I never seem to have enough time in my life. 24 hours is just too short a day for the life I live, which is usually at breakneck speed.
I have numerous material things to do, just like everyone else and I have my working world which can take up 10 hours in a day if I haven't earned enough to live on for the week and of course I have family which can eat into time too. But it is just so short a time for the rest of my word. I paint, sew, knit, weave, sculpt and write. I enjoy walking the hills and mountains and I love to swim in the sea. There is always something I haven't time to do and it is very frustrating.
Organisational skills are at zero currently so as a result I am in a muddle. On my desk is a years worth of receipts which I should be filling out for my tax form , on the same desk are half a dozen letters I haven't replied too, a series of commissions for portraits I have yet to get at and a mug of cold coffee that has mouldered over the last 3 weeks because I haven't had time to move it...to be honest simple forgetting but thats no excuse either.
Add to this lot I am a passionate reader, love my wargames on Evony and have to eat inbetween and love an hour shower or a four hour bath and time becomes very short indeed.
Ah yes there is also the social side of life and my personal life and they are as demanding as all the rest of it and so I find...time and I are not in sync.
So I stopped, I stood still and discovered that an awful lot of the time...I waste it worrying about not having it. This article or blog (what a name) is really an attempt to organise my mind into a positive frame so I can organise my time more effectively. I can see where I can make some time and I can see how to challenge a little of the wastage but then I will have to become very rigid in the application of time into my world.
That created another aspect to look at. I love doing things at my own pace and discovered that when I don't have to travel I will work through till 4am without even realising, sleep until 12 noon and think its early or go to bed at 10pm and get up at 5am and still feel fresh as a daisy and there is the rub. Time is not real, it is an invention of man to create a parameter, so we can all interelate with each other, become 'at one' in a similar zone of reality.
I have therefore decided to resign from time. I am being serious too, no more mondays or tuesdays ad infinitum with the exception of using it for connections with others, I shall simply have my own time. I shall sleep and wake at my own pace, work when I wish too and sleep when I need to and with the exception of my relation to the rest of the world I shall create my own timeline.
No more wishing it was friday because I will get paid...I shall leave money in the bank so i can use it at 2am in the worlds morning if i wish. I shall become my own clock and demand from myself only that i do whatever needs to be done at a time that is suitable to me. I am removing times domination in my world and becoming comfortable with my own time and my own timings.
Lots of things have caused me to look at time this way, one of the problems I have had recently is having time alone, time to simply 'be me' and so in the age old manner of all women, with my perogatives set to 'changing my mind if I want to' I am taking some time off.
Monday, 28 September 2009
Friday, 25 September 2009
Should I open a Gallery
Simple title, complex question. I have the chance of a lifetime. To open a Gallery. My dream come true! after years of trying to do what is right by my family, my friends and all the stuff life throws at you, surviving it or conquering it...the time is here, right now...
Do I go for it, or do I wait.
I have the chance of the right shop, in the right place and possibly it is even the right time, though I had sort of earmarked this time next year for this last aspect of my art journey.But I am filled with questions.
Is my art good enough is the first query. Can I really sell my work to the public, will I be able to sit at a cash desk and listen to people pondering wether they like or dislike a piece of work. Can my ego take the knocks that come with a critical appraisal of my work in my hearing, by people I don't know ? In the end I paint from the heart. I am not the most technically brilliant artists, actually I am very slap dash in some ways, but I do paint with passion and verve and I love the subjects I choose as inspiration. I even have a muse in that I only have to stare at the sea for a while and the images I want to paint present themselves as if by magic.
Of course I worry that no one would buy my work, after all thats the same fear anybody who produces anything has inside themselves be it music, paintings or simply a jumper Nana knitted for a beloved grandchild.
The question uppermost in the mind is' will they like it?'. naturally I have had time to get feed back from people and though I have asked questions from people in the cafe where my work is displayed and I am lucky to have been given commissions especially for my protraits...I still have those fears inside me.
The best feedback has come from FaceBook, there I have posted images of my work and people have been kind enough to comment, created a few thoughtful insights and one of them has born fruit in that I now have a small fan club of my work which has really made me feel very grateful.
I have three major collectors of my work and each one has encouraged me to continue. One has suggested I make posters of some of my work and it is all encouraging...but could I supply a gallery ? would my work be good enough for a general public and not just a chosen few of whom I understand their taste in art ?
Thats query one.
Query two is simple economics, its a gamble to pay out money for a shop that is going to be shut for at least 4 months of the year and will have a need for rotating stock all year long. I will have to open for specific seasons, make myself available as an artist for consultations and I will have to deal with the art fraternity. All of which costs that age old dominator ....money.
I am busy with figures, looking at cost effectiveness, time and energy needed to create, stock control and so much else and behind it all is the simple need to provide a service which in return will provide me with an income to live on.
I don't know any rich artists....so there is a BIG query over that.
Do I take the chance or don't I.......................................help
Do I go for it, or do I wait.
I have the chance of the right shop, in the right place and possibly it is even the right time, though I had sort of earmarked this time next year for this last aspect of my art journey.But I am filled with questions.
Is my art good enough is the first query. Can I really sell my work to the public, will I be able to sit at a cash desk and listen to people pondering wether they like or dislike a piece of work. Can my ego take the knocks that come with a critical appraisal of my work in my hearing, by people I don't know ? In the end I paint from the heart. I am not the most technically brilliant artists, actually I am very slap dash in some ways, but I do paint with passion and verve and I love the subjects I choose as inspiration. I even have a muse in that I only have to stare at the sea for a while and the images I want to paint present themselves as if by magic.
Of course I worry that no one would buy my work, after all thats the same fear anybody who produces anything has inside themselves be it music, paintings or simply a jumper Nana knitted for a beloved grandchild.
The question uppermost in the mind is' will they like it?'. naturally I have had time to get feed back from people and though I have asked questions from people in the cafe where my work is displayed and I am lucky to have been given commissions especially for my protraits...I still have those fears inside me.
The best feedback has come from FaceBook, there I have posted images of my work and people have been kind enough to comment, created a few thoughtful insights and one of them has born fruit in that I now have a small fan club of my work which has really made me feel very grateful.
I have three major collectors of my work and each one has encouraged me to continue. One has suggested I make posters of some of my work and it is all encouraging...but could I supply a gallery ? would my work be good enough for a general public and not just a chosen few of whom I understand their taste in art ?
Thats query one.
Query two is simple economics, its a gamble to pay out money for a shop that is going to be shut for at least 4 months of the year and will have a need for rotating stock all year long. I will have to open for specific seasons, make myself available as an artist for consultations and I will have to deal with the art fraternity. All of which costs that age old dominator ....money.
I am busy with figures, looking at cost effectiveness, time and energy needed to create, stock control and so much else and behind it all is the simple need to provide a service which in return will provide me with an income to live on.
I don't know any rich artists....so there is a BIG query over that.
Do I take the chance or don't I.......................................help
Sunday, 20 September 2009
A Jewel of Time
Summer is ending and Autumn is ushered in with the whisper quiet fall of leaves and the colours of Summer turning to the crimson, gold and bronze of Autumn.
This is a Jewel of Time in the year, a genuine moment of glory. Many people welcome Summer with its brassy greens and golds and its bright cherry reds and brazen hues of glory. I too love Summer but it is Autumn which holds my heart. In this season, when all the brass has gone and the bronzed and soft golds come into their own my heart swells with love for the earth and a joy I never feel at any other time of the year spreads through my entire conscious.
Here is the time of harvest, we have the fruits of our labours to pack into bottles, cans, packs, cellars and nets. Bottles wait to hold the wines and the chutneys, jams and pickles we make from our allotment treasure and hedgerow gathers. Does that sound old fashioned ? that I take the time to make jams and chutneys ? or that I actually harvest food I have grown myself to keep me through the year ? it isn't old fashioned though is it, it is the time honoured way of our ancestors and if modern newspapers are to be believed it is coming back into fashion ' being pro active' making our own 'things' foods and the like.
I love walking the little roads of my home town. Harlech is surrounded by wonderful little woodlands and forests as well as country roads. True I never collect soft fruits or apples from roadway hedges, I don't want a dose of Carbon Monoxide with my pie, but I look for other harvests. Filbert Nuts (Hazel to the uninitiated or Cob ) and wild flowers to dry for my Pot Pourii. I look for wonderful leaves that have turned in colour to preserve, I dry them, varnish them and use them as book marks through the year. By varnish I literally mean varnish but find that hair lacquer works just as well. I search the woodlands for walking stick material too and wands and staffs and sometimes I am lucky and find a little twisted Hazel or a piece of Ivy wood that is gnarled with time and aged into a wondrous puzzle of what limb started where and where does it end. I am making a 'tree' of such roots at the moment, one that will eventually become a Fairy Stronghold and a nightlight for a little child. All these little things are the gift of Time. Jewels in a necklace of moments when seeds where planted, or wood grafted or flowers fruiting.
I love collecting the apples for cider or apple pies and the soft fruits of blackberries, haws and rose hips to make wines with. I simply enjoy the involvement in the making and the eating or drinking becomes another bonus another Jewel in my collection of Time.
There are other Jewels to collect too. Photographs of the children who started school this year, or went to 'big school' for the first time, or have just left school and are going to sixth form or college or Uni. All these images become captured moments in time that will never be relived again, never happen again in the persons life...frozen on paper in prints that will stay forever the colour of the day, the moment. A Jewel to reflect a memory or create a link in a history of a life or a family connection. A hundred years from now there will be people look at those photographs and perhaps remember a story, a moment when they themselves began a new day, a new way and link to the ancestors in front of them. Maybe a child will say to Nana 'was that you in the olden days Nana? and out will come the rest of the Jewels to jog memories, bring back that captured moment long enough to create a smile, and another Jewel will be created, this time for that future child's life to enhance and polish and remember with their own grandchild another 100 years on.
I wanted so much to keep so many of the photographs I used to have, sadly they got lost in transit when I moved house once too often. So I am currently tracking down anyone and anywhere that may have photographs of my past, my children's pasts. I pounce on friends albums on Face Book and happily download an image I thought lost in time. I rifle friends photographs when I visit their homes, I go back in time to old newspapers and sometimes the archives of the BBC or ITV looking for images once part of my real time life.All in all I find little golden treasures, little sparkling Jewels of memory and treasure them all the more because I thought them lost.
Each moment in time becomes precious even more so when you feel that you are approaching the end of time in your world. Someone is passing or passes without foreknowledge and those moments with them have gone or will go and you have no more Jewels of time with them. It is then that you realise how precious time is, why I call them Jewels. Those memories, sparked by the turn of Autumn leaves have brought my mind to the precious moments not only of the worlds turn but of my liefs journey.
