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;
Howl at the Dark Horse.
Ashah ashah ashah ashah….wind rattles
my face, my life.
Leather, the reins
as I steam through dark night.
Breath seems so tight,
so determined, so hard
that my howling is cutting,
scarring the world.
I ride through the bracken
not afraid of Dark Horse
for she and me shatter
boundaries with force.
This terror is screaming
in sinew and vein
as my body convulses;
Ashah ashah ashah ashah…..
* dedicating this to all who suffer with invisible illness.*
~ The Voice ~
Alan Rickman 1946 – 2016
I feel as if I only had you
for a brief moment,
Somewhere out in
vast mystical wasteland,
there is vibration new ~
a chocolate velvet
clustered sound ~
you belong to many
yet to no one at all…..
nothing could be
Enjoy the Mystery.
I offer this up as a shout into the wilderness where the unjust rule….. I dedicate it to those I love who are suffering incessant blows to their lives and to all others in similar situations…..
*The Fracking of Lives*
Some people have lost everything,
some never had anything to lose….
Some are hopelessly unable to
survive their life crashing as it goes
on taking them down in spirals
on to their empty bellies…..
Some governments help those in need,
others place invisible guns to their heads
and say…. “I’m sorry, I wish I could help you”
as they employ no sense of human discernment.
Yet instead, they stick to their mindless, heartless scripts……
I’m praying on the knees of my heart tonight
for those who will soon have not an ounce more to give,
not voice left to rage with, no tears left to cry,
no home in which to feel safe enough to cry those tears…..
not a crumb to feed their children – not one of them will be safe.
And still, governments sit on benches lined with bloods of many
which they spin into fine wines, fine foods and capacious rooms.
They spike the minds of the poor and massage the backs of
of evil men of trecherous acts….
Yet behind the hallowed doors of their white houses
and in the shadows of tall clocks by deep rivers,
their smiles and pen strokes annihilate the broken and lost.
Do they see the poor and sick in their suffering?
No….. they smell the stench of vile acts they themselves commit,
as the suffering are led away to be shoved deep into graves;
the fracking of lives.
The rolling of the rain
shattering the silence
on muddy windowpanes….
Fire embers glowing hot & red
while bare feet stamp
defiantely on their way to bed.
Once she knew, or thought she did,
of where the code on how to live,
Yet now, mellow lines within
her ageing skin,
carry the stories of
of her kith and kin …..
Like rain on dirty glass
is never to be truly clean
so the tears which flow,
tumbling, quietly down between
the voices in her scrambled mind,
always, she would know,
her roots are never to be left behind.
I find I hold my breath,
as if nothing will get me
if I stay absolutely motionless.
Then at other times,
I notice I was once oblivious,
the horrors of the damaged world
invisible to me, I thought all to be beauty.
Most of the time now,
I have apparently woken up in hell,
caught in the trap of seeing the non beauty,
having forgotten to stay anchored to the reality
of the presence of both.
If I were Queen of Heaven,
everyone would have a crown.
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.
When The Heals Of Your Read Shoes DO Still Click Together!
Well quite honestly…. if you’re reading this and you are living with Fibromyalgia or any other chronic and debilitating illness, rest assured… I don’t take it or anything else health related, lying down! Well, sorry, I do because i’m frequently completely knackered during the day and can’t sleep at night! Horizontal I do go in order to snooze, sleep, allow my aching bod to stretch out and not have the pain pulling me down.
Ok now let’s see…..
What is it your heart longs for?
How did you ever mislay that longing?
What do you need to do to get it back?
Do you LISTEN to the voice of your pain?
If not, why not?
if yes you do, then what in heaven’s name is it asking of you?
All Dorothy wanted was to go home. She wanted it SO bad that she clicked the heels of her red shoes together and – wham….. she was home…… Now, you’re probably wondering if you should rush out and buy a pair of sparklingly red Dorothy shoes! I did – sort of! I bought RED ANKLE BOOTS!!! Dorothy believed in going home so much that she brought it into being….. that’s what we need to do my Fibro Friends.
