I settled by night in the tender fold of twinkling lights and the moon’s soft hold… I was touched by the peace of wild things, the evening’s stillness against my skin, and I sank into lawns of emerald green, with a tingly feeling of the unseen, when words mean less than the movement of love, I’m bathed in essence of the stars above…
A dusty road took me there, to a tin house, unmistakably shanty in appearance, it still had a certain appeal-standing out in the parched scrubland. Its blushing red roof caught my attention. There’s no one home now, the shutters are firmly closed and a deep silence rings through the rooftops. Stillness lies on the soft dune-like earth, where once it bore unrefined food. A shadowed porch is cool in the summer heat and I can almost hear the echo of Father’s tall tales and the reek of his tobacco. The outhouse has run dry. The hallway still remembers the laughter of children and the cockerel crowing in the backyard at dawn. There’s a chimney blackened with soot from an old woodstove.
We had so much time on our hands back then, Mother would peel potatoes to roast with a topside of beef and sip sherry at the kitchen table. I reached into my memories and remembered when days were simple, waters were sweet, and the sun sank into my cheeks with no regret. No-one knew about global warming or ice caps melting then, the TV was black and white, and scratchy records played melodic tunes on the turntable. The earth was still a wholesome place to live or so I thought as a naïve child.
I played barefoot in the garden, doing ballet on the front lawn as my brother took snaps. I watched tiny buds push their way up through the cracked ground in celebration of a summer downpour. I’ve reimagined my life that way again, a gaggle of hens and a flock of ducks clucking away, scratching the earth for tasty morsels, pitching their story to me in the late afternoon, finding a perch before the sun went down, my own little piece of paradise.
I’m ever hopeful of returning to the simple construct of an uncomplicated life, filled with home-grown vegetables, nourishment for the soul, both mental and physical-to a time when we exchanged pleasantries, perhaps even a little gossip with the neighbors and sometimes a cup of sugar or a few eggs.
“Silence is a source of Great Strength.” ― Lao Tzu
Sit with me a while and gaze out at the hills, watch life go by, get caught up in the thrill of doing very little, while dreaming of other worlds… drink in the ambience until hard lines gently blur… forgetting all our troubles we’ll sink into our bliss, abiding in the silence, where fear cannot exist…
and in the middle distance we’ll find, that grace moves unconfined…
We have a popular car-boot sale here every month where you can sell junk, it’s like a yard sale and a whole lot of us get together, and people come and buy our pre-loved stuff.
I have been clearing out and it is more than just dust and papers, it’s my heart. I find photos of Steve and his twelve-step books, a valentine card he gave me, his writings, and the Egyptian cotton sheets he slept on, it’s excruciating! Some things I still hold onto for dear life, his cricket bat and his last box of cigarettes.
I know it seems strange but those were the things he touched they connect me to him they are his beloved things, earthly possessions that brought him happiness!
raw hurts like crazy raw breaks me I clean out these closets of my sorrow again and again but they still find me in the dust in the tears disguised as hay-fever trickling down my face.
they can’t wash me out
I look through old photographs and fragments of him and I am destroyed, I don’t know if I will survive, but I hear his voice through the piles of papers his favorite books, study notes, poems he wrote, through the terrible suffering he endured and he always forgave and he still forgives…
and he tells me to do the same!
he lives on in my everyday dreams, he is the voice in my head reminding me that everything will be okay, he’s my teacher, a guardian of my secrets freed now from his Earthly pain…
the car boot sale isn’t big enough to hold my baggage, to sell it to the next poor unassuming soul. I am a hoarder of memories selling them doesn’t feel like a betrayal, it’s more like the gradual letting go of indescribable pain, a catharsis, or maybe it’s just to forget….
these are the things I must do to survive I will hold this connection in my heart forever and we will meet again, face to face, it’s the sacred vow we made together once long before my memories began…
“It is important to expect nothing, to take every experience, including the negative ones, as merely steps on the path, and to proceed.” ― Ram Dass
It was an existential crisis, a sign of the times, like a reed in the wind I was blown every which way, unable to take hold of earth’s loveliness, like I usually do!
I wanted to find that elusive escape button so that I could pretend that there is nothing wrong with the world or with me. I was questioning everything, and for an instant believing nothing!
You know that feeling, when you wonder if anything is actually real or is being alive just a figment of your imagination?
Like being outside of your body and seeing an unfamiliar person!
It wasn’t in the pages of a book or a movie that I found the remedy that brought the magic back.
the mind has its own will and being stubborn by nature it goes on a loop, a never-ending cycle without my permission pulling me under until I can no-longer breathe!
It was a glimpse, a word, maybe a phrase, an ah-ha moment, when I realized I was writing my own story again before it even happened, but without a happy ending. A futuristic novel based on bad evidence mixed with lashings of self-doubt, an incoherent babble, with an apocalyptic ending where everything falls entirely apart!
Maybe it was an angelic message or an intervention of some kind, an… “alright already, enough!”
I tend to do that, I tend to make up stories, some true, but mostly false, telling myself I’m ugly or useless.
I don’t know where they come from, they occupy an old groove in an over-played worn-out recording?
Not my original earth-song, spoken to me by Jah, sung to me by the angels made in the sacred light of stars written by the Time Lords given to me to carry through eternity…
It’s quite overwhelming not to believe in oneself, it’s like being stuck in quicksand, and all around there’s a quagmire of doubt sucking me down, into a horrible state of powerlessness!
I’m sitting it out now letting the last fragments of doubt dissipate the madness runs through my blood and bleeds out… I’m watching the rush of waters as I wait for the moon to pull the tides out…
I promise I’ll try not rage against the storm even when I see it coming from a distance…
instead I’ll open my eyes and my heart and let the light filter in and I’ll keep on keeping on…
I’ll see those steps before me, I will admit I’m powerless, I’ll believe that my Higher Power can restore me to sanity, I’ll turn over my will to the God of my understanding,