Quite a few years ago now, I lost my brother. We had shared much in our lives and until he was 21 we shared a happy and very loving relationship. I was 14 years older than he and my sister was 12 years older and he often said he had 3 mothers not one. Sadly we had a fall out and for 13 years we hardly spoke unless it was to be civil. The year before he passed away he wrote to me, an apology and an expression of sentiments which was and is to this day a precious moment in our time as brother and sister. That letter too is a Jewel. One I took much comfort from when he had passed away. For others would have taken the sadness and the hurt I felt, the loss and the pain I held inside me as I supported my little Mum through an horrendous moment of time that has not ceased for her in its cruelty and its emptiness. Those people tried so hard to cause further pain with silly remarks and stupid contentious and eagerly used jealousies and contemptuous supposition, to hurt not only myself but my Mother. Comments and remarks which where wholly unfounded and totally untrue where suddenly being spoken 'as if the truth', 'as if truly witnessed' but I had my Jewel, my letter which spoke of love and concern and truths and my Jewel sustained me and proved the lie. I read that letter until I almost shredded the paper because it was all I had left of my Brothers Truth and mine that was ours and ours alone. My Jewel of a letter helped me through a bitter winter of coldness and even now is one of the centrepieces of my Family Ancestral Records. No matter other peoples 'truths' I have my own proof and it is enough.
Whatever prompted my brothers letter writing, it became a jewel of light in a dark time, a tangible proof and above all an expression of love that sustained. I have kept other jewels of time in my world. Letters from my Mother, sadly I have none of my Fathers beautiful writing and letters and e mails from friends which I carefully print off to keep in my life journal. Words that describe or reveal sentiment or actions which reflect on myself or my family and sometimes on my friends. Each aspect revealing a layer of my own time with them, or for them.
So I have Autumn to remind me of times gifts:-
Autumns colours gently shaded
Brassy Summers colours faded
Greens and Golds have gone to bed
Reds and Bronze leap ahead
That in contemplating the beauty of this time has also prompted me to see time as little pockets of moments that can be recaptured, kept safe from harms way is only a bonus of the thought. Between Autumn and its lessons and the end of my thought trail of letters and poetry that evinces a special moment and all the images in between, I have a fine necklace made up of nothing but The jewels of Time.
It is priceless.
This is a Jewel of Time in the year, a genuine moment of glory. Many people welcome Summer with its brassy greens and golds and its bright cherry reds and brazen hues of glory. I too love Summer but it is Autumn which holds my heart. In this season, when all the brass has gone and the bronzed and soft golds come into their own my heart swells with love for the earth and a joy I never feel at any other time of the year spreads through my entire conscious.
Here is the time of harvest, we have the fruits of our labours to pack into bottles, cans, packs, cellars and nets. Bottles wait to hold the wines and the chutneys, jams and pickles we make from our allotment treasure and hedgerow gathers. Does that sound old fashioned ? that I take the time to make jams and chutneys ? or that I actually harvest food I have grown myself to keep me through the year ? it isn't old fashioned though is it, it is the time honoured way of our ancestors and if modern newspapers are to be believed it is coming back into fashion ' being pro active' making our own 'things' foods and the like.
I love walking the little roads of my home town. Harlech is surrounded by wonderful little woodlands and forests as well as country roads. True I never collect soft fruits or apples from roadway hedges, I don't want a dose of Carbon Monoxide with my pie, but I look for other harvests. Filbert Nuts (Hazel to the uninitiated or Cob ) and wild flowers to dry for my Pot Pourii. I look for wonderful leaves that have turned in colour to preserve, I dry them, varnish them and use them as book marks through the year. By varnish I literally mean varnish but find that hair lacquer works just as well. I search the woodlands for walking stick material too and wands and staffs and sometimes I am lucky and find a little twisted Hazel or a piece of Ivy wood that is gnarled with time and aged into a wondrous puzzle of what limb started where and where does it end. I am making a 'tree' of such roots at the moment, one that will eventually become a Fairy Stronghold and a nightlight for a little child. All these little things are the gift of Time. Jewels in a necklace of moments when seeds where planted, or wood grafted or flowers fruiting.
I love collecting the apples for cider or apple pies and the soft fruits of blackberries, haws and rose hips to make wines with. I simply enjoy the involvement in the making and the eating or drinking becomes another bonus another Jewel in my collection of Time.
There are other Jewels to collect too. Photographs of the children who started school this year, or went to 'big school' for the first time, or have just left school and are going to sixth form or college or Uni. All these images become captured moments in time that will never be relived again, never happen again in the persons life...frozen on paper in prints that will stay forever the colour of the day, the moment. A Jewel to reflect a memory or create a link in a history of a life or a family connection. A hundred years from now there will be people look at those photographs and perhaps remember a story, a moment when they themselves began a new day, a new way and link to the ancestors in front of them. Maybe a child will say to Nana 'was that you in the olden days Nana? and out will come the rest of the Jewels to jog memories, bring back that captured moment long enough to create a smile, and another Jewel will be created, this time for that future child's life to enhance and polish and remember with their own grandchild another 100 years on.
I wanted so much to keep so many of the photographs I used to have, sadly they got lost in transit when I moved house once too often. So I am currently tracking down anyone and anywhere that may have photographs of my past, my children's pasts. I pounce on friends albums on Face Book and happily download an image I thought lost in time. I rifle friends photographs when I visit their homes, I go back in time to old newspapers and sometimes the archives of the BBC or ITV looking for images once part of my real time life.All in all I find little golden treasures, little sparkling Jewels of memory and treasure them all the more because I thought them lost.
Each moment in time becomes precious even more so when you feel that you are approaching the end of time in your world. Someone is passing or passes without foreknowledge and those moments with them have gone or will go and you have no more Jewels of time with them. It is then that you realise how precious time is, why I call them Jewels. Those memories, sparked by the turn of Autumn leaves have brought my mind to the precious moments not only of the worlds turn but of my liefs journey.
Quite a few years ago now, I lost my brother. We had shared much in our lives and until he was 21 we shared a happy and very loving relationship. I was 14 years older than he and my sister was 12 years older and he often said he had 3 mothers not one. Sadly we had a fall out and for 13 years we hardly spoke unless it was to be civil. The year before he passed away he wrote to me, an apology and an expression of sentiments which was and is to this day a precious moment in our time as brother and sister. That letter too is a Jewel. One I took much comfort from when he had passed away. For others would have taken the sadness and the hurt I felt, the loss and the pain I held inside me as I supported my little Mum through an horrendous moment of time that has not ceased for her in its cruelty and its emptiness. Those people tried so hard to cause further pain with silly remarks and stupid contentious and eagerly used jealousies and contemptuous supposition, to hurt not only myself but my Mother. Comments and remarks which where wholly unfounded and totally untrue where suddenly being spoken 'as if the truth', 'as if truly witnessed' but I had my Jewel, my letter which spoke of love and concern and truths and my Jewel sustained me and proved the lie. I read that letter until I almost shredded the paper because it was all I had left of my Brothers Truth and mine that was ours and ours alone. My Jewel of a letter helped me through a bitter winter of coldness and even now is one of the centrepieces of my Family Ancestral Records. No matter other peoples 'truths' I have my own proof and it is enough.
Whatever prompted my brothers letter writing, it became a jewel of light in a dark time, a tangible proof and above all an expression of love that sustained. I have kept other jewels of time in my world. Letters from my Mother, sadly I have none of my Fathers beautiful writing and letters and e mails from friends which I carefully print off to keep in my life journal. Words that describe or reveal sentiment or actions which reflect on myself or my family and sometimes on my friends. Each aspect revealing a layer of my own time with them, or for them.
So I have Autumn to remind me of times gifts:-
Autumns colours gently shaded
Brassy Summers colours faded
Greens and Golds have gone to bed
Reds and Bronze leap ahead
That in contemplating the beauty of this time has also prompted me to see time as little pockets of moments that can be recaptured, kept safe from harms way is only a bonus of the thought. Between Autumn and its lessons and the end of my thought trail of letters and poetry that evinces a special moment and all the images in between, I have a fine necklace made up of nothing but The jewels of Time.
It is priceless.
Saturday, 19 September 2009
Being Happy
I woke up yesterday with a huge smile on my face and felt so happy I took a picture of myself grinning like an idiot. WHY ? I haven't a clue which is why I took the picture...to remind me that there are some days when life perks up and makes you feel happy even when the world seems against you on all levels.
I had spent a pretty traumatic few days travelling (not my favourite pastime to be honest.) The car is falling to bits, my tax is due so is the M.O.T. and I haven't even made the rent yet and have to go back to St Helens next week and I was STILL smiling..what was going on ?
I am a practising psychic so the first thing I did was check out my aura...positively glowing. !!!!
I then checked out the defence systems in my home, some are very practical like locking the doors, some more esoteric like placing a light within me and the home that is a 'just try it buster' flag and some are simply having the right aromas and colours around me...nothing was different but everything was glowing like mad. Even my crystals (which needed a good cleansing) where glowing in my hand as if they had tiny LED's in side them...what was going on ?
Hadn't a clue.
I checked the date, had I missed some esoteric special day ? nope, it was a new moon and it was a particularly nice moon that got hidden by clouds but still there all shiny and new, sending out positive vibes for those who like that sort of connection...but it wasn't what was glowing in and around me.
I decided to sit out in the blazing sun on my balcony and read a particularly gruesome book called Death Du Jour and enjoyed the macabre twists and turns in the plot. At the back of my mind I worried away at why I felt so happy.
Then I began to laugh at myself. WHY is it such a problem to simply enjoy the day ? it seems that we humans are so suspicious these days, so used to the doom and the gloom that a simple nice sunny day, in your own home, after a good nights sleep is suspect. The why, how, what for syndrome of total suspicion. What would happen to spoil it, why was it inside my head...and worst of all...I didn't just accept gratefully that for the day I was actually happy after weeks of mental torment. Hallelujah !!!! I was happy why on earth hadn't I celebrated it immediately, why had I looked at myself with suspicion. I even checked I hadn't had a couple of Gins in my sleep !!! wow talk about paranoia.
Most of us go through the week with a dark view of what is next on the hit list of disasters. Whose going to screw our life up today, what is going to go wrong this time, when is the knock on the door that heralds hate/hurt/harassment going to happen. You only have to read your own 'home' on Face Book to realise how many people are screaming at the world and its torments. Someones kids have left the room untidy, someones had enough of life and can't be bothered, someones friends have stabbed them in the back, a boyfriend has cheated, a husband has left, a friend has turned into the 'other woman', a pet has died and we start to look for a status that will enjoin us to our friends. We don't write something cheery, happy, uplifting we write our sympathy to our friends (which is good) and then post a status that tells the world we are sad too or hurt, or fed up, or maybe getting drunk or stoned...but when was the last time you or I posted 'I am happy!' on Face Book or wrote a really happy e mail or letter ?
So yesterday I woke up happy and instead of thinking great this feels good and I am going to enjoy it....I questioned it, got antzy with myself, waited for the doom to land...why couldn't I just accept that for that one day I had left my cares in the box marked 'deal with it later' and sit out in the sun and thoroughly enjoy it....am I a killjoy? have I become so blase about life that I can't have a happy moment am I so dour and so sad...of course not but I am as suspicious and introspective and depressed as the next person and forgot how to be happy.
