Would it be
that time…
steeling silvery
across
forehead
lightly touching
and
feathering
brows and cheeks
leaving
traces of
time itself
to smile and
crease
at life…
be the
artist
of our
days and dreams
etching
remembrance
reflected
in every mirror
and smile
to remind
always
I read a piece this morning about so much light coming into our world at the moment, events falling like dominoes lined up to give way to truth and love. Part of this lightening of our world is the healing, letting go of traumas, yesterday and the day before and the day before. Made me think of the story of my life that I am writing if and when I feel strong enough. Left it too long, time to revisit and pull the bandage off and get this done. Time to move on.
“I began my job as any other guardian angel, with the birth of my charge. She was such a sweet, quiet little thing. A thinker and an old soul I could see right from the first moment we met. I hunched my wings for a second, acting on a strange feeling that this was going to be a long, up-and-down, soul bruising ride. I shook the feeling off as I looked into those steady, inquisitive eyes and made myself belief I was just jittery from being on a new assignment and the uncertainty of the unknown path lying stretched out before the two of us.
Her birth was easy enough but she did not arrive into a peaceful world. Her father, battling his own growing bitterness, was pushing everybody away, and her mother, lost to love at a young age, craving affection, acceptance and recognition, that were just not there. She was loved, from the beginning, in the fleeting moments of time between her parents’ fighting their own wars and trying to survive their own paths. Patiently waiting, remembering and hoping to be seen.
Looking back the one thing I remember clearly from those early years was her never demanding time, attention or love. It was as if she realised her future role in the family and her reasons for choosing this life and all the lessons that will go with it. Taking time to observe and prepare, an old soul watching and waiting, my first impression of her at her birth staying with me right through all our years and times together.
Those early days passed easy enough, for all the hustle and bustle of life around her. All her basic needs were taken care of and there were hugs and cuddles, outings and photo shoots, doting friends of the family and soft and warm blankets in her crib. I would stroke her soft hair, staring intently into those deep eyes at night time and murmur memories of her journey, of her intent and her obligations chosen for this life. She used to just smile contently but with an ever more noticeable weary look in those eyes. This worried me, as if she could see beyond what I was seeing and remembering more than I could give. I got the feeling that she carried a heavy burden for such a small body, old soul memories stored in too little space, not leaving any space for just being. Strings already pulling her into promised obligations without giving her any time to adjust, settle, rest and be ready when the time came.”
Blessings to my Guardian Angel everyday for being there, guiding me, especially in the days and times when I try and figure this out on my own, wrapping the world around me, and not my soul.
Garfield has become our word for resilience, not giving up, hanging by a thread, climbing back from almost not being to being.
Garfield was rescued from a gutter, skin and bones, neutered, not scared of people and blind. The only conclusion in this cruel world is that he had a home and was discarded like an old piece of furniture because he had a fault, a problem, a little crack that made him shine but not acceptable as the norm for perfect. To me the perfect example of what is so very wrong with our world and values in general.
He has settled into our hearts and shrugged off the bitter street life, eating, talking, sleeping and cuddling to his heart’s content. He is our miracle at the veterinary practice and our days revolve around working and then tipping through to chat, cuddle, feed and love Garfield. He has blossomed in a way that only love can achieve, still scrawny, but slowly but surely picking up and getting his bones covered, following our voices, finding his way around his little space and happily spending time with his foster mom (one of our receptionists) whom he shares a bed, a couch and a friend with.
Love and happiness is….a Garfield.
Beautiful words found on a wall in a garden. So true and simple and what we are re-learning after lockdown while re-evaluating our values, old normal and moving back to what being human entails.
Three Magic Words….three words that caught my attention from an old book that I am using in a mixed media project, just laying down texture, playing with colour. This got me thinking, what would my Three Magic Words be, sound like, feel or pretend to be? There is a sort of holding back in my throat, almost as if my body or soul is too scared to let Three Magic Words escape. I wait, I listen, I take a walk, make some coffee, smoke, play with the dog, but the stuck feeling in my throat is still there. This can’t be, I always find words, words that flow and fit and caress and remind and promise. Why can I not find three words today?
Maybe I am too scared to even think of magic, going along nicely in my almost comfortable, almost healed (most days) train. Maybe I don’t want to rock the boat, let a new dream slip out and cover me with feather soft feelings of anticipation and wonder. Maybe I am still too vulnerable, or maybe I am just too tired.
Magic for me lies in the way the light falls through the leaves and my windows, the pathways created on the beach when the tide pulls away, leaving a thinning between worlds, shimmering in light and shadow and ripples. Magic lies underneath the mossy leaves and dark green ferns growing in the woods, my Faye family’s home. Magic lies in the light I see in my son’s eyes when he smiles at me with that teenager goofy grin. Magic lies in the purring of my cats, the way my dog nestles against me on a lazy morning. Magic is all around me, everyday, but what are my Three Magic Words?
