Disparagement


 

As the tendrils of Anxiety curl around my heart and tie themselves tightly around the hollow cone that resembles my stomach I falter inwardly and kneel down in the encumbent swarm of feelings.  Rancid tactile fingers of doom enclose around my Hope and I swallow and digest the utter pain they inflict upon my dreams.

I have spent a few weeks now in preparation for my ultimate future working life.

Nothing has transpired. Unless you count mishap after mishap culminating in losing the very pass – literally the passport – that will get me out there! Tomorrow I should be leaving on my new adventure. Yet still I remain. On this eternal waiting game. Will it ever happen at this stage?

The Anxiety – hello, Darkness my old friend, – has been building – block by infiltrating block – for days exacerbated by a family trip away that left me feeling knocked apart again.

 

So much time to think – to ruminate on feelings. I have seen The Pattern now. A pattern long entrenched within our family. One in which I have a viable part but was never necessary to shape the whole. One in which I serve a purpose and must play my part. If I do not live up to or dare I say  if I actually abscond from my expected role….oh dear.

So I fall back into my allotted role while the Real Me screams at the seams to be heard.

I complete their pattern but it no longer fits or sits easily upon me. It irks and scratches and I wish to be released. I was released.

Perhaps I only returned to test the waters again – to see if my new crotchet was the one I prefer – to ascertain that my changed patterns are indeed the ones I need to keep creating.

My discomfort abides but my sense of detachment remains. My opted for silences in times I would before have spoken out, been strident, rallied forth against accepting the mould they forced me into and expected me to shape up to.

My silent suffering and wish to return to the Real Me.

And then the real me around my kids my real friends and real love.

And now the me that sits alone, thinks alone, thrives alone.

Who Which One goes forward from here?

 

 

Social, social, personal, essential.


Realising you have not written a SINGLE syllable since May!

 

I knew I had been AWOL but not THAT long! I can give myself a litany of excuses – work to earn a crust – you know the REAL work you have to do – family – travel – ya di ya di ya….but seriously all I know I have really done is avoid the written word and in the process denied my very Soul again!

close up photography of boy statue

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So many avenues to pursue and so keen to build up my readers – reading tonight on how to improve that I feel I have done almost all the tips to date.  I read avidly on here and follow any that take my breath away or inspire or excite. I realise publishing sporadically is not helping my cause and passion. Oh, to write daily at a neat little desk, within a proscribed time and fulfill the need without Life intervening. But…that is just not ME! This 2am sprint with laptop propped on my duvet and legs akimbo, while relishing the total  uninterrupted silence that only the dead of night can provide – Yep that’s me!

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While I neglect one blog, I nurture or even create another! While I am obsessed with too many accounts on Insta I leave Twitter sobbing for attention. Dalliances with Pinterest suffice for short bursts and please do not even investigate the myriad of work accounts I NEED to update…Linked In, et al.  Perhaps therein lies my flaw….too many, too scattered, too disparate?

Yet all were born – even the ones still left to germinate and blossom forth – from a long held ambition, nay, a dream – to house all my pandora’s box of ideas and interests in one unit, one space, one building. If not physically and tangibly then why not within the pages of a website/blog from the realms of my chaotic mind. A vestibule of virtuality for each, a window to glance in and share, a compartment for other thoughts. If The Seanachai can never be my cherished coffee spot/bookshop with space for spiritual workshops, education, book signings, tarot, self help, writers and booklovers meetings and travel talks then why not host a virtual rendezvous.

There is so much more to do, to add, to combine. Not least to learn how to emulate the glossy pages and technical naunces of some amazing pages I have visited and coveted only tonight! Mostly to adorn these pages with my many and diverse interests and ideas. A place for me to go, to sojourn and loiter.

Should any of you join me regularly, so much the better.

My virtual coffee shop door will always remain welcoming and ajar….

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Heal Your Life


green wooden chair on white surface

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A good weekend spent with a lovely friend – who gave me a timely reminder of the book

title above.  Having not read my copy for some considerable time I have now unearthed it once more and realising its truth yet again.

Suffering from severe throat and larynx problems for years I remind myself that trying to heal is a conscious decision that you WILL be heard, that your symptoms can only be allayed by refusing to stay mute, to be silenced. Yes, the chart that lists your particular ailment and offers an affirmation to overcome it and a diagnosis of the reasons your body has manifested your mind via some physical outcome is an analogy.

Yet it still rings true. And after months of being perfectly fine the last few weeks have now cancelled out my self remedies and my hoarse, unworkable, inflexible and very painful larynx issues have resurfaced.

With a vengeance.

So thank you, Louise Hay, for revisiting me with your wisdom.

I am well aware of my need to escape the last few weeks, of my need to suppress my true thoughts, of my shock at events thus rendering me speechless again, at the chaos of my tangled thoughts affecting my sense of Self and in turn my speech ability.