Today I woke up and staggered round the flat looking for caffeine, nicotine and protein in that order. I st at my computer determined to answer emails, sort out a few letters, answer my face book stuff and then clean up and go do some work to earn the rent......I wrote this instead.
Why ? well in part its a statement of sorts about how sad as a race we are that we don't celebrate our lives more positively. But mostly because as I sat down this huge great swell of emotions ran right through me...and I am happy again.. I haven't a clue why...but today I shall treasure the whole of it, I shall wrap it up warm inside me and let it feed my soul.
Join me...be happy about something even if its just the fact you read this and think I am a looney tunes...at least I am a happy one . If I could I would paint a great big smile on my living room wall...just to remind me. Yes we have bad times but we have good times too and in future i shall celebrate the good times with the same energy I devote to feeling miserable...maybe then I will find out how much happiness is around me and appreciate it more often.
Have a happy day...I am
I had spent a pretty traumatic few days travelling (not my favourite pastime to be honest.) The car is falling to bits, my tax is due so is the M.O.T. and I haven't even made the rent yet and have to go back to St Helens next week and I was STILL smiling..what was going on ?
I am a practising psychic so the first thing I did was check out my aura...positively glowing. !!!!
I then checked out the defence systems in my home, some are very practical like locking the doors, some more esoteric like placing a light within me and the home that is a 'just try it buster' flag and some are simply having the right aromas and colours around me...nothing was different but everything was glowing like mad. Even my crystals (which needed a good cleansing) where glowing in my hand as if they had tiny LED's in side them...what was going on ?
Hadn't a clue.
I checked the date, had I missed some esoteric special day ? nope, it was a new moon and it was a particularly nice moon that got hidden by clouds but still there all shiny and new, sending out positive vibes for those who like that sort of connection...but it wasn't what was glowing in and around me.
I decided to sit out in the blazing sun on my balcony and read a particularly gruesome book called Death Du Jour and enjoyed the macabre twists and turns in the plot. At the back of my mind I worried away at why I felt so happy.
Then I began to laugh at myself. WHY is it such a problem to simply enjoy the day ? it seems that we humans are so suspicious these days, so used to the doom and the gloom that a simple nice sunny day, in your own home, after a good nights sleep is suspect. The why, how, what for syndrome of total suspicion. What would happen to spoil it, why was it inside my head...and worst of all...I didn't just accept gratefully that for the day I was actually happy after weeks of mental torment. Hallelujah !!!! I was happy why on earth hadn't I celebrated it immediately, why had I looked at myself with suspicion. I even checked I hadn't had a couple of Gins in my sleep !!! wow talk about paranoia.
Most of us go through the week with a dark view of what is next on the hit list of disasters. Whose going to screw our life up today, what is going to go wrong this time, when is the knock on the door that heralds hate/hurt/harassment going to happen. You only have to read your own 'home' on Face Book to realise how many people are screaming at the world and its torments. Someones kids have left the room untidy, someones had enough of life and can't be bothered, someones friends have stabbed them in the back, a boyfriend has cheated, a husband has left, a friend has turned into the 'other woman', a pet has died and we start to look for a status that will enjoin us to our friends. We don't write something cheery, happy, uplifting we write our sympathy to our friends (which is good) and then post a status that tells the world we are sad too or hurt, or fed up, or maybe getting drunk or stoned...but when was the last time you or I posted 'I am happy!' on Face Book or wrote a really happy e mail or letter ?
So yesterday I woke up happy and instead of thinking great this feels good and I am going to enjoy it....I questioned it, got antzy with myself, waited for the doom to land...why couldn't I just accept that for that one day I had left my cares in the box marked 'deal with it later' and sit out in the sun and thoroughly enjoy it....am I a killjoy? have I become so blase about life that I can't have a happy moment am I so dour and so sad...of course not but I am as suspicious and introspective and depressed as the next person and forgot how to be happy.
Today I woke up and staggered round the flat looking for caffeine, nicotine and protein in that order. I st at my computer determined to answer emails, sort out a few letters, answer my face book stuff and then clean up and go do some work to earn the rent......I wrote this instead.
Why ? well in part its a statement of sorts about how sad as a race we are that we don't celebrate our lives more positively. But mostly because as I sat down this huge great swell of emotions ran right through me...and I am happy again.. I haven't a clue why...but today I shall treasure the whole of it, I shall wrap it up warm inside me and let it feed my soul.
Join me...be happy about something even if its just the fact you read this and think I am a looney tunes...at least I am a happy one . If I could I would paint a great big smile on my living room wall...just to remind me. Yes we have bad times but we have good times too and in future i shall celebrate the good times with the same energy I devote to feeling miserable...maybe then I will find out how much happiness is around me and appreciate it more often.
Have a happy day...I am
Sunday, 13 September 2009
Adventures of the Night
Stars blazed like so many diamonds scattered in careless array across a deep blue velvet sky. I lay in my bed and my breathe almost halted as the sheer beauty of the night sky filled my eyes. Only once before have I seen such a vision.
Many years ago, in a mental torment I sat in my friend Julie and Russ's living room. Restless and unsettled Russ suddenly asked me what was wrong. I smiled and simply said I was in the wrong place. With a perception and insight I had never known he possessed, this man who spent half his life up to his eyes in leather/bike/oil , leaned forwards and threw fifty pounds in my lap.
" Go to your mountain Sue" and I did.
I filled my rattle trap cars hungry petrol tank and bought a few mini staple foods , a couple of drinks and made sure I had my big duvet on the back seat and not in the boot (long story , one day I will tell it :) ) and began to drive. I was going to Castle Rigg stone circle. I drove the 100 miles or so to 'my mountain' and parked in the stony lay bye with a relief I would never have known was possible to feel. I sat in the late evenings gloaming and sighed a deep breathe of contentment. I felt I was home.
Castle Rigg is to my mind one of the few truly unspoilt stone circles in Britain. Set atop a rounded mountain, within an almost unbroken circle of higher peaks and in a way the valleys around the bottom of the central mountain remind me of an old castles moat...only miles wide. It is truly breathtakingly beautiful. The circle itself is completely open to the visitor both human and the thousands of sheep thereabouts and there are no sudden threats of tourist memorabilia or dreadful plastic cafes' it is as isolated now as it was centuries ago . A bastion of peaceful, reverential beauty and solace for those who care to visit its isolated splendour.
Well some of you know I have an 'alternate' path to my deity, some of you know I am as fearless and as foolhardy as the next Adventurer so it will come as no surprise to you that I wanted to walk up to the circle and 'go contemplate my navel!'. This I might add was in October, in the almost middle of the night, in an isolated countryside and three other cars parked in the lay bye, each with a solitary driver, male and as silent and withdrawn as myself. It was a crisp and cold evening and would soon become a deadly cold night.
The temperature at the top of a mountain can be unbelievably cold, at the time of the year it could and has on occasion proved deadly to the unwary traveller. I on the other hand have a deep respect for Mother Nature in all her moods and had come prepared. I wore my black snuggly boots, good thick black trousers, a warm black polo necked jumper, my thick black bubblecoat with false fur lined hood, thick black woolen gloves and I had one last layer to put on...and it was in the boot of the car! damnation would I never remember!!!
Why black (well it was a bit of a theme) black removes you in the night, cloaks you in shadow, hides you in the split silver/black of the countryside. No ambient human engineered light is in the country, just the moon and shadow.
It is wise, when not only small, female and not exactly 21 years old anymore, that you use all the defences available to you for protection. While I am fearless in approaching my goal, I am not stupid and I don't take risks that are unnecessary. I wanted to climb up to the circle, I had the right clothing, I would have my trusty (and very heavy, stout and good for using as a club.....if I wanted to play golf of course) walking stick and a handy aerosol of Ralgex in my pocket ( for sudden sprains naturally and not at all to spray in the face of any would be attacker...honest).
Also, as mentioned earlier there where three other residents in 'my' lay bye and I am not given to taking silly risks.
A women on her own, close to midnight, in an isolated area, should not ever risk herself, neither should a women in such circumstances, feel she has to limit her personal world 'just' because there are men about...but wise in old ways and aware in many personal experiences of mankind's duplicitous behaviours...I took 'steps'. One of my lay bye associates had turned his engine on, no doubt to warm his car interior. It meant his lights suddenly sprang on as he fiddled with dials and switches...his headlights perfect illuminated me as I stepped from my car and locked the doors. I walked sedately to the boot of my car and drew out my final weapon against so many things, my big black woolen cape, with its cavernous hood and swirling rust red silk lining. With practised aplomb I swirled it around my shoulders and shrugged the hood over my already raised coat hood and slammed the boot shut with a decisive click.
I was very aware at that moment that three males where looking intently at the figure I cut, I was also slightly amused when all three cars sprung into activity and drove rather quickly away.
I may have cut a dramatic figure in my full length cape, perhaps it was the fact I was dressed all in black ? maybe it was simply time for them to all go home...but leave they did and I began the journey to the top of the mountain with a much easier mind. I had no idea why they left (though of course i could imagine) I was simply grateful that they had gone. The moon, the mountain and the circle where now truly mine.
I crossed the slender road and walked through the hedges, dropping a small token into the collection box and began my climb. I knew it would take me longer than most people to get up the grassy hillside. I had been in a car crash well over a year previously and my ankle had 'set' at an odd angle making me limp, my back was a constant excruciating reminder of the event and so I accepted my slowness and took my time. I took small but determined steps, treading on frosted grass that glittered in silver and black spikes beneath my feet. A soft crushing sound erupting every now and again as my little feet took me higher up. My head firmly down as I watched for small pot holes and the inevitable sheep's dung that litters this field.
Only a few feet ahead of me now where the two major standing stones, the entrance to the circle itself and I raised my head for the first time to ensure I was on track. I gasped with the sheer beauty of the very stones themselves. The weather was obviously much colder than I could experience in my warm clothing. A thin film of ice had formed over the stones themselves, the beautiful grey and green and yellow blooms of lichen that had grown on the ancient grey stone had become frozen and filmed in this ice turning the stones into natures diamante, glistening and glittering in moonlight that beamed steadily onto the circle itself.
A necklace of ancient powers and history sang in the very image it gave. These stones had been here, in this place for thousands of years and I felt the weight of those years in the silence of the night. The atmosphere was expectant and exciting.
I felt most reverential as I entered that sacred space, finally I took a deep and relaxed breath and walked to the eastern part of the circle where the meeting stones (or if you prefer the sacrificial stone !) lay with its attendant seating stones.
No one knows the why of this circle, it is in the middle of nowhere, I did discover (if it was ever truly lost) a smaller circle a few hundred yards away, its placement and the way it is hidden suggests a Shaman circle for a drum moot...but I can't prove or disprove my theory to the satisfaction of a true historian. I stood in awe for a moment before I began my walk three times around the circle itself. I walked steadily and securely, knowing that not a soul would interrupt me now.