A line from one of my poems comes to mind and it feels just right even though it is not a sentence as such, no context to relate to and just hanging there, three words by itself, being enough to be my Three Magic Words:
Colours, teasing, pleasing……
Photography has always been part of my life, almost an obsession, and I think mainly because I do not remember much of my life as a child, even a teenager and all the the years in between now and then. Trauma response according to the clever people I see every now and again, and something that is very difficult to unlearn. I am trying, mindful exercises, breathing, counting when I feel my awareness leaving or that door coming down on a feeling or reaction, but still it is there. Photography is a way of proving to myself that I was there, that this happened in my life in this journey, that I am living, breathing and part of this journey, memory or no memory.
I am sharing some of my special memory photographs of my home town, photo’s that speak to me on many levels and still give me goosebumps of remembering….
Change has a way of sneaking up on you, feeling awfully unexpected, but in hindsight, all the pointers, nudges and signs were there. Change in English does not taste the same as in my home language “verandering” which sort of rolls around the tongue, sneaking down to my belly, lolling around for a bit and languidly spreading to every limb, cell and eventually every atom of my being. I feel the resistance along the way. Brain is a big fighter of change, I have to maneuver, blind sight and eventually sneak around while keeping Brain busy with endless other trivial thoughts. I am eventually in, past Brain and then the resistance of Ego steps to the front. Halt, who goes there and all that, trying very hard to sound as official and in charge as it is used to be. The first duty of Ego is to protect, protect against any danger to me, and Change is seen as big no-no, all Ego’s red flags are up and it can feel and see control slipping away.
Arguing with Ego serves no purpose, been there, done that, got the T shirt. Bribing also does not work. Reverse psychology, forget about it. No way to flank around like I did with brain, Ego is single minded and focused on me and Change. The only way to really get past Ego, is meditation. Yes, I am terrible at meditation, I try, I try very hard, and the harder I try, the harder Ego pushes thoughts and random facts into my breathing. I take a few steps back, stashing Change in a corner while Ego is focused on me. I retreat a few steps more, trying to communicate to Change to make a run for it. Nope, Change is not going anywhere without me.
I pull up my laptop, find the most soothing sounds and voice known to me, and breathe, breathe and try to still my mind and get Ego to let go and dissolve in the stream of sounds of bliss. What are we having for dinner? Why did we mention death in that last conversation? Would I still be able to work after 60? Did Tristan do all his homework? Am I eating enough greens? The thoughts randomly pour over my head, relentless, pushed by a very determined Ego, fighting for his very existence. Somebody told me, the trick with meditation is to get past this point, this whisper of giving up because I am not getting anywhere. Ok, breathe, just breathe, watch the clear water I am floating in, acknowledge the thought, say hello and thank you for passing by and let it slip away in the clear water. Wow, it worked, I floated, I breathed, I softened and eventually fell asleep, waking hours later with a new glow inside me and a little voice whispering, I am here, I made it, we are changing together.
Change does not come one at a time, it rocks up at the most unexpected moments, in the middle of a crisis, in the middle of drama, in the middle of a walk on the beach, and every time it takes me by surprise, big or small. I can feel myself starting to tune in, picking up on signals, signs and nudges, I read, I write, I delve deep and watch as I spiral more and more inward, knocking on long locked doors, dusting off old feelings, thoughts and dreams whilst all the while hearing that song pulling me ever deeper with the promise of life, and still Change happens on me, without me realising it.
PS. I am still having my mediation battles, Ego is very persistent, and the more control is sees slipping away, the more determined Ego becomes. I manage the floating and softening every third of fourth mediation, but I am getting there, I am starting to trust myself to let go and to connect, waving fear along and dressed in my new brave skin, crown on my head, rubies and emeralds catching the sunlight as it filters through the clear water, I am changing, and I am becoming a confident traveler, discovering me.
Today was market day. A fat happy to be able to have this part of normal back again, but filled with mixed feelings because, well, there will be people, and kids, and lots of them. LOL!
Fact is, I am not big on people in general, there are a very few exceptions. I am also not very big on kids, very few exceptions. I do art and crafts, building fairy gardens, for kids, go figure. This market was scheduled from 10h00 to 16h00, way to many hours for me filled with people. By 11 o’clock, my bubble was wearing thin, very thin. The funny thing is, people like me, kids love me, and they fill my stall and space with chatter and conversation and laughter and glitter and the most amazing joy. I get hugs, I have kids on my lap and I have parents chatting away about life, motivations, our new normal, family, connections and raising kids. I am a grandmother of many, the eldest 18 years and youngest 4 years old, 5 boys and 1 girl. I run and chase, have sword fights, play weird and wonderful online games, brave our cold ocean for fun in the waves and love them to pieces but at the end of the day I crave, being just me most of the time.
