2012

It’s the ‘first’ day of a new calendar year. Following the traditions of my culture, I got together with friends and family to see out the ‘old’ year, and greet the ‘new’. I have often tried to apply some thought to this time – consciously consider that which is passing, and make some wish lists for the time ahead,

But this year I did not… We all seemed to be avoiding the subject of the year behind us…

Because this is still right now, and I am at a place in my life where it seems frivolous and inviting-of-bad-luck to either pretend to make sense of that which has passed (and which I can’t remember with any clarity especially as I have lost the traditional ‘narrative’ I had for my life which anchored things in my memory), or to make-believe I am any less than bewildered by what the future may bring.

The events of the year just past has picked apart, destroyed, dissolved and otherwise removed all sense of ‘personal certainty’ from my conscious mind. We - myself, my friends and family - have had proper ‘Natural Disasters’ of impressive size and scope, and these are ongoing and relentless. We have had much of death and dying – of expectations and life paths, as well as of people, places and familiar structures we loved and used to define our lives.

It is hard to use words to describe how thoroughly this has changed me. I have had the sort of year the ‘old me’ would have declared impossible to live through. I lived through it – I may have even thrived, guiltily, while others around me seem to have retreated in shock and anger. I have sat through many conversations marked by the following phrases “This just isn’t Fair!”,”After all I have been through, how can be expected to cope with this?”etc etc. This is another opportunity for me to have nothing useful to say – heartless and dishonest to agree, no realistic way to ease the pain of what is. Before now, I kept the impact of such things far from my heart if I could. Looking through the dark closet of my psyche for the right sized box to hide it in – to make it separate from me and mine – a sort of keep-us-safe inner dumping ground. I have run out of space in the closet. It’s all spilled out around me. And because there’s been so much ‘bad news’ lately, I feel almost relaxed sitting in the middle of it. I will still swear and curse when something unexpected arises, but I am only partly surprised now. I have lost my expectation of a narrow unchanging reality – anything really IS possible, and while I am still breathing, there is always some way I can respond to it… So it’s like when you stub your toe on the door jamb. It really hurts, and you hop about and maybe shout a little while the pain blooms then fades, and then you keep on with the next thing. (which might be seeking medical attention, or finishing the errand you were about when the door jamb got involved.)

And my point is….?

Well it would be something like this. It is possible to live in these ‘interesting times’ and be happy. To find much to celebrate and to feel deeply joyous. To be humbled by the resounding courage and dignity of ordinary people. To be surprised by our true capacity for generosity and kindness. And to feel constantly grateful, even if just for the next breath, the next step, however painful.

For all of our suffering, I wish ease and comfort. For all of our illnesses and pains, I wish for healing.

May our deepest wishes be fulfilled, May we be happy, well and at peace.  

A Poem I stumbled across ...

and reading it stopped the world for just a moment....

KINDNESS
by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes any sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

**********************************************************************

The Longing...

Darkening. Staring out the window - the half of it not blocked by the computer screen at the back of this desk - and the neighbours night lighting gives a decent silhouette of the large Lemonwood tree that seperates their home from ours. It's all awash with steady soaky rain.
Sailing into Full Moon time, and I decide that this intensifies my evening restlessness. This longing for who-knows-what.
It seems we either do not admit to our longing, or we let it drive us - those that turn their longing in the direction of never-aloneness, for example, might just do anything to be Famous.
Yes I refer to it as 'longing' in the singular - it's like a generic space that I cannot bear to look into - a searching something that has no real form - is blind and groping. It flares up in proximity to anything that seems to 'fill' it, and then grows infinitely so that it can never be filled.
I assume we refine this beast into various addictions and cravings and avoidances.

Tonight, in the darkness, I consider jumping in, just to see where it leads.
But I will probably fill the time writing, or painting, or ordering the edges of my life so that longing fits in more comfortably....

Playing with the label machine.