The Cumbrian people are a very respectful people. Whenever I have witnessed any celebrations at Castle Rigg, I have seen many catcalling tourists, some there because they wanted to 'see' some witchery or arcane practices...to no avail. True some people do have a 'ritual' of sorts on specific nights and it is true that they provide much entertainment both for visitors and themsleves. I have had some storming parties up at Gastle rigg, complete with visiting jugglers, troubadours and singing (if not nuns) acolytes.Occasionally an observance does clash with visitors being around, but not often. Though the Summer Solstice celebrations tend to be more of a three day party event it is true. Very enjoyable as well.
However the true people of faith in this place come when tourists are gone, when it is later in the night and fewer chances of such 'guests' and any unwary walker would simply walk away while those who live round about stay firmly either in the celebration or behind their own closed doors. Truly a live and let live attitude. I had no fear of interruption and I let my soul find its peace at last. I felt anticipatory , expectant but had no idea for what.
I completed my walk, amazed at the beauty of each stone, connecting with the shape, size and situation of each individual one, even now, after all these years I can practically feel the touch of my hand on the glistening fragile iced shining surfaces.I had taken my gloves off, the better to connect with the stones themselves, thin glacial ice melted beneath my touch as I began tying myself to its energy, its thousands of years of history, its presence here and now.
I stood back at the beginning and began my chant.:-
I am a practising Shaman , all Gods are one, all Goddess' are the perfect half of a perfect whole, all names simply (to me) indicating one of the myriad facets of the truth. To me and my kind, our ancestors are to be revered for the lessons they teach us of their survival, their mistakes and triumphs. Learning of our family history is of great importance and above all, when those we love go to the next realm it is important to remember them, to view them as they where and what they teach from their living and their demise.
I can see
Back to the beginning
I hear my forefathers
they call to me
they speak of our line
I am their blood
I listen
I answer
I see my Brother, I see my Father, I see my Grandfather, I see my Great Grandmother, I see my Aunt.
And so the litany goes on, tracing the loss of each of my families line in order of most recently lost, back to the beginning of my own birth. I spend time speaking with each of them, thanking them, remembering the lessons, the love the joy they gave me in my world. Perhaps mentally apologising for the pains we shared or caused but each one loved and each one remembered well.Often I use a drum to keep time but this night felt far too special for anything other than awareness of the silence, the beauty and the feel of the nights energies. A drum would have distracted. I paid attention to my ancestors and connected to their memories with love.
It is my honour to them.
Finally I am completed in my thoughts and turn to the contemplation of the source of all my faith 'The One' and it is then and only then I raise my eyes to the symbol of all that this means to me...the heavens themselves. I did this and was struck dumb, awed beyond all measure. I had been right to come here, this was the sole purpose of my journey. Not to do anything other than be, to become my own truth.
Above me, without a single ray of ambient light, surrounded by mountains whose now frosted summits where reflecting light to the direct centre of where I stood, in amazing clarity was The Glory.
If you have never seen this , then my poor words will only ever touch the hem of the gown of its display. For I have no true way of describing what The Glory is. In a way it is simply the stars above, the Milky Way, the planets and the myriad , multitudinous display of twinkling lights that have pierced the dark navy and velvet sky. Yet it is so much more than this. The wholeness of its display beggars belief. There is a silver luminosity, a shattering diamond effect of light, a glistening trail of light smoothed imagery and silence.
Not silence as in absence of noise, but silence as within the self, a shut up of all the senseless mental chatter. In the mind, awe, reverence and joy well up, spill into every corner of your soul. Your mind sings, not a song but one single note of joy, one single awe inspiring note of pure, undiluted blessing. Feelings of humbleness, humility, acceptance and oneness. Simply 'being' at one with the sight itself of The Glory.
Basically a 'beam me up Scotty' moment.
I stood bathed in the silvery reflections of the moonlight, reflected from the mountains, the circle itself glowed with so much light focused on it, my cape swirled around me as I spun round from East to South to West to North in a deosil manner as I greeted each 'corner' of the elemental universe in joyful anticipation. Surely this night I would die from Ecstasy. I felt so many different emotions and tears scored down my face with the sheer beauty of it all.
Shamans do not bow...to anyone. All men are equal, we may nod a head in respect, possibly if confronted with royalty I would curtsy..(I know) but to The One we have an abeyance that is total. I would not insult The One nor would I challenge anyone else's right to worship as they so wish. My Abeyance is formal and is the only time I would so prostrate myself. I knelt in both supplication and in reverence to my deities glorious benediction, to the sight, sound and feel of this universal energy and to the one truth in my heart. I was blessed.
When I left Castle Rigg, it was with extreme reluctance , I could literally have slept in that circle and felt nothing but joy. I had energy pouring off me, my cape had long since come undone, my gloves where in my pocket, my hoods down, my coat undone, I was hot and energised and above all exhilarated beyond belief. I finally made it to my car only to realise that local people had been stood quietly to one side of the circle awaiting my completion before they too went to the circles welcome. We nodded politely to each other and I crawled into my cars back seat, pulled the duvet over my head and slept dreaming of The Glory.
I never expected to see such a sight again....and I was wrong.
Last night, after spending sometime with the BF and meandering around on my computer I trotted off to my bed. Those of you familiar with my lifestyle know that my bed is placed underneath a large velux skylight and that I have fallen asleep to the sight of the stars and the mornings Sun for the last 6 months or so. I had been reading Terry Pratchetts' Thief of Time when the eyelids began to droop and I switched off the lights and snuggled down to sleep.
Restlessness decided to pay a short visit and I turned over and the view through my window struck me into silent, awed reverence. It was there, The Glory, I had been gifted a second sight of something truly amazingly beautiful
Stretched across the sky, every star blazed, the galaxy revealed in extremely fine detail, the seas luminosity reflected back the silver beams of the moon and the stillness had descended, that 'holding my breathe' feeling struck through me and tears streamed down my face. Above me, in silent benediction was the answer to so much heartache these past few weeks.
The Glory is for all, it is for everyone to see and to feel. Perhaps a little thoughtfulness is needed, maybe a sensation of oneness can be achieved by simply praying in whatever manner is suitable to each person...I have no way of knowing. I never believed I would ever see The Glory again. Last night I was shown that once touched, then it is never forgotten, can never be taken away, That connection, that benediction had been inside me all of this time. Now I know I carry The Glory within me and I feel a little closer to my deities will, a little more aware of my purpose and a whole lot more certain of my self's pathway.
I have been lost for a short while, my worries and concerns have been both material and familial...last night redirected my thoughts, clarified issues and blazed a trail in my mind I had forgotten to walk. The Spiral is a constant in Shamanism it is the pathway in and the pathway out of life and death as a cycle. It is also the symbol we use to describe or to encourage or to display or to engender a wholeness of the self. It is also The Milky Way.
What is inside you is worn on the outside of you because it is truly visible to those willing to see.
I have not forgotten my pathway but I have and do have times when I don't pay as much attention as I should. Material things get in the way, Familial things create worry patterns that distress....I shall try hard not to forget to raise my eyes again. Last night, by pure chance or divine will I was restless and turned and saw....no one will ever be able to tell me how many times The Glory has been there for me to access, to rely upon, to draw upon...and I missed it. I forgot to raise my sights, I forgot to appreciate what was above me...I will try not to forget again.
For every season there is a purpose under heaven.
Many years ago, in a mental torment I sat in my friend Julie and Russ's living room. Restless and unsettled Russ suddenly asked me what was wrong. I smiled and simply said I was in the wrong place. With a perception and insight I had never known he possessed, this man who spent half his life up to his eyes in leather/bike/oil , leaned forwards and threw fifty pounds in my lap.
" Go to your mountain Sue" and I did.
I filled my rattle trap cars hungry petrol tank and bought a few mini staple foods , a couple of drinks and made sure I had my big duvet on the back seat and not in the boot (long story , one day I will tell it :) ) and began to drive. I was going to Castle Rigg stone circle. I drove the 100 miles or so to 'my mountain' and parked in the stony lay bye with a relief I would never have known was possible to feel. I sat in the late evenings gloaming and sighed a deep breathe of contentment. I felt I was home.
Castle Rigg is to my mind one of the few truly unspoilt stone circles in Britain. Set atop a rounded mountain, within an almost unbroken circle of higher peaks and in a way the valleys around the bottom of the central mountain remind me of an old castles moat...only miles wide. It is truly breathtakingly beautiful. The circle itself is completely open to the visitor both human and the thousands of sheep thereabouts and there are no sudden threats of tourist memorabilia or dreadful plastic cafes' it is as isolated now as it was centuries ago . A bastion of peaceful, reverential beauty and solace for those who care to visit its isolated splendour.
Well some of you know I have an 'alternate' path to my deity, some of you know I am as fearless and as foolhardy as the next Adventurer so it will come as no surprise to you that I wanted to walk up to the circle and 'go contemplate my navel!'. This I might add was in October, in the almost middle of the night, in an isolated countryside and three other cars parked in the lay bye, each with a solitary driver, male and as silent and withdrawn as myself. It was a crisp and cold evening and would soon become a deadly cold night.
The temperature at the top of a mountain can be unbelievably cold, at the time of the year it could and has on occasion proved deadly to the unwary traveller. I on the other hand have a deep respect for Mother Nature in all her moods and had come prepared. I wore my black snuggly boots, good thick black trousers, a warm black polo necked jumper, my thick black bubblecoat with false fur lined hood, thick black woolen gloves and I had one last layer to put on...and it was in the boot of the car! damnation would I never remember!!!
Why black (well it was a bit of a theme) black removes you in the night, cloaks you in shadow, hides you in the split silver/black of the countryside. No ambient human engineered light is in the country, just the moon and shadow.
It is wise, when not only small, female and not exactly 21 years old anymore, that you use all the defences available to you for protection. While I am fearless in approaching my goal, I am not stupid and I don't take risks that are unnecessary. I wanted to climb up to the circle, I had the right clothing, I would have my trusty (and very heavy, stout and good for using as a club.....if I wanted to play golf of course) walking stick and a handy aerosol of Ralgex in my pocket ( for sudden sprains naturally and not at all to spray in the face of any would be attacker...honest).
Also, as mentioned earlier there where three other residents in 'my' lay bye and I am not given to taking silly risks.
A women on her own, close to midnight, in an isolated area, should not ever risk herself, neither should a women in such circumstances, feel she has to limit her personal world 'just' because there are men about...but wise in old ways and aware in many personal experiences of mankind's duplicitous behaviours...I took 'steps'. One of my lay bye associates had turned his engine on, no doubt to warm his car interior. It meant his lights suddenly sprang on as he fiddled with dials and switches...his headlights perfect illuminated me as I stepped from my car and locked the doors. I walked sedately to the boot of my car and drew out my final weapon against so many things, my big black woolen cape, with its cavernous hood and swirling rust red silk lining. With practised aplomb I swirled it around my shoulders and shrugged the hood over my already raised coat hood and slammed the boot shut with a decisive click.
I was very aware at that moment that three males where looking intently at the figure I cut, I was also slightly amused when all three cars sprung into activity and drove rather quickly away.