Most of my friends, small circle, call me selfish, the others understand exactly what I mean and we have our coffee shop chats, browsing the local nursery and crystal shops, hugs and tears and sharing and deep connections and then we go home and we are. Sharing my space with my furry friends, my 17 year old son and mother with enough space around for everybody, leaves a lot of room for just being, painting, reading, writing, thinking, dreaming and being. I am happily single, I would not know where to fit anybody else into my life, where would I take time away to spend on giving attention to another person? Having to think about serious dinners, who decides where we go and what we do? I am getting all frazzled just thinking about it. Nothing wrong with real relationship, but so few real people left to start a relationship with. Nothing against a good, fine-looking male, having a chat and some love, but it will have to be on my terms, preferably quite a distance between us. I think I would make a wonderful mistress, if only I could get past the moral indignity of that. LOL!!
Well, I did survive the people and kids, my bubble totally frazzled out around about 12h00, but I made it. Super proud of myself and the way I handled all the energy around me once my bubble went for a loop. Conscious of not letting to much energy get absorbed by energy vampires and not taking to much negative energy on either.
Maybe with so many new selfish habits being installed by myself, my feelings about people and kids are changing? LOL!! Maybe I am just kidding myself and my tolerance level was just pretty high today?
All good, time to just relax with my furry friends, have my coffee, smoke, space and quiet.
Some days start slowly, with the night dreams lingering and whispering the tales of magick and adventure just left. Stretching, yawning and just breathing while slowly adjusting to a new day, sunlight falling through the curtains and 4 pair of eyes staring expectantly at me, watching this process unfold like the old friends we are. They always bring a smile to my face, the subdued feline happiness to find me awake and ready to chat and purr away, cuddling up and vying for the best spot. I can hear my dog calling at the door and all of a sudden the bed is full of happiness and jumps and love and licks while the cats look on with faces that say, really, do you have to be so transparent?
My honey days are made of love and acceptance, hot coffee, smoking and chatting away to my furry family. Moving to the porch, looking at my fairy gardens, faffing around with new plants, feeding the birds and watching the sun birds and garden birds welcoming this new day brings a peace and a feeling of belonging and being part of this awesome adventure called life, all connected, and all important. I feel the rhythm of my body adjusting, slowing down and every breath brings more and more contentment to my soul. Life is simple and the simple things are what keeps us connected.
Chatting with my Mom, second cup of coffee, the words just flowing over and around me, takes me back to the roads traveled to this point. The drama, the trauma, the pain, loss, running, love and discovering, all in the past, and all so melodramatic in a still moment like this. Do we over complicate life? Are we driven by our dreams or the media expectations of happiness which leaves us so very busy, tired, absent with too much money to fill the holes of needs and simple slow conversations?
Time to breath and remember to incorporate this stillness, this rhythm of being into my days, especially those “busy” days.
Take time for yourself, breath and stretch and remember you are here to be the honest version of you.
The words spinning around in my head, struggling to move to my fingertips to flow into black and white. What a time! Not just the whole Covid circus, especially living in South Africa, but the deep ache in your belly, pain of loss, realisation, re-thinking, sorting and growing. With age comes wisdom apparently. I think I must be a late bloomer then, still waiting on that elusive wisdom, but maybe what I am is my own kind of wise, made up of my own stories, pain, laughter and life.
It is never easy to face your own demons, more so I think when you realise that by being kind and submissive, you were not helping people, you were getting yourself screwed over. Setting boundaries, tentative at first, cost me a few friends, which, looking back might not have been such a bad loss. The more assertive and selective you become with your energy and time, the more ties are broken. Family, especially, does not take kindly to you saying NO, or, ONLY ON MY TERMS, all of a sudden. Periods of stubborn silence, cut off from familiar patterns you were used to, leaves the heart and soul adrift. Do I go back to being the enabler and doormat, or do I stay and be good to myself. The answer, every time, will have to be: stay and be good to myself. Not the easiest option, but probably the healthiest option around, not just for me, but for everybody involved.
Facing up to your old patterns leave you unequipped to new relationships, scared between am-I-choosing-a-soul-that-needs-help or am I choosing from my new seat of power, albeit a bit shaky at the moment, still my seat of power? Time, I think, will tell, but for the moment, it is time for me, time to discover my old music again, time to discover new books, re-discover my love for writing and photography, finish my unfinished books, and of course, time to discover how much I love art and creating. Met the most awesome people on this new road of arting, Tamara, Effy, Melanie etc etc etc.
This is my time, my year and I am in my own seat, most of the time. May everyday be blessed with the will and strength to grow, stick to my guns, and explore and enjoy all the awesome sensual colourful pleasures of life, my life.
- Not all who wander are lost
Donna Holmes, Mixed Media Artist, Norfolk, UK
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