements and desires for us. People think they know you and quite frankly, I have spent most of my life wondering who the ‘truck’ I am, so how on earth they think THEY know, I have no idea! No doubt an idealised image of what they want me to be, through their own personal filter in their mind’s psychological computer.

I had to go out…. I had to get some milk and ended up with a few other things too, including a charity shop purchase, for 80p two children’s books ….. I drove to Overstrand and sat in the car park where I read one of them…. you see, I am doing things I don’t normally do and refraining from things I DO normally do! Reading a children’s book is such a delightful thing to do if, and only if the illustrations are bothered over…. I mean, the stuff our children and grandchildren are subjected to these days in the way of picture books, well why do some people bother!….. I climbed into “Puddle Street” on those pages, in the snow (in a blazing hot Sunday afternoon in September on the edge of the sea in Norfolk!) and felt the cold frosty whiteness all around me as the children delivered Christmas stockings to everyone’s door in the village…. I mean, you know, you just can’t let these delicious little books be ALL for the kiddies, can you? My inner child went into the book to play; what a great time she had …..

I’m avoiding noise, television, radio….. people. I am allowing the silence. I am noticing I need probably at least two more weeks than these three little days can provide. I knew that would be the case but even so, the coming down out of the gear which keeps me pushing on in the same old rut as this society just ‘loves’ to be in, is not an easy task. It’s laced with arsenic, slippery greasy ropes and angst as I try to haul myself back to me and I ask…. Will I be forever trying to escape the clutches of the ancestors trying to pull me down into the pit….? For me, the person I am, is wanting to unzip this baggage and step out, as myself – not a michelin man substituting for a member of the family.

I come, driven mad
by hungry spectres within
and without, who pluck
the fibre of my being
loose like stuffed toys squeezed empty.

And it’s all a journey. Now that I have stuffed my stuffing back in, I shall go back to my meditation chair and ponder on the state of resistance…..

……do comment if you would like to, if you dare…. we are all on the conveyor belt to eternity in one form or another though we don’t have to be singing from the same score!


As Any Mother Would

…..and my eyes stood on blood red
stalks once again,
as the tornado of words and emotions
ripped through my heart……
“Now I have MRSA, mum.
I have to wash clothes, bedding and towels
EVERY day until it’s gone.”
Speechless but not tearless I felt
the panic that only a mother knows.
As if she needed yet another trial
to challenge her life and those of
her young, wildly sweet children.
As if Chiari 1 Malfomation weren’t enough,
as if Life couldn’t just sqeeze a break for her
out of the tube we all roll around in……
I wanted to bang my head against the cottage wall.
I wanted…. I still want….. to make it all go away,
as any mother would……

Fighting Sleep

Fighting Sleep 

I notice I can’t take my hands off the keys. 
I want to write.
My body, who is clearly a separate entity
has other plans – and yet,
I want to be here in the rough and tumble 
of the seeker’s life,
the writer’s sweat, 
the poet’s playroom of deliciousness.
Am I still the inquisitive four year old
fighting the sleep?
Throwing feather pillows in the air? 
If I am, my little heart has Loves to live
and passions to embrace…..
Perhaps now I have said it….
allowed it,
embraced it…..
maybe now I can leave my fight 
and fly into my sleep of dreams. 



The skies sit like non risen dough, 
heavy and flat.
Water swims on pavements and roads 
as if oozing from the earth 
and all feels very Novemberly; 
dank, dark, cold as winter earth. 
The darkness of my shelter is heavier than ever.
I, like the skies feel heavy and flat
as my emotions want to ooze from every pore.
I would like to gauge holes in my roof 
to allow the joyous light into every corner, 
so desperate is my longing.
I would like to peel off the layers of a heavy life
and tucking them into an envelope,
I would post them off to the 
“Department for Heavy Lives”…..
Perhaps they have a Joyback scheme.
If they did have such a place, I would peel and pare 
until every joyless thought and action were replaced 
with Autumn’s Acacia golds, Beech rusts 
and the chestnuttiness of the faithful Oak……….
Yet for now, dancing with my thoughts and words 
are enough to heal cold, empty spaces in me.