I may have cut a dramatic figure in my full length cape, perhaps it was the fact I was dressed all in black ? maybe it was simply time for them to all go home...but leave they did and I began the journey to the top of the mountain with a much easier mind. I had no idea why they left (though of course i could imagine) I was simply grateful that they had gone. The moon, the mountain and the circle where now truly mine.
I crossed the slender road and walked through the hedges, dropping a small token into the collection box and began my climb. I knew it would take me longer than most people to get up the grassy hillside. I had been in a car crash well over a year previously and my ankle had 'set' at an odd angle making me limp, my back was a constant excruciating reminder of the event and so I accepted my slowness and took my time. I took small but determined steps, treading on frosted grass that glittered in silver and black spikes beneath my feet. A soft crushing sound erupting every now and again as my little feet took me higher up. My head firmly down as I watched for small pot holes and the inevitable sheep's dung that litters this field.
Only a few feet ahead of me now where the two major standing stones, the entrance to the circle itself and I raised my head for the first time to ensure I was on track. I gasped with the sheer beauty of the very stones themselves. The weather was obviously much colder than I could experience in my warm clothing. A thin film of ice had formed over the stones themselves, the beautiful grey and green and yellow blooms of lichen that had grown on the ancient grey stone had become frozen and filmed in this ice turning the stones into natures diamante, glistening and glittering in moonlight that beamed steadily onto the circle itself.
A necklace of ancient powers and history sang in the very image it gave. These stones had been here, in this place for thousands of years and I felt the weight of those years in the silence of the night. The atmosphere was expectant and exciting.
I felt most reverential as I entered that sacred space, finally I took a deep and relaxed breath and walked to the eastern part of the circle where the meeting stones (or if you prefer the sacrificial stone !) lay with its attendant seating stones.
No one knows the why of this circle, it is in the middle of nowhere, I did discover (if it was ever truly lost) a smaller circle a few hundred yards away, its placement and the way it is hidden suggests a Shaman circle for a drum moot...but I can't prove or disprove my theory to the satisfaction of a true historian. I stood in awe for a moment before I began my walk three times around the circle itself. I walked steadily and securely, knowing that not a soul would interrupt me now.
The Cumbrian people are a very respectful people. Whenever I have witnessed any celebrations at Castle Rigg, I have seen many catcalling tourists, some there because they wanted to 'see' some witchery or arcane practices...to no avail. True some people do have a 'ritual' of sorts on specific nights and it is true that they provide much entertainment both for visitors and themsleves. I have had some storming parties up at Gastle rigg, complete with visiting jugglers, troubadours and singing (if not nuns) acolytes.Occasionally an observance does clash with visitors being around, but not often. Though the Summer Solstice celebrations tend to be more of a three day party event it is true. Very enjoyable as well.
However the true people of faith in this place come when tourists are gone, when it is later in the night and fewer chances of such 'guests' and any unwary walker would simply walk away while those who live round about stay firmly either in the celebration or behind their own closed doors. Truly a live and let live attitude. I had no fear of interruption and I let my soul find its peace at last. I felt anticipatory , expectant but had no idea for what.
I completed my walk, amazed at the beauty of each stone, connecting with the shape, size and situation of each individual one, even now, after all these years I can practically feel the touch of my hand on the glistening fragile iced shining surfaces.I had taken my gloves off, the better to connect with the stones themselves, thin glacial ice melted beneath my touch as I began tying myself to its energy, its thousands of years of history, its presence here and now.
I stood back at the beginning and began my chant.:-
I am a practising Shaman , all Gods are one, all Goddess' are the perfect half of a perfect whole, all names simply (to me) indicating one of the myriad facets of the truth. To me and my kind, our ancestors are to be revered for the lessons they teach us of their survival, their mistakes and triumphs. Learning of our family history is of great importance and above all, when those we love go to the next realm it is important to remember them, to view them as they where and what they teach from their living and their demise.
I can see
Back to the beginning
I hear my forefathers
they call to me
they speak of our line
I am their blood
I listen
I answer
I see my Brother, I see my Father, I see my Grandfather, I see my Great Grandmother, I see my Aunt.
And so the litany goes on, tracing the loss of each of my families line in order of most recently lost, back to the beginning of my own birth. I spend time speaking with each of them, thanking them, remembering the lessons, the love the joy they gave me in my world. Perhaps mentally apologising for the pains we shared or caused but each one loved and each one remembered well.Often I use a drum to keep time but this night felt far too special for anything other than awareness of the silence, the beauty and the feel of the nights energies. A drum would have distracted. I paid attention to my ancestors and connected to their memories with love.
It is my honour to them.
Finally I am completed in my thoughts and turn to the contemplation of the source of all my faith 'The One' and it is then and only then I raise my eyes to the symbol of all that this means to me...the heavens themselves. I did this and was struck dumb, awed beyond all measure. I had been right to come here, this was the sole purpose of my journey. Not to do anything other than be, to become my own truth.
Above me, without a single ray of ambient light, surrounded by mountains whose now frosted summits where reflecting light to the direct centre of where I stood, in amazing clarity was The Glory.
If you have never seen this , then my poor words will only ever touch the hem of the gown of its display. For I have no true way of describing what The Glory is. In a way it is simply the stars above, the Milky Way, the planets and the myriad , multitudinous display of twinkling lights that have pierced the dark navy and velvet sky. Yet it is so much more than this. The wholeness of its display beggars belief. There is a silver luminosity, a shattering diamond effect of light, a glistening trail of light smoothed imagery and silence.
Not silence as in absence of noise, but silence as within the self, a shut up of all the senseless mental chatter. In the mind, awe, reverence and joy well up, spill into every corner of your soul. Your mind sings, not a song but one single note of joy, one single awe inspiring note of pure, undiluted blessing. Feelings of humbleness, humility, acceptance and oneness. Simply 'being' at one with the sight itself of The Glory.
Basically a 'beam me up Scotty' moment.
I stood bathed in the silvery reflections of the moonlight, reflected from the mountains, the circle itself glowed with so much light focused on it, my cape swirled around me as I spun round from East to South to West to North in a deosil manner as I greeted each 'corner' of the elemental universe in joyful anticipation. Surely this night I would die from Ecstasy. I felt so many different emotions and tears scored down my face with the sheer beauty of it all.
Shamans do not bow...to anyone. All men are equal, we may nod a head in respect, possibly if confronted with royalty I would curtsy..(I know) but to The One we have an abeyance that is total. I would not insult The One nor would I challenge anyone else's right to worship as they so wish. My Abeyance is formal and is the only time I would so prostrate myself. I knelt in both supplication and in reverence to my deities glorious benediction, to the sight, sound and feel of this universal energy and to the one truth in my heart. I was blessed.
When I left Castle Rigg, it was with extreme reluctance , I could literally have slept in that circle and felt nothing but joy. I had energy pouring off me, my cape had long since come undone, my gloves where in my pocket, my hoods down, my coat undone, I was hot and energised and above all exhilarated beyond belief. I finally made it to my car only to realise that local people had been stood quietly to one side of the circle awaiting my completion before they too went to the circles welcome. We nodded politely to each other and I crawled into my cars back seat, pulled the duvet over my head and slept dreaming of The Glory.
I never expected to see such a sight again....and I was wrong.
Last night, after spending sometime with the BF and meandering around on my computer I trotted off to my bed. Those of you familiar with my lifestyle know that my bed is placed underneath a large velux skylight and that I have fallen asleep to the sight of the stars and the mornings Sun for the last 6 months or so. I had been reading Terry Pratchetts' Thief of Time when the eyelids began to droop and I switched off the lights and snuggled down to sleep.
Restlessness decided to pay a short visit and I turned over and the view through my window struck me into silent, awed reverence. It was there, The Glory, I had been gifted a second sight of something truly amazingly beautiful
Stretched across the sky, every star blazed, the galaxy revealed in extremely fine detail, the seas luminosity reflected back the silver beams of the moon and the stillness had descended, that 'holding my breathe' feeling struck through me and tears streamed down my face. Above me, in silent benediction was the answer to so much heartache these past few weeks.
The Glory is for all, it is for everyone to see and to feel. Perhaps a little thoughtfulness is needed, maybe a sensation of oneness can be achieved by simply praying in whatever manner is suitable to each person...I have no way of knowing. I never believed I would ever see The Glory again. Last night I was shown that once touched, then it is never forgotten, can never be taken away, That connection, that benediction had been inside me all of this time. Now I know I carry The Glory within me and I feel a little closer to my deities will, a little more aware of my purpose and a whole lot more certain of my self's pathway.
I have been lost for a short while, my worries and concerns have been both material and familial...last night redirected my thoughts, clarified issues and blazed a trail in my mind I had forgotten to walk. The Spiral is a constant in Shamanism it is the pathway in and the pathway out of life and death as a cycle. It is also the symbol we use to describe or to encourage or to display or to engender a wholeness of the self. It is also The Milky Way.
What is inside you is worn on the outside of you because it is truly visible to those willing to see.
I have not forgotten my pathway but I have and do have times when I don't pay as much attention as I should. Material things get in the way, Familial things create worry patterns that distress....I shall try hard not to forget to raise my eyes again. Last night, by pure chance or divine will I was restless and turned and saw....no one will ever be able to tell me how many times The Glory has been there for me to access, to rely upon, to draw upon...and I missed it. I forgot to raise my sights, I forgot to appreciate what was above me...I will try not to forget again.
For every season there is a purpose under heaven.
Saturday, 12 September 2009
Coming Home
I felt as if I was 'coming home' when I returned to the town which has half my family living in it. Mum, my Sister and two of my children and several grandchildren all live in the same area. Yet It wasn't 'coming home' in the end. It was a visit. A very welcome respite from current situations, a genuinely heart warming experience.
I met old friends and I reconnected with people from a long distant past and found a welcome there too. I even managed to see an old BF and thanked my lucky stars he was exactly that past, over , 'old' :) in the end it was a lovely time all round...but it wasn't home.
What felt like 'coming home' was the moment I hit the A55 and headed back to Harlech. I resented the miles between me and the place I have come to love so well. A place not only of beauty and warmth but where I believe my heart has always belonged. Somewhere in my genetic makeup is my 'Welshness', some sort of blood tie, family connection that goes back into the annals of history.
I was delighted during my visit to my daughter, to discover the actual address of my Great Grandparents, they lived in Trefynnon (Holywell to the English) and the very fact that I just wrote that sentence tells me a multitude of tiny little things that make up a wholeness of who I am. 'Trefynnon' , 'the English', it says it all, I am removing myself from the 'English' side of my genetic makeup. Not in a deliberate attempt to become an English/welsh mix...I am trying to find where i really am from...not in a birth style but in my emotional and blood tied manner.
I drove through countryside in England and it didn't feel like anything other than pretty, nice, preferable to houses and factories. I drove through the welsh hills and my heart squeezed with joy, with a feeling of rightness. How strange to see a land I only ever visited as a child for holidays as my home. As the place where I belong, where I connect not only with the sight and sound of a language and a peoples and a land but that I connect with the 'feel' of the place.
