Spaces

There are many places we live in, work in, have fun in, suffer in. There are cities, villages, fields, seas. What I have realised recently, though, is that within those places, there are also spaces. And it is those spaces that hold the real meaning of our memories and reactions. It is the spaces, not the places, that matter.

For example, I live in London (UK). Now, London is a huge city and, more importantly, the only one of its kind I like (at least, of all those I have visited or live in). It is full of different nationalities, flavours, architecture, culture... and also of racial disagreements, bad housing, lack of manners, dirty streets. Yet, when I say I like or love London, depending on the mood, I mostly relate to specific spaces of London. So, what do I love about London? The South Bank on a stroll, the lower floor of the Royal Festival Hall where you can see people practise dance, the museums on a school day, the Candid Arts Café and Kenwood House for a cup of tea, my friends' homes, the hills of Hampstead Heath and Greenwich Park,... Specific experiences of spaces that have meaning in my existence, reducing the urban sprawl to personalised moments.

Initially, I thought we, as humans, would compartmentalise the aspects of cities to manageable portions in order to successfully relate to otherwise hostile, over-stimulating environments. But nope, I have tried it out on other settings, and still the mold fits. Not only for smaller cities of, say, under half a million people, but even to villages of only a few hundred inhabitants. In fact, and please feel free to disagree, I believe this tendency to identify with only certain spaces applies to our very own houses.

Think of it, maybe move around your home: does each step feel the same, or do you feel the same in each bit of the place? Beyond the different uses of the different rooms, do you relate more to one chair than another, one window than the next? Just in this room, I can tell how working on the computer at the desk, on the floor or the bed have completely distinct connotations - killing time, feeling happy, and being moody, respectively. And this, despite the fact that there is no clear difference between them beyond those of the space in my mind as linked to the space in the room.

Of course, this might seem irrelevant or even deterministic for most of us, since we have to live in certain houses, work in certain rooms/cubicles, etcetera. But how liberating it is, at the same time, to realise that just a few centimetres away begins a space which may give us a wholy new perspective, and why not try it? In the meantime, we can simply choose to relish our sacred spaces, our family spaces, our love spaces. We can decide to spend more time there instead of the other, less uplifting ones, and then do spend that time.

Because its limits are only within us 'space (really is) the final frontier.'

Praise

I have a problem with praise. OK; not a problem per se, more like a disfunctional relationship with it.

On the one hand, I love praising people, then observing how it empowers them. When people are praised, they realise their own wonderful characteristics, that others are aware of their efforts and achievements, and that they can go further than they thought. Praise tells them that, even though it may have been hard to reach that certain level, by having achieved they have broken their own ceiling. And if the ceiling is broken, why not push themselves just that bit further, higher, closer to their aspirations?

Praise, when devoid of motive other than being the truth, is a wonderful gift, notwithstanding the relative scope of the achievement. Have you ever seen the glow on a child's face when you show your pride at their being able to spoon food into their own mouths? Or at their creativity for having drawn a rainbow with 27 different shades of 3 colours? And the face of a young adult when you acknowledge their thoughtfulness for having bought you that outlandish, yet 100% trendy, new top so that you are less of a drab parent? Or, for me, my students' slightly straighter back when I comment on how far their effort has taken them; how admirable their dedication.

The examples are many, each one a pool of joy and shimmering greatness. Praise, what a wonderful kiss of truth.

So, what's the rub? That, for all I love it, I have difficulty receiving it. Now, I know I'm not all that unique, but since it is my experience of it, it is I who is bothered by this. Praise is my Kryptonite, in a way. The moment I receive it, I begin to panic and become divided within myself. A whole host of conflicting thoughts and emotions assault me, and I let them, weak and weary. Things that range from 'It's not that big a deal, why are they making such a fuss' to 'Oh, blast, and what if I cannot pull it through again next time? What if I fail? Has this been a fluke?'. My head gets even noisier than usual, my world comes to a shivering standstill.

It's tiring, all this issue with praise. It turns all I do into a monster I must feed, and me into a coward who would let the monster starve rather than subject myself to more scrutiny. The saddest part is, most of those monsters are creatures of my love, offspring of my heart and passions - not Minotaur, but Kronos' divine progeny, victims of their mother's fear.

