I hardly feel like writing
I barely bother to read
Scroll
Scroll
Scroll
Wanting to be fed
by the feed
Knowingly wading through
the mire that
saps my soul
Overriding self-imposed time limits
In a tacit agreement
to self-destruct
so that
in arriving at that nihilistic state of
I Hate Everything
I am humbled into remembering
that
Meditation and Exercise
are my true salvation.
The day is calling me.
Put down the phone.
‘Click’.
(C) 2021
This magic mist
of Daybreak
Can I store some in my lungs
and breathe it out
much later on
when I need to remember
this perfect purity?
When I am still in bed
The way I feel
the weight of the world
and all its things
is different
Later,
When I’m up,
The support of recent sleep
and lovely sheets
and so many velvet cushions
will have receded
The replenishment I feel at dawn
will have depleted
And the hope I rely on
to carry on believing
that I can put all the clean washing away
or smash the patriarchy
will need a recharge
And so then,
in that moment of need,
if I can breathe
into my depth
and exhale
some of this early morning magic
I might be able to remember
to go gently.
Copyright 2021
Magpies stomping on the roof
Rustling sounds in the garden
different
to the nocturnal rustlings
bolder
shadows of the morning walkers
diligent silhouettes
passing by my window
the dusty film makes it all seem
so romantic
lace hanging haphazardly
like a renaissance era opera dancer
backstage
in a state of delicious dishevelment
limbs everywhere
Dogs pull their humans
eager to know what news this day brings
so easily sated
by the daily miracle
of the sun remembering to rise
What further delight
would any sane person
seek to seek?
Stay here in this
the gold of highest value
hear the praises
sung by those with wings
whose freedom of flight
allows the broadest view from above
who still choose
to come home to roost
They will always remind me
that to be near a tree
is all I need
To breathe the freshness
of the new day
in through my newest leaves
down to my deepest roots
And to feel my expansion
My belonging
My arrival home
In every direction
as I exhale
Dwelling in the ultimate dimension
Grateful for this breath
Copyright 2021
Bedtime brings such joy
The anticipation
of the
Pleasure
of the
First sip of tea tomorrow morning
(C) 2021
Today’s date is 12-02-2021
Hooray!
So tidy 💝
I appreciate this.
Velvet cushions surround me
In shades of blue and gold
Why would I wish to
Leave this nest?
I am held here.
The tea is hot and near.
My body is comfortable.
I can feel the softness
and after a while
I remember:
It is safe for me to breathe deeply
with my eyes open.
breathing in I calm my body
breathing out I smile
dwelling in the present moment
I know that I am safe
This nest that is my refuge
where rest wraps herself
around me
most tenderly
Drip drop
Plink plop
Away fall the strains
as I willingly unbind myself
from the chains of mental anguish
shhhhhhhh
I am safe now.
What incredible hard work it has taken
How vague and mysterious this statement
The “incredible hard work” was done
Diligently
Courageously
Persistently
For fuck’s sake Fuckers, it was ME!!!
I am the one who has worked
and worked
and worked
Worked to repair the smashing
of an exquisitely perfect spirit
And still
There is an outraged little girl inside me
SCREAMING in resistance
That it is absolute bullshit
That I
Or anybody else
Should’ve EVER have to use
their precious life energy
to tidy up the abhorrent, intolerable,
devastating MESS
left behind
by selfish oppressors
over
and over
and over
again
again
again.
The grace
to acknowledge the gift
of being invited
to learn my strength
is not available to me today.
I wanted that strength
to live a full and beautiful life
you cunts,
a life that showcased and celebrated
the world-changing brilliance
that I was born with
That strength was my birthright
And look now.
Look.
Look how I have to draw on it instead
to rewire my brain
into being able to believe
that it is safe for me
to get out of bed.
I rise.
I rise and surge.
I rise and surge and triumph.
Might get dressed soon...
(Copyright 12-02-2021)
Bobbing in our salience
We seek the illusion of certainty
Thinking we have more control than we do
And taking less than what we could
Action
Surrender
These are the first words I heard this morning.
Followed by “there you go Mama, so lovely”.
I say ‘this morning’ in reference to the time after birds had started.
All the talking in wake and sleep that happened between 2:00 am and the birds shall be known as night talking. Night talking is not to be encouraged, as cute as some of the stuff is (Mummy I draw a beautiful pitcha on your aaaaaaaaarm); and shall not be spoken of again.
But that morning invitation to smile. Oh!
Thay makes the same invitation in the morning prayer:
Waking up this morning I smile
Twenty four brand new hours are before me
I vow to live mindfully in each moment
And to look at all beings with eyes of compassion
The beautiful hand made poster of this recitation that I used to have stuck beside the bed was long ago removed by a curious baby. Some days I remember to start the day with a smile to this poem, many days I’m swept up with the earliest demands.
Today they synthesised and my smile was so big, my presence in the moment so true; my gratitude for the life I have so visceral. Whatever the day brings, it started with a smile, and a smile to the invitation to smile.
Being awake since 2:00 is going to be ok…
Things feel pretty glum.
My old dog is getting wobbly in the hips, but today was another new day for him.
He showed the same optimism for a morning walk that he does every day, intuiting before any of us could tell, that the rainy grey morning was but a light cleanse of yesterday’s dusts before the blood-warming heat crept in.
He sniffed and pissed his way along the High St as if it was any other day; particularly pernickety about some zones in a way that we could never sense the importance of.
He patiently let the toddler proffer a freshly picked dandelion intrusively close to his veteran snout, and behaved with grace when a neighbourhood cat came slinking out onto the path for the “dendle” petting she knows is guaranteed when our trio passes by.
Glad, with so many birthdays behind him, for a short walk; home once more, he allowed his muscles a break from holding him in shape , as he sighed his large nobility into a pile on his indoor bed, trusting that things were in order, and a feed would come soon.
Despite more than twelve years passing since his rescue, his breakfast meets his gut like iron filings to a magnet, over almost as it began. But these are sweet days, and the toddlers rejected egg scraps will likely follow soon as seconds.
They do. Today is good.
Watching him, he spends his day in a similar way to how my grandfather used to self-admonishingly describe his own idle days on the other side of ninety. And I am glad for him, that he can feel the changes in the breeze, hear the conferences of the magpies, sense the light shifting as clouds move across his patch of vast sky.
Witnessing with calm the bubbling babbling bauble of golden curls and rapid synapses; an anchor of cool self-authority, the dog just is.
All day.
As he was yesterday.
Accepting.
Present.
Inhaling.
Exhaling.
How many pats today? A lovely brushing in the sun? The child incorporating his water bowl into her play? What is his agency in any of this? Could I manage life with the same serene dignity as he does, with so much beyond my control?
Do I?
If only.
Instead, I am stirred up, fragile in my tiredness, and vulnerable in the wake of decades of perceived misuse. Crashing after building hope that intelligent change was within reach. Needing just that little bit more resource to be able to stay in the lane of everything actually being ok. Perhaps even frightened, for what it represents, that the majority of our population have used our chance to choose, to hand the power to racist river-killing bigots.
I’m glad the dog doesn’t know. He feels my sad. And he soothes me in it by showing me that today is another day.
And tomorrow will be too.
Onward dear heart.
Spritely Musings 