Ok – I hear you muttering back at me, your fair share of expletives….. ‘Look’ (as the politicians in the UK all like to preface their ‘profound’ statements with)…… The medics don’t know the cause of FMS. There is no absolute test for it….. so, how can they possibly say we cannot become healthy and healed from this debilitating illness? In short, they don’t know! I’m aware of others who have been able to revive their lives, each having worked hard in finding out what’s right for them. We can too! I believe it.
I have been running a Fibromyalgia Support Group during the last 18months. One thing I firmly believe is that we will not recover if we hold on to the notion that drugs are the answer. My mother had FMS, I have it and my daughter has it. It is like obesity; it is complex. The Rheumatologist I saw for my diagnosis said – “We now believe it is embodied trauma, psychological and or physical which is triggered by a virus and releases as pain a fatigue in the body.” I began to cry. He thought he had upset me. NO! on the contrary. As I have trained a Body Psychotherapist, I understood this very well and was hugely relieved to have a diagnosis which made sense to me. I remember so clearly my mother saying her doctor had said the pain was all in her mind. This suggestion had upset her terribly. Many people I have spoken to also believe this to be a negative statement. Unfortunately the bedside manner of many doctors and consultants is not one of speaking in language which is conducive to clarity to the lay person who is suffering!
Yes….. I am saying I too believe it is in the mind AND body. No, please don’t get me wrong…. I do not, let me emphasize that – I DO NOT believe we are imagining it! The effects of Trauma are destructive…. it seeps into our very being without us even realising it and sits smoldering away. “But”, I hear you saying…… yes, I know….. your childhood was ok…. you have no nasty memories of car accidents, falls or other shocking experiences. Ok …. I hear you AND I also believe your body might have another story, IF YOU GIVE IT SPACE and ALLOW IT A VOICE!
What do I mean by that? Close your eyes breathe deeply noticing the feelings and sensations in your body without judging them as good or bad, right or wrong. This may be difficult to experience at first but the more you engage with this practise, the easier it will become. We are showing the body compassion and for some of us, this will be pretty much the first time of doing so. Notice the pain, stuckness, tension – whatever it might be…. just notice it…. don’t try to change it…. it really does begin its own journey of change by bringing awareness to it. Just breathe. Find the gratitude in yourself – for me it usually starts of with something like – “I feel so grateful for the space to just do this” or “ I am grateful for my breath.” Or the sun, the cat, the trees…. whatever….. it’s just changing the energy from ‘ouch, I hurt’ which is contraction, to thankfulness which is expansion….. pain is contraction … freedom from pain is expansion.
By beginning on the is journey, we ARE clicking the heels of our “sparklingly red Dorothy shoes”…… you never know where that act might take you!
Special heartfelt empathy and warmth to you if you are reading this and you, like me, have Fibromyalgia or a chronic, debilitating auto immune illness.
Twilight and I am nestled up the corner
in my generous chair
completely holding my rounded form
like a mother holds her baby so tenderly.
“I am not ready for winter”
I mewled in my little mind
as the street light simmered its nauseous amber
and the fire waited to be warmed up
by matches, paper and crackling kindling.
My thoughts are flitting and monkey like
as my body, a little anxious,
wants to dart back and forth
tidying, cleaning, packing for my trip….
my trip…… my journey to foreign parts
where one goes to support an only child
through major surgery.
This is not easy and yet,
tears just will not break through the torrid barrier
of respectablity, capability, politeness,
I actually want to scream –
I want to scream a viscious and vile scream.
It is not about being a victim
or the noxious stuff
which negativity is made of.
It is about
the incredulity of yet another wretched
entanglement of Life and Living’s experiences…..
I can accept AND I can rage…
Do not come to my door
attempting to stop my voice or hers….
the voluble need of anyone who is in pain.
Join with us and scream
that it may turn to laughter
as the truthfulness of all things
falls into place.