It is there in every step I take along the beach. I am sure there are many places that look just like this beach here...but they won't 'feel' the same. The hills I see with barren rock scattered in disarray across heathland and moss can look deceptively like the Lakes but it isn't and it doesn't feel like The Lakes either. The light is pink tinged in The Lakes, here in the Welsh Hills there is a luminosity , a lemon/gold/white glow that emanates from the reflections from lakes and streams, waterfalls and glinting dew. A necklace of mini rainbows reflect through the air and glitter in the corner of your sight, drawing attention to pocket sized images of perfection.
Of course there are scars on the land, slate and coal scored deep and angry ravages across hill and valley but it seems to me, that such ugliness, as necessary as it was in the times it was done, serve now only to highlight the beauty of all that has lain untouched for centuries. A setting of mankind's deprivations wrought like so much tarnished gold to set the jewels of the land in greater beauty still.
I once climbed Cader Idris, I tested the old legend, To climb and stay in Cader Idris was to tempt the old curse or blessing, you would be either mad or a poet when you cam down. I KNOW some may be tempted to say I am mad, to want to stay in a village where work is scarce, where rain can lash like a whip across the landscape, where the very Welshness of Gwynedd can and sometimes does repudiate the English, sending us back to England with our tails between our legs. But i would argue the case. I feel like a poet.
I have words inside me that never before found a way to be spoken. I write with a poetry of its own of this land, its peoples and my own 'Welshness' my own need to connect.
My Father and his family have the Welsh connection, my Mother and her family had the Scottish and Manx connection. perhaps one day, I will visit Scotland and find I can't leave that place without the wrench Harlech causes in my heart. Then truly I will be divided against my blood ties one side against the other....I hope not. Yet for now, I feel the deep pull of this beautiful country and its unique and endearingly proud peoples. I am grateful for the links I do have. I am proud my Father and my Greats and Great Greats come from this land...it is part of me, part of my fulfillment.
Part of my poetry.
I met old friends and I reconnected with people from a long distant past and found a welcome there too. I even managed to see an old BF and thanked my lucky stars he was exactly that past, over , 'old' :) in the end it was a lovely time all round...but it wasn't home.
What felt like 'coming home' was the moment I hit the A55 and headed back to Harlech. I resented the miles between me and the place I have come to love so well. A place not only of beauty and warmth but where I believe my heart has always belonged. Somewhere in my genetic makeup is my 'Welshness', some sort of blood tie, family connection that goes back into the annals of history.
I was delighted during my visit to my daughter, to discover the actual address of my Great Grandparents, they lived in Trefynnon (Holywell to the English) and the very fact that I just wrote that sentence tells me a multitude of tiny little things that make up a wholeness of who I am. 'Trefynnon' , 'the English', it says it all, I am removing myself from the 'English' side of my genetic makeup. Not in a deliberate attempt to become an English/welsh mix...I am trying to find where i really am from...not in a birth style but in my emotional and blood tied manner.
I drove through countryside in England and it didn't feel like anything other than pretty, nice, preferable to houses and factories. I drove through the welsh hills and my heart squeezed with joy, with a feeling of rightness. How strange to see a land I only ever visited as a child for holidays as my home. As the place where I belong, where I connect not only with the sight and sound of a language and a peoples and a land but that I connect with the 'feel' of the place.
It is there in every step I take along the beach. I am sure there are many places that look just like this beach here...but they won't 'feel' the same. The hills I see with barren rock scattered in disarray across heathland and moss can look deceptively like the Lakes but it isn't and it doesn't feel like The Lakes either. The light is pink tinged in The Lakes, here in the Welsh Hills there is a luminosity , a lemon/gold/white glow that emanates from the reflections from lakes and streams, waterfalls and glinting dew. A necklace of mini rainbows reflect through the air and glitter in the corner of your sight, drawing attention to pocket sized images of perfection.
Of course there are scars on the land, slate and coal scored deep and angry ravages across hill and valley but it seems to me, that such ugliness, as necessary as it was in the times it was done, serve now only to highlight the beauty of all that has lain untouched for centuries. A setting of mankind's deprivations wrought like so much tarnished gold to set the jewels of the land in greater beauty still.
I once climbed Cader Idris, I tested the old legend, To climb and stay in Cader Idris was to tempt the old curse or blessing, you would be either mad or a poet when you cam down. I KNOW some may be tempted to say I am mad, to want to stay in a village where work is scarce, where rain can lash like a whip across the landscape, where the very Welshness of Gwynedd can and sometimes does repudiate the English, sending us back to England with our tails between our legs. But i would argue the case. I feel like a poet.
I have words inside me that never before found a way to be spoken. I write with a poetry of its own of this land, its peoples and my own 'Welshness' my own need to connect.
My Father and his family have the Welsh connection, my Mother and her family had the Scottish and Manx connection. perhaps one day, I will visit Scotland and find I can't leave that place without the wrench Harlech causes in my heart. Then truly I will be divided against my blood ties one side against the other....I hope not. Yet for now, I feel the deep pull of this beautiful country and its unique and endearingly proud peoples. I am grateful for the links I do have. I am proud my Father and my Greats and Great Greats come from this land...it is part of me, part of my fulfillment.
Part of my poetry.
Monday, 7 September 2009
Spooky Sue and other A.K.A's
Well that's me Nome De plume Spooks/Spookeee/Spooky Sue, and has been for the last twenty odd years in good old Clinkham Wood.
Why? because my friend Mandy Hudson has children who decided 'Sue's Spooky...all because I can talk to the dead ! Now is that ANY reason to call someone spooky ? haha of course it is.
I don't mind that I have such a nickname, not from 'my gang' in Clink' to the last one of them they have my name on their mobiles as 'Spooks'or'Spooky' and it is actually a compliment. Yup...believe it or not it is.
When I was a little girl I didn't understand what 'dead' actually meant. To me it was a name for the people who you could sometimes see and not see all in the blink of an eye. People who had the ability to come and talk to me in my bedroom when everyone else was asleep, occasionally those same people helped me through crisis as children often develop the said crisis BECAUSE everyone else is fast asleep.!
By the time I started school such things as 'dead' where no more clearer than before i started school, which was OK by me, I didn't really think about it, not until I was around 8 years old. Then a beloved Aunt passed to the dead zone and everyone was crying and she is telling me she is fine and doesn't need a wheelchair anymore and my sister is angry with me because I am not crying ! and I didn't understand the why of it. In the end my Auntie sort of explained that not everyone could see her and not to say anything so I shut up.
At 11 years and 11 months and two weeks of age my absolute , most loved Great Grandma in the world passed over at the grand age of 98 and I broke my heart. I couldn't 'see' her and I was so lost. Finally dead as a word had a meaning and I began to understand the upset, the hurt other people had been feeling throughout my young life. I shut off from it, hated the fact that I could no longer see my dead people and at the same time feared it all, what if something horrible showed me its face. I had been introduced to evil and the damned and the devil by religion, it peopled my once innocent understanding of 'dead' and i believe now that it was realisation of mankinds' cruelties and religion itself that combined to halt my seeing the way I had done as a younger child.
Puberty set in and alongside that came the outburst of horror movies the like of which I had never witnessed before. From the Exorcist to Steven Kings monstrously gruesome movies I now had a whole series of possible visitors from the 'next realm' and worked hard at NOT seeing.
Dead, imaginary or whatever else people think all this is...I didn't want to know.
Never the less a gift or a curse, whatever you feel it can be, is one you can't simply do away with. There is always the nagging feeling you have something to do, someone to talk to or someone to listen to. If that is being haunted? then I was haunted for a lot of years. Occasionally I would speak about it but...and here are other titles bestowed by a fearful peer group...you become the 'weird one' the 'strange one' the 'bit OTT' one and to a teenager that is anathema so you avoid it like the plague.
Eventually my seeing the dead re-emerged one night when I was totally alone. The vision of the person was of a member of my family, I understood at last what 'dead' meant and accepted i was seeing a real, honest, ghost. I was absolutely terrified. The LAST thing I wanted was to be haunted like they showed in films. The thoughts raced around my head, my fear burst from me in two words (spelled mostly with lots of 'f's in it) and the ghost literally disappeared before my eyes.
Since those days I have come to terms with not only seeing but hearing the dead. I can occasionally understand completely and sometimes it is more that I 'think' of symbols and translate what is being 'said'. Throughout the whole experience I am deaf.dumb and blind to anything else going on around me. I can't concentrate on anything other than what I have in my 'seeing eye' and I have an urgency within me that means the message or the words must be passed to whomever it is meant for otherwise the 'dead' don't leave me alone.
I have had many people pass comments on this aspect of my life. I have been told by Christians I am the Devils Daughter and that it is The Devils Works. I have been told by Sufi that I am gifted and a messenger of The Gods, Pagans accept without question that I am an intermediary and access this part of my being with warmth and genuine humility. Other religions are equally accepting. Only within the Christian faith have I found condemnation and sometimes outright abuse. I have, in fact, been spit (literally) upon by some damned fine Christians in the past.
Has any of the fine words or crude acts altered that i speak/hear and see the dead?....not one jot.
My own Father appeared at daft -o-clock in the morning and I actually opened one eye, glared and said 'oh not now Dad' and fell back asleep...now that was silly, I love my Dad to bits...hope he returns and speaks to me again one day. I have seen many of the dead and not once have I seen them in a state of gruesome awful death or rotting. Sometimes I am shown how they 'used' to look on this earth plane and then a small shimmer of light and I see them transposed to a different age, a smarter appearance a more wholesome look and always smiling, always contented.
Expressions of terror or fear have never been there, simply peaceful and genuinely happy people with none of our worries or fears in there communications.
In answer to the unspoken questions I can almost hear...yes I believe in a soul being reborn, I think energy (by whatever format) does not die in itself, rather like the butterfly emerging, the caterpillar is dead by definition, IE: no longer exists, its shell or corpse is there, physically visible. What comes from it is a butterfly a beautiful creature . Perhaps the Caterpillar symbolises us, the fleshly being and the butterfly perhaps can be the symbol of our soul, our dead self. I think this transmutation is possible from dead to live through re introducing the etheric self to a new body.
I have several times in my life seen young babies and children around possible mothers, on occasion I have seen a 'lost' child, a child here on this plane who has passed to that next realm too soon and every one of them has been doing exactly the same thing...loving their mothers and saying sweetly 'make me a body Mum...go on...I want to come and stay this time. Sometimes the woman is too old to give birth herself and by hook or by crook that child will come back into the family, grandchild, favoured and beloved niece or nephew. It has comforted me many times to see this, and given comfort many times too. Though I am not a deity, I cannot always see. Only when it is right for me to do so.
Because I have seen the dead all my life, I do not find it weird, strange or anything else peculiar, certainly it is not spooky to me. Instead I have a joyful acknowledgment that after this life, there is something else, another journey to make. Another adventure. The Last truly Great Adventure any of us may take.