It has now become the time to break away, to open my arms and accept praise. It is no easy task, but I have realised refusing it means that a) I am betraying my own Grace; b) I am betraying the giving hearts of those who have given me praise; c) I am betraying my past, present and future creations; d) I am betraying all I have ever praised.

Thank you, all of you who have ever expressed joy in what I have offered, achieved, created, shared, revealed or simply lived and loved through. I may not be there yet, but hopefully one day you will see me smile proudly at your praise and you will know: yes, she has learned to receive herself.

Praised be.

To love, to hold?

We learn that to love is to hold. Thinking about it simply, I would agree. After all, hugs are a favourite of mine: hugging, cuddling, snuggling... You can feel the tenderness, the warmth, the joy of them in their very shapes - all requiring a double consonant, like a hug needs two of us. The beauty of an embrace is as mystical as well known, for it can save a life (as it does premature children - see link below), heal our souls as well as our bodies (another link), and enables us to express the greatest depths of love when words fail us - a parent holding its child, friends reuniting, supporting the bereaved or celebrating victory, all are inextricably linked to the wealth of love of the hug (no, no web link - unless you choose to send one in a comment.)

But then, hold, now that can be a bit trickier. You can be held captive, or enthralled; hostage, or in amazement; in contempt or in the highest regard. So, which hold is love? Hold has, sadly, a connotation of strength, of retention. A tint of imposition that is wholly selfish. It is that desperation to link ourselves to others that makes us feel as though letting go were the same as being ripped asunder. And yes, it does hurt, that not being able to hug, to cuddle, to snuggle with our loved ones. It hurts us, making us believe that the centre of universal pain is in that tearing, which seems so absolute, so abysmal, so abhorrent.

Is it, though? One of the greatest gifts my mother ever gave me was the awareness that she loved us so much she would not hold onto us, but rather encourage our journeys, however far we may choose to go. Of course, it hurt. I know it hurt her to have us far away, and independence was not always happy (at least for me), I can tell you. Still, her decision to hug, cuddle, snuggle when we were there, and then not hold on when we had to grow - that has become a measure of love for me. Love abundant, with freedom, free from the guilt that can be born of debt or devotion.

As the days become shorter, I take stock of the sun cycle that dies, and I realise, I had forgotten. For a while, I was in a relationship where I felt held, and I felt the need to hold. When it ripped apart, I was left in no-man's land. It's taken me a whole year, and then some, to remember that I am a true lover, who loves, and hugs, and snuggles, and cuddles. A true lover, who will support, embrace and sometimes challenge. A true lover, who will not hold.

I choose to love with my eyes wide open, with my heart wide open, with my hands wide open.




(And, if you're still wondering...)
Kangaroo care - http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-24924955
Hugging benefits - http://www.mindbodygreen.com/0-5756/10-Reasons-Why-We-Need-at-Least-8-Hugs-a-Day.html

The people in my life

The people in my life

can sing, can dance,

can climb trees and

explore the land.

 

The people in my life

live near, some far,

live in awe of magic

of joy, ecstatic.

 

The people in my life

love sunsets, sunrise,

love others, love much,

the people in my life.

 

I, like everyone, am surrounded by the magical love of friends and family. These people, I believe, I created as they have created me, to share and grow and smile. They love me so truly, they sometimes challenge me to go beyond my comfort zone; and, though kicking and screaming, I accept, for I know they will not leave me to flounder alone.

This mini-poem (or group of verses, rather) just came unbidden as I was sat here. I chose to share it, because I also believe that, whether I know you personally or not, those of you at the other side of the screen are also people in my life.

I honour you, near or far, and thank you for being here, along for the ride.

Thank you, Olivia

I have been having a rough time lately, facing my own nonsense. Yes, you know, the kind that nags in your head 'you have to be good to be liked', and 'they don't really want you there', and 'that comment about someone being rude was about you. It doesn't matter if you don't think you have been rude, you have to think harder, because for SURE it was about you! Think, think, think. What have you done!?!?' That nonsense which, though it IS nonsense, can still be quite powerful.

Today in particular was just such a (nut)case, with me going round and round in my head all day that my landlord must want me to leave, and that is what the chat in the evening was to be about, and that comment about 'that's just rude' as he was leaving in the morning was about me (now you understand where I got the example). I honestly was seriously considering going online and starting to look for a new place while at work. Except, that is, that I was too busy doing other stuff and didn't get around to it. And that, thankfully, I am learning to stand up to my nonsense and stare it down - sometimes more successfully than others.