Weirdness descends over me and it is getting dark. Excuse my use of the word ‘weird’. As I type it I see it is a lazy word  – one I use to say something like ‘I am different, but don’t ask me too many questions about it’. Obviously I am a person, and I presume most of the beings reading this are also persons, and we all feel ‘out-of-step’ with life in some way, so I’m not that different at all. But it’s a habit, to see myself this way…

Anyway, we have a mad spring wind underway here – 2 days now, and it blows, warmish and super strong – gusts over 120kms an hour which batter everything and bring a sort of dry-eye-balled edginess to the living things in the area. My inner world is nervy and restless. This wind is strong enough to rattle the house and bend the trees over on unusual angles, and though it happens every year around this time, I cannot get used to it. Thus ‘Weirdness’.

I am thinking this might be why I am suddenly beset with opinions… Those odd wordy thought trains that pop up unbidden, saying things like “I hate landscape paintings… why don’t people just look outside at the ACTUAL scenery?!” or “It’s terrible the way people are SO rude to each other” etc etc.

I recognize these are little pieces I put together to help me define myself to others in conversation, and that they are complete bollocks. I like some landscape paintings very much – love them in fact – there are some breath taking Turners to be seen, and then there’s Van Gogh, or Monet (haystacks, churches – I could go on forever)… And I well know that people are rude to each other because they believe they are defending themselves from something that is very real to them, even if invisible to the rest of us… But once upon a time I threw these opiniony things together in a fit of ‘sounding impressively bored/ superior’ and now they float about in my head like useless flotsam. Worse, if I feel insecure enough, I may spout them afresh, adding to the stream of drivel being uttered by those-of-us on the run from real life. Mental restlessness. 

So I wonder about opinions, and the need to be defined at all (See ‘Weird’ above). I feel like I have had a loose grasp on this definition game for much of my life – I have acquired a certain fluency in it as I get older, but I care less about it now – I might tell everyone I’m an ‘optimist’ because it’s one of the things I ‘know’ about myself, but when I think about it I know this actually came from something someone said to me when I was a kid, and it sounded ok to me, so I slung it in my bag-of-tricks. When optimism is called for, ‘look-at-me-being-optimistic’. Of Course, I can be despairing and miserable along with the best of you, but I find myself ‘overlooking’ that when it happens, because no-one gave me permission to be miserable. It’s a glitch in the system. It must be run out of town.  

Other handy labels – “Friendly” (I am capable of being hell’s worst witch at times), “Warm”(except when I am cold, or luke warmish, or burning bloody hot), Intelligent(HA! Here I could write of stupidities beyond belief, but I’ll save that for another day), “Highly strung”(nice gentle metaphor for my state of almost constant tension and fear)  and any number of other things which aren’t really all that interesting, so I won’t get lost describing them. Point is, they are all things I ‘DO’ sometimes. Then other times, I do other things.

And despite all longings to find stability and security, especially in myself, I have always known that there was not a shred of real stability in this thing called ‘me’.  So I tried to ignore this and work harder to find the ‘right’ definitions. Broader, looser, more painterly (as my art buddies might say). Some people call me an ‘artist’ though I haven’t painted anything but my fingernails in 6 months, and this is the first written attempt for longer than that… I am ‘Mother’ when my children are around, but what about when I am alone? It has always seemed I become ‘nothing’ very easily, and oh, how this has irked me.

Because every day, I am another country. Just as every day my home is a different home, my face a different face, my kids a bit more grown… It’s hard to ignore all this change, but hell, that doesn't stop me from trying does it?

I write today in honor of constant change, and the paradox of trying to find a stable path through it, and doing so with as much good nature as can be mustered. It’s a hell of a task, this life business. I am trying to look around the edges of these opinions, and relax into all those tensions, because after years of war upon all inconsistencies, I am all worn out.

The Beginning - Sort of....

because it isn't really the beginning... just another point along the way.

Although some I know would argue that each moment is a new beginning.

So this is my new Bloggy thing then. I will put in a link to my old one, which was all about the trials and tribulations of life as a mother/wife/member of the suburbs.
I am still spending plenty of time working at these roles, but find my ability to write about them has dried up a bit. Everything has dried up actually - I have had a massive hiatus from writing, painting, all the things I thought were important to me.

I am trying to resurrect these parts of my life, but it is obvious that everything is different now, so here I am.

The 'intention' I have these days is to be alive, awake and here. Here I am, Blogging the blog thing. I hope some of these words will be of some use to others. I accept that they may not be. But I intend to write 'what is' and keep away from 'what should be'.
May we all be happy...