Naturally, as a Mother I have no wish to see my own family take this adventure too soon. Yet as a person who is 'spooky' and sees the dead I can say without fear of any contradiction it is not death that is the enemy, it is the manner of it yes, but not the end of this physical world because it is simply a door that opens to another era, another 'room' in the Universe.
Am I ashamed/upset/embarrassed by being known as 'Spooks' not at all.
Spooky Sue is an affectionate name , given by a child and it stuck...but then children see far more than their parents ever truly understand. So from me Spooky Sue to Craig, Shaun and Cassy Thanks kids I rather like being Spooky :)
Why? because my friend Mandy Hudson has children who decided 'Sue's Spooky...all because I can talk to the dead ! Now is that ANY reason to call someone spooky ? haha of course it is.
I don't mind that I have such a nickname, not from 'my gang' in Clink' to the last one of them they have my name on their mobiles as 'Spooks'or'Spooky' and it is actually a compliment. Yup...believe it or not it is.
When I was a little girl I didn't understand what 'dead' actually meant. To me it was a name for the people who you could sometimes see and not see all in the blink of an eye. People who had the ability to come and talk to me in my bedroom when everyone else was asleep, occasionally those same people helped me through crisis as children often develop the said crisis BECAUSE everyone else is fast asleep.!
By the time I started school such things as 'dead' where no more clearer than before i started school, which was OK by me, I didn't really think about it, not until I was around 8 years old. Then a beloved Aunt passed to the dead zone and everyone was crying and she is telling me she is fine and doesn't need a wheelchair anymore and my sister is angry with me because I am not crying ! and I didn't understand the why of it. In the end my Auntie sort of explained that not everyone could see her and not to say anything so I shut up.
At 11 years and 11 months and two weeks of age my absolute , most loved Great Grandma in the world passed over at the grand age of 98 and I broke my heart. I couldn't 'see' her and I was so lost. Finally dead as a word had a meaning and I began to understand the upset, the hurt other people had been feeling throughout my young life. I shut off from it, hated the fact that I could no longer see my dead people and at the same time feared it all, what if something horrible showed me its face. I had been introduced to evil and the damned and the devil by religion, it peopled my once innocent understanding of 'dead' and i believe now that it was realisation of mankinds' cruelties and religion itself that combined to halt my seeing the way I had done as a younger child.
Puberty set in and alongside that came the outburst of horror movies the like of which I had never witnessed before. From the Exorcist to Steven Kings monstrously gruesome movies I now had a whole series of possible visitors from the 'next realm' and worked hard at NOT seeing.
Dead, imaginary or whatever else people think all this is...I didn't want to know.
Never the less a gift or a curse, whatever you feel it can be, is one you can't simply do away with. There is always the nagging feeling you have something to do, someone to talk to or someone to listen to. If that is being haunted? then I was haunted for a lot of years. Occasionally I would speak about it but...and here are other titles bestowed by a fearful peer group...you become the 'weird one' the 'strange one' the 'bit OTT' one and to a teenager that is anathema so you avoid it like the plague.
Eventually my seeing the dead re-emerged one night when I was totally alone. The vision of the person was of a member of my family, I understood at last what 'dead' meant and accepted i was seeing a real, honest, ghost. I was absolutely terrified. The LAST thing I wanted was to be haunted like they showed in films. The thoughts raced around my head, my fear burst from me in two words (spelled mostly with lots of 'f's in it) and the ghost literally disappeared before my eyes.
Since those days I have come to terms with not only seeing but hearing the dead. I can occasionally understand completely and sometimes it is more that I 'think' of symbols and translate what is being 'said'. Throughout the whole experience I am deaf.dumb and blind to anything else going on around me. I can't concentrate on anything other than what I have in my 'seeing eye' and I have an urgency within me that means the message or the words must be passed to whomever it is meant for otherwise the 'dead' don't leave me alone.
I have had many people pass comments on this aspect of my life. I have been told by Christians I am the Devils Daughter and that it is The Devils Works. I have been told by Sufi that I am gifted and a messenger of The Gods, Pagans accept without question that I am an intermediary and access this part of my being with warmth and genuine humility. Other religions are equally accepting. Only within the Christian faith have I found condemnation and sometimes outright abuse. I have, in fact, been spit (literally) upon by some damned fine Christians in the past.
Has any of the fine words or crude acts altered that i speak/hear and see the dead?....not one jot.
My own Father appeared at daft -o-clock in the morning and I actually opened one eye, glared and said 'oh not now Dad' and fell back asleep...now that was silly, I love my Dad to bits...hope he returns and speaks to me again one day. I have seen many of the dead and not once have I seen them in a state of gruesome awful death or rotting. Sometimes I am shown how they 'used' to look on this earth plane and then a small shimmer of light and I see them transposed to a different age, a smarter appearance a more wholesome look and always smiling, always contented.
Expressions of terror or fear have never been there, simply peaceful and genuinely happy people with none of our worries or fears in there communications.
In answer to the unspoken questions I can almost hear...yes I believe in a soul being reborn, I think energy (by whatever format) does not die in itself, rather like the butterfly emerging, the caterpillar is dead by definition, IE: no longer exists, its shell or corpse is there, physically visible. What comes from it is a butterfly a beautiful creature . Perhaps the Caterpillar symbolises us, the fleshly being and the butterfly perhaps can be the symbol of our soul, our dead self. I think this transmutation is possible from dead to live through re introducing the etheric self to a new body.
I have several times in my life seen young babies and children around possible mothers, on occasion I have seen a 'lost' child, a child here on this plane who has passed to that next realm too soon and every one of them has been doing exactly the same thing...loving their mothers and saying sweetly 'make me a body Mum...go on...I want to come and stay this time. Sometimes the woman is too old to give birth herself and by hook or by crook that child will come back into the family, grandchild, favoured and beloved niece or nephew. It has comforted me many times to see this, and given comfort many times too. Though I am not a deity, I cannot always see. Only when it is right for me to do so.
Because I have seen the dead all my life, I do not find it weird, strange or anything else peculiar, certainly it is not spooky to me. Instead I have a joyful acknowledgment that after this life, there is something else, another journey to make. Another adventure. The Last truly Great Adventure any of us may take.
Naturally, as a Mother I have no wish to see my own family take this adventure too soon. Yet as a person who is 'spooky' and sees the dead I can say without fear of any contradiction it is not death that is the enemy, it is the manner of it yes, but not the end of this physical world because it is simply a door that opens to another era, another 'room' in the Universe.
Am I ashamed/upset/embarrassed by being known as 'Spooks' not at all.
Spooky Sue is an affectionate name , given by a child and it stuck...but then children see far more than their parents ever truly understand. So from me Spooky Sue to Craig, Shaun and Cassy Thanks kids I rather like being Spooky :)
Sunday, 6 September 2009
Friendship
This week I learned what true friendship means. It has taken a long time for me to be able to reach out. I am so used to being the one reached to, the one who is 'there' ready to be counted. I had forgotten the golden rules of true friendship.
When ever you feel lost, afraid or lonely it is a friend who fills the need. Partners can and do come and go in our lives, our own families still have the odd bit of sibling rivalry or the momentary eldest/youngest/favoured moment. Friends love you...just because your you.
It is very easy within a friendship for each person to fall into a category, one defined by circumstance and sometimes even our peers. The strong one/blonde one.thin one. prettier one is often peer group observation. Within the friendship itself the people involved can and do accept certain roles, the mentor, the one with money, the one without a partner each aspect feeding into the roles adopted and sometimes creating a balance that 'works' for each person to a degree.
Yet there is a time, when it is a role reversal and sometimes it is necessary on so many different levels, that the complexity creates a bond within the friendship so close, so strong that family start to feel it.
I have lost count of the times one or the other of 'us' in a friendship has been the subject of family jealousies. " she has too much influence over you", " don't you think your seeing too much of each other " hasn't she got somewhere else to go" yet the two within the friendship are comfortable, content and don't feel, see or experience any of the negatives being implied by others.
Silence is a shared comfort, to be able to read a book, watch a programme, do a little hobby in a friendship and 'not need to talk', to be able to offer without thought of cost to the other and feel that it is right.
Now and again a friendship is a threat to a relationship. The new partner or even sometimes the established partner feels the 'influences' of 'the friend' intrude, create problems within the relationship itself. This is often part of not only jealousy but fears. The wild one might take out the partner and they might 'get up to no good' , judgements made from their own insecurities.
So many layers, meanings and definitions within a friendship and one important little factor, that occasionally we can forget.
I nearly forgot. It was a small hesitation, a single moment when I needed to ask for help...and so nearly didn't. Pride, fear, embarrassment ? haven't a clue, I didn't look that deep. All I know is that for one moment all I could think was that I am so used to being the strong one, the one with answers for others that reaching out, asking for help was an embarrassing moment in my life.
But within a friendship, the give and the take are not counted. Sometimes it is necessary when so strong to realise the weaknesses that have been hidden. The pride or the ego that wants to keep things to the self is really a warning to stop, think and share. Above all to share.
I used to say to my children...if you can't tell your mother...then you shouldn't be doing it.
Well transferred in a way to friendships...if you can't ask for when you are easy with giving then you are defining yourself and placing yourself in an arrogant position of being above the need. Eager to give to feed the ego of superiority or self esteem boosting because you have something your friend hasn't.
I overcame whatever the ego had in place and reached out.
In all that I said and did every single friend 'was there for me' for my need and fulfilled it in some way or another that has both humbled and at the same time made me realise what a very lucky woman I am.
I love my friends
and now I understand, my Friends love me
equally.
That is something no money, no gift, no giving can buy. Only by accepting, with gratitude and understanding do you do your friend a service, you are acknowledging the equality of you both to give and to receive whether it is material, fiscal or emotional. Each gift, each moment of time.
Is beyond price.
When ever you feel lost, afraid or lonely it is a friend who fills the need. Partners can and do come and go in our lives, our own families still have the odd bit of sibling rivalry or the momentary eldest/youngest/favoured moment. Friends love you...just because your you.
It is very easy within a friendship for each person to fall into a category, one defined by circumstance and sometimes even our peers. The strong one/blonde one.thin one. prettier one is often peer group observation. Within the friendship itself the people involved can and do accept certain roles, the mentor, the one with money, the one without a partner each aspect feeding into the roles adopted and sometimes creating a balance that 'works' for each person to a degree.
Yet there is a time, when it is a role reversal and sometimes it is necessary on so many different levels, that the complexity creates a bond within the friendship so close, so strong that family start to feel it.
I have lost count of the times one or the other of 'us' in a friendship has been the subject of family jealousies. " she has too much influence over you", " don't you think your seeing too much of each other " hasn't she got somewhere else to go" yet the two within the friendship are comfortable, content and don't feel, see or experience any of the negatives being implied by others.
Silence is a shared comfort, to be able to read a book, watch a programme, do a little hobby in a friendship and 'not need to talk', to be able to offer without thought of cost to the other and feel that it is right.