Well, after work, I went to the gym, for a swim. I love swimming! It's the magic of being suspended, back in the amniotic fluid as it were, and with the cadence of the strokes to lul you. Of course, I also like the fact that it tones me and people are noticing my new shape, but that's just a by the bye. Back to the story, I went for a swim. I had the whole pool to myself! I met the first person when I came out, and moved to the hot tub. Bubble bubble, toil and trouble! Out of the blue (or, rather, the male changing rooms) came my landlord, who I know was there because he called out to me. A few minutes later, still without my glasses, and seeing even less than usual thanks to the steam in the steam room, in he came! I decided to truly stare the nonsense down, and asked him what the chat was to be about.

No, it was not that I had to move, that I was being rude or anything of the like. Rather, it was a few comments about how to use the washing maching to save energy now energy prices are on the up, and to offer his support when I get anxiety (he's getting trained in dealing with such issues as part of his job). D'oh! Nonsense, I tell you, and yet I still did feel anxious! Relieved, but anxious. And steamed like a prawn. Time to shower and get home.

Enter Olivia.

As I was leaving the pool, I saw a young woman with a little girl in the water. I smiled at them, they smiled back. Then, after taking my shower, as I was nearly finished changing (only had to do my hair, it's way too cold to go out with a wet mop), the woman and girl came in, the little one shivering. As they started getting the girl dressed, they chatted in another language (I thought French, initially, but I was wrong). Then, just because, I happened to look in the mirror and my sight caught the little girl's, so we both smiled.

'I'm five!' she proudly announced, obviously making the effort to speak in English.

For no reason other than we were both there and happy, we started chatting. She loved my clothes, I loved her jeans and sweater. She had not seen me in the pool, but I had seen her, how come? She showed me the gaps in her mouth the baby teeth had left behind. We played 'booh!' around the make-up counter wall. We shared names and birthday dates. I had to leave. She didn't want me to. She hugged me, 'I love you! You're pretty like a princess.' I hugged her back, 'And you ARE a princess.'

It's now a few hours later, and I just had to share the blessing of a real heart vs the noise of nonsense. Who has blessed you? Thank them, and pay it forward.

Thank you, Olivia.

What I did on a Sunday

I was hoping to spend a quiet day in bed, not for any reason (i.e. I'm healthy, no need to panic), just because I can since it was a Sunday. But no, I realised I actually wanted to go to Richmond Park (I have been in London for five years, but never there), and that I had to somehow explore.

So I sloooowly got dressed, even put on some make up (!!), checked the bus map and decided which buses I needed (without checking the TfL website! I'm very proud of myself, as it's become a sort of permanent crutch, that site) and eventually did leave the house. I decided to try and find another way to get to the bus stop, and followed a footpath between the houses. The good news is, I did manage to get to the stop. The so-so news are, it had taken me longer than without the 'shortcut'. And the 'harrumph' news, I had just missed the bus and had to wait another 20 minutes. Thankfully, I had bought myself gloves and a hat the previous evening, so I did not freeze, you might be pleased to know (yes, this is me typing, no lost digits, no need for a scribe).

I had to change buses at a place called Hatton Cross, and a-ma-zing-ly, I got off one and onto the other in a single move, and off we went! For an hour. By a place with a centre for young offenders. And a football-mad area. And over the Thames. And suddenly, on the other side of the river, Richmond. I must say, one of London's fabulous aspects is the seemingly random juxtaposition of areas, both social, architectural and economically speaking. This was just the same. Over the bridge, and after the unprepossessing Twickenham, we were faced with grand Georgian architecture, cafes by the river, boathouses, and a decidedly empire-European air. I confess, I lapped it up.

So, off the bus, and back track to some sort of roundabout to try and find the park. I had brought my map (I might have wanted to explore, but this is not virgin territory, so trying to get a idea of where more or less I was didn't sound too bad), and the park is huge (really, google it - it's even got deer!), and still I managed to keep missing it! It was sort of like Australia, anything but small, and still how long did it manage to stay happily ignored? In the end, success! I found a trail of fallen leaves, a muddy path, a carpet of acorns, and trees!! Love at first step. Despite the fading light, I went in for a bit. When I left, I knew I had not seen all I wanted, all that it had to offer. As in any early romance, there is still much to learn, to share, to sense.