The tool of my trade once again tarnished.

A few months ago I asked you to visit me again after A Visit From Mother.

Little did I know a revisit would be so sharp, so vivid, so real and so shocking.

The lady I described in March had my full compassion and willingness to understand.

The lady in ICU the last few weeks had my entire attention and dismay, hurt and anger, pain and disbelief.

How and why could someone still so active and vivacious be here, inert, slipping away in her clinical bed before our very eyes?

When had her health dissapated before us without any of us realising how frail and weak she had become?

Because she is The Matriarch. She always has been. She holds it all, us all, together. What a sharp poignant reminder we have all had of that fact.

The toneless doctor, advising us, Well she IS 81… we can do no more…..

Seeing the effects of days of drugs, seeing her incoherent and out of control was surreal in itself. Always controlled, and very much presentable, who was this wild eyed woman in this bed, vulnerable and susceptible to the hands of the medical staff…or God.

And I havent talked about God in a very, very long while indeed.

So it hits me, all of us, as it did last year when she lost her partner, did this year for me when this lone version of her visited me in March, and does now with a full, staggering impact that just will not subside. We cannot lose her yet.

Did she hear us? Did she know?

Refusing to sleep again, so afraid of sinking back into the deep oblivion of her recent coma state that lost her weeks of Life, and purged her memory. Sitting beside her day after long day until she awoke, a different woman who ‘fell asleep’, talking to her, reassuring her. Staying beside the ward in a kindly proffered room and ladelling full respect onto the ICU staff who fought tirelessly to save her.

Save her they did. Yet more than that.

This strong, sassy, elegant woman saved herself. Her strength of Spirit shone through. After her ‘condemning’ the doctor in question avoided our eyes, our questions as this amazing woman astounded all by pulling slowly but very surely through. Laughter at her demands, her jokes, her admissions of hating lying so still and resting despite her trauma – the staff grew to love her on the ward and were sad to see her go when, finally and thankfully, she was deemed well enough to leave ICU five weeks on and join the respiratory or heart ward.

And now, in the blink of an eye she is home! I have lost most of the end of the summer and all of September into mid October. Yet she is home. Not listening to a word of our advice, finding it impossible to rest or sit still, but deeply aware that she must. All this exactly one year on from losing her dear partner. It would have been so easy to have given up, given in, to have turned away from a life now lonely, days now long, hopes and plans now dashed.

Her family. She tells me her children, our children – her grandchildren and her great grandchildren have begged her to stay. In their hearts, minds, souls. So much life, love and laughter left in her yet. So many more memories to make.

Welcome home strong, sassy, indomitable Mother.

 

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My Life Encapsulated (circa the noughties!) 2214:You discover my dusty old hard drive in an antique shop – Buyer Beware!


Ebb & Flow of Time

Ebb & Flow of Time

Dear Stranger/purveyor and purchaser of useless artefacts

Please sort the wheat from the chaff but do not neglect to salvage any hidden jewel you may haplessly discover in Aladdin’s outdated cave! While I won’t explore your reasons in what is surely now an even more multi- techno infested era for requiring the hard drives of the hard lives of the old days – I nonetheless urge you to enjoy your treasure….

Amongst the plethora of incessant ramblings,half abandoned novels, layers of dark poetry and frissons of humourous riddles, I do hope you take time to delve deeper still – wherein you may discover …A Life.

A life truly lived.

Raucous parties with friends and salacious siblings

Joyful events of half forgotten days that lie dormant in my memory just as they have in this dusty domain all these years

Gleaming freshfaced cherubs whose images change month by month, year by year recorded for posterity when memory would oft suffice better , the angst of adolescence cringingly portrayed and mercilessly captured – until the groomed and final product – adults! –  emerge – or perhaps the latter is on my updated hard drive.

I hope you can allocate some time to this life half remembered – I rarely did.

And now I know I sit in deep regret of that.

But as I write on this date in 2014 and tuck this pointless missive into the box with the now defunct hard drive – its shiny new, all singing, all dancing counterpart placed mockingly in its old residence – I hope you will tread softly.

For you tread back through the remnants of my Past – the deep dark undergrowth of abandoned thoughts,people,lives and places that in their moment were real, alive, tangible to me…. And should you choose to delete, edit, repair please spare the reaper to some extent.

Had I but known the tools myself to Photoshop, edit and adapt a life at the correct given points perhaps the heartaches and hurt could have been avoided. Yet the healing and lessons learned along that pathway truly enhanced who I  – and they- became.

Our lives are truly in your hands…

Oh and although I will be long deleted from this life I carved out 200 years from now do seek me out in some isolated burial ground and drop by – perhaps I can even be the historical research for your own new creative pennings –  the incomparable Past of my Now will certainly conflict with the hard drive of your present!

If only we had the foresight to apply hindsight to the present….