Now and again a friendship is a threat to a relationship. The new partner or even sometimes the established partner feels the 'influences' of 'the friend' intrude, create problems within the relationship itself. This is often part of not only jealousy but fears. The wild one might take out the partner and they might 'get up to no good' , judgements made from their own insecurities.
So many layers, meanings and definitions within a friendship and one important little factor, that occasionally we can forget.
I nearly forgot. It was a small hesitation, a single moment when I needed to ask for help...and so nearly didn't. Pride, fear, embarrassment ? haven't a clue, I didn't look that deep. All I know is that for one moment all I could think was that I am so used to being the strong one, the one with answers for others that reaching out, asking for help was an embarrassing moment in my life.
But within a friendship, the give and the take are not counted. Sometimes it is necessary when so strong to realise the weaknesses that have been hidden. The pride or the ego that wants to keep things to the self is really a warning to stop, think and share. Above all to share.
I used to say to my children...if you can't tell your mother...then you shouldn't be doing it.
Well transferred in a way to friendships...if you can't ask for when you are easy with giving then you are defining yourself and placing yourself in an arrogant position of being above the need. Eager to give to feed the ego of superiority or self esteem boosting because you have something your friend hasn't.
I overcame whatever the ego had in place and reached out.
In all that I said and did every single friend 'was there for me' for my need and fulfilled it in some way or another that has both humbled and at the same time made me realise what a very lucky woman I am.
I love my friends
and now I understand, my Friends love me
equally.
That is something no money, no gift, no giving can buy. Only by accepting, with gratitude and understanding do you do your friend a service, you are acknowledging the equality of you both to give and to receive whether it is material, fiscal or emotional. Each gift, each moment of time.
Is beyond price.
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
All the Artists in Gwynedd
I looked around for 'possible' providers of art in Gwynedd and nearly had a heart attack !!! there are so many.
For a start there are several very famous artists, then there are the Craft Stall Holders, The Guilds, The students and the people dedicated to simply learning a new skill.
All this creativity is so wonderful, so many creative and busy people. What is more...the more people are involved in one aspect of creativity the more likely they are to become involved in other things.
Locally we have active and very busy groups of people from The Ardudwy Knights right through to The Theatre Company and so much more... I am delighted, I am enthralled.
There is so much more to become involved in that is not only sociable but productive.
Of course the odd night out in the pub is always a nice alternative to a night in with a vid' or DVD...but meeting people, sharing ideas. The Historical Society, the Women's groups...more and more I am becoming fascinated by life in a small village.
There are, and always will be, those who settle here for a quieter more isolated life, yet the spirit of camaraderie, the togetherness that has been built by dedicated people is something truly magnificent. Along the way you become friendly with like minded people, begin to discover aspects of their nature which have been hidden away for a while, the lady who spins at home, the man who plays the harp, the chap who is a whizz on guitar, all quietly getting on with their lives and sharing when it feels right, when it makes things good and enjoyable. No pressures, no must or must not phrases, just simple enjoyments with people who have similar ideals.
I compared some of what I see here, in my little village and realise how soulless the town, the city can become. Of course their are artistic and creative people in such places and in cities particularly there are thriving societies and groups which often get public funding....but you also have far more people who are not interested, won't join in or who are afraid of peers 'laughing' at them. Too disinterested in becoming a part of society.
Here in the village the people who do not join in...stand out like a sore thumb. It is far more likely that peers would question your absence from a group or society than comment on you joining. be it the local rugby team, the golf or the cricket, the scuba diving or the marina crowd, the Theatre or one of the dozens of action groups involved in a specific interest....you belong and because you belong...others approach you and so on.
All of this has rushed into my brain far more today than any other day, simply because I am seeking artists, creative people with creative products for a venture. I suddenly realised it isn't a matter of actually finding artists...its going to be a matter of sorting through the many...what a wonderful thing indeed. Not seeking gold amongst the dross, but seeking platinum amongst the gold.
Yet again, I feel blessed.
For a start there are several very famous artists, then there are the Craft Stall Holders, The Guilds, The students and the people dedicated to simply learning a new skill.
All this creativity is so wonderful, so many creative and busy people. What is more...the more people are involved in one aspect of creativity the more likely they are to become involved in other things.
Locally we have active and very busy groups of people from The Ardudwy Knights right through to The Theatre Company and so much more... I am delighted, I am enthralled.
There is so much more to become involved in that is not only sociable but productive.
Of course the odd night out in the pub is always a nice alternative to a night in with a vid' or DVD...but meeting people, sharing ideas. The Historical Society, the Women's groups...more and more I am becoming fascinated by life in a small village.
There are, and always will be, those who settle here for a quieter more isolated life, yet the spirit of camaraderie, the togetherness that has been built by dedicated people is something truly magnificent. Along the way you become friendly with like minded people, begin to discover aspects of their nature which have been hidden away for a while, the lady who spins at home, the man who plays the harp, the chap who is a whizz on guitar, all quietly getting on with their lives and sharing when it feels right, when it makes things good and enjoyable. No pressures, no must or must not phrases, just simple enjoyments with people who have similar ideals.
I compared some of what I see here, in my little village and realise how soulless the town, the city can become. Of course their are artistic and creative people in such places and in cities particularly there are thriving societies and groups which often get public funding....but you also have far more people who are not interested, won't join in or who are afraid of peers 'laughing' at them. Too disinterested in becoming a part of society.
Here in the village the people who do not join in...stand out like a sore thumb. It is far more likely that peers would question your absence from a group or society than comment on you joining. be it the local rugby team, the golf or the cricket, the scuba diving or the marina crowd, the Theatre or one of the dozens of action groups involved in a specific interest....you belong and because you belong...others approach you and so on.
All of this has rushed into my brain far more today than any other day, simply because I am seeking artists, creative people with creative products for a venture. I suddenly realised it isn't a matter of actually finding artists...its going to be a matter of sorting through the many...what a wonderful thing indeed. Not seeking gold amongst the dross, but seeking platinum amongst the gold.
Yet again, I feel blessed.
Tuesday, 1 September 2009
New Beginnings
Sometimes we have to 'start all over again'. I find myself in that unenviable position today.
Last week was Heaven/Hell and a bit of Hospital thrown in for good measure. This week its all phone calls, negotiation and hopes. All I truly understand is that if I follow my beliefs, to their logical conclusion, then I have to accept that 'there is a plan!'. I might not know its course, I will probably never understand it, and all I have to offer it is pure faith.
If (as I suspect) I will have to work exceptionally hard as well.....then all will be right with my world and I will have the hopes fulfilled, the negotiations satisfactorily settled and the phone calls will come in droves....that's it...faith fulfilled.
I do try in my world to be a faithful person. I am not for example someone who would have an affair behind someones back, nor would I tell a lie deliberately. I try to be not only an honest person but someone who 'puts my money where my mouth is'. That can be uncomfortable sometimes and occasionally I find myself (as I am this week) in a bit of a muddle because I have held to my principles. Of course there is always a consequence to ones own actions and if you are prepared for that, then that's fine. I on the other hand, being someone with the organisational skills of a gnat...am never prepared. Hence all I have is faith.
Ah well, I shall wait upon the will of heaven and Keep the Faith. One way or another, I will be proven right or wrong and it won't take that much time for it to all come around.
Faith is, indefinable, it has no parameters, no boundaries of any kind,. Moving mountains seems a doddle when you put faith in the equation...first pick up your shovel...no shovel? use your hands...its a beginning....well my life is a mountain. I have huge great mounds of memories, thoughts, contemplations, hopes, dreams and ambitions. I have feelings by the bucket load and a plethora of mixed responses, rationalities and irrationalities all for the use of. They make a mountain of their own...and I am moving it.
When faith is all you have it seems a little odd, a little strange to have only that one direct and uncontrollable belief in the self, in the will of heaven (however you define your deities will) and so forth. Yet faith is, in itself the first ingredient in any action in life. Whether your baking a cake (and the faith it will rise in the oven despite not knowing the right temperature to cook it !) or faith in the fact that 'everything will turn out for the best'. The thing is..... there is no proof. Only the faith and in that single act of trusting to the will of the powers that be...you become a child again.
Well I feel like I am five years old and I lost my Mum in the supermarket...I have no one to hold my hand, no reassuring smiling face to tell me there is no such thing as a bogeyman and my heart is pounding like the devils own drum...so all I can do...is have faith.
I genuinely did get lost in a supermarket (well the equivalent of one :) ) and all I had then at the grand old age of 5 was faith my Mum would find me. That's the principle I am applying now....Someone will find me, fix things and protect me.....so I keep the faith.
Last week was Heaven/Hell and a bit of Hospital thrown in for good measure. This week its all phone calls, negotiation and hopes. All I truly understand is that if I follow my beliefs, to their logical conclusion, then I have to accept that 'there is a plan!'. I might not know its course, I will probably never understand it, and all I have to offer it is pure faith.
If (as I suspect) I will have to work exceptionally hard as well.....then all will be right with my world and I will have the hopes fulfilled, the negotiations satisfactorily settled and the phone calls will come in droves....that's it...faith fulfilled.
I do try in my world to be a faithful person. I am not for example someone who would have an affair behind someones back, nor would I tell a lie deliberately. I try to be not only an honest person but someone who 'puts my money where my mouth is'. That can be uncomfortable sometimes and occasionally I find myself (as I am this week) in a bit of a muddle because I have held to my principles. Of course there is always a consequence to ones own actions and if you are prepared for that, then that's fine. I on the other hand, being someone with the organisational skills of a gnat...am never prepared. Hence all I have is faith.
Ah well, I shall wait upon the will of heaven and Keep the Faith. One way or another, I will be proven right or wrong and it won't take that much time for it to all come around.
Faith is, indefinable, it has no parameters, no boundaries of any kind,. Moving mountains seems a doddle when you put faith in the equation...first pick up your shovel...no shovel? use your hands...its a beginning....well my life is a mountain. I have huge great mounds of memories, thoughts, contemplations, hopes, dreams and ambitions. I have feelings by the bucket load and a plethora of mixed responses, rationalities and irrationalities all for the use of. They make a mountain of their own...and I am moving it.
When faith is all you have it seems a little odd, a little strange to have only that one direct and uncontrollable belief in the self, in the will of heaven (however you define your deities will) and so forth. Yet faith is, in itself the first ingredient in any action in life. Whether your baking a cake (and the faith it will rise in the oven despite not knowing the right temperature to cook it !) or faith in the fact that 'everything will turn out for the best'. The thing is..... there is no proof. Only the faith and in that single act of trusting to the will of the powers that be...you become a child again.
Well I feel like I am five years old and I lost my Mum in the supermarket...I have no one to hold my hand, no reassuring smiling face to tell me there is no such thing as a bogeyman and my heart is pounding like the devils own drum...so all I can do...is have faith.
I genuinely did get lost in a supermarket (well the equivalent of one :) ) and all I had then at the grand old age of 5 was faith my Mum would find me. That's the principle I am applying now....Someone will find me, fix things and protect me.....so I keep the faith.
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