On my way back, I remembered the cafes by the river, and, after a few unplanned detours (hey, it was cloudy! I could not navigate by the stars. And I had forgotten my astrolabe in the other bag anyhow), I got back to the water. But the cafes were closing, or serving dinner already. I sat on a bench, drank some water. A man came up, obviously both drunk and lonely, muttering to himself that he was a man of the world. He saw me and asked me, 'Are you a woman of the world?' I actually thought about it. 'I don't know.' He asked to sit down for five minutes, and I said fine. It was a public bench, but he was obviously touched that I had not recoiled in horror, disgust or fear. He made the most of the five minutes, telling me about his life, and how he used to play semiprofessional football, but was never good enough for the pro leagues - though his brother did play as a pro. He repeated it, again and again. Funny, when I had asked him why he drank (after he had asked me why I like red), he had not known.

We are masters are hiding the knives we injure our souls with.

I left him after the five minutes, peculiarly sorry for him, but not guilty as I used to be. I used to carry around the worry for all the ills in the world. Now, as I look at him and others like him, I am glad I have chosen a different life, and I am aware that we all can choose. I am glad I am willing to see my own hurt, go through it, and face the consequences. Then, observe what I have created, and move on, pain and all. I am glad I have created the people to do it with, the place to do it at, the process to do it through.

I chose to explore, and discovered an enchanted forest and my own, more honest, heart.

What did you choose today?

Good company

There are many sayings about the people in our lives:
'It takes a village to raise a child'
'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer'
'Together we stand, alone we fall'
'Friends are the family we get to choose'...
I sometimes wonder how true they, or any of them, are. But setting that aside, what struck me recently is that they all talk about plurals, groups, not individuals. We are social creatures, and company is essential.

I believe I came to this world as myself to experience the wonder, and to acknowledge the pricelessness, of community. I also believe I am not alone in such 'destiny', but rather that we all are so blessed. I give thanks for it every morning as I wake up, and every night as I go to sleep, right along blessing life and the marvel of the world.

It is then very distressing to feel the shredding of the fabric of humanity with individuals ripping others asunder, individuals calling to harm the other, individuals waging war, individuals... Why do individuals need to rip, tear and slash? To be able to slip in through the gaps, to be a part of a larger self, rather than believe themselves apart.

Maybe we should remind those who convinced themselves that they are on the wrong side of the veil that, like gossamer, it can be softly gathered, rather than slit. Gathered, like good friends for a drink and game, like family at a wedding, like children in a bear hug. Gathered, to engage in sharing love in myriad shapes and forms.

I chose a while back to move to a place I am not 100% happy with in order to spend more time with those I love, who are engaged in the activities I love. I chose to be in good company, but I also chose to be good company.

We all are good company.

Thank you for welcoming me among yours.

Silence of kisses

I was in the tube (subway over the pond) and I saw this couple kissing. Awwww, nice! It does my heart good to see love. Then, I realised the silence.

Now, it's hard to hear silence while hurtling along a maze underground on rickety metal tracks. But it was very much there. So I paid attention, and I also realised that the silence was not in the environment, or the people chatting. It was the couple, who had stopped giggling and cooing, and were just kissing.

Love is very quiet when we kiss.

It made me think (what doesn't?) and love the fact that while we can be all chatty when we are simply together, the deeper we connect, the less we need to say. We just communicate - silently, deeply, wholly.

So now, I'm going to be silent. Because I want you all to turn to all those you love and simply kiss them. Kiss your children, your spouse, your parent, your parents, your friends. Kiss them, but say not a word.

Because love needs no words.

Naked

We all cover ourselves, a logical activity to protect ourselves from the elements. In these cold winter days, particularly if like me you live in a snowy, wet country, layers and layers become caring hugs, warm embraces, portable nests. There are few things more certain to win a sigh of contentment than a frostbitten nose hiding behind a furry scarf, the ice melting in the vapour of one's own body heat.

And therein lies the question: have we taken all this love of layers and protection too far for our own good?

Certainly, we need to shield our bodies from the weather. That is indisputable, even foolish to consider otherwise (at least, I'd think that of anyone who decides to go out in a blizzard wearing short sleeves, for example).  However, it seems to me that we have taken to adapting the practice to areas of ourselves beyond the merely bodily. We have become, in fact, adept at layering our every reality, every aspect of our personalities, of our thoughts, of our spirits. And these layers have little to do with keeping warm, though everything with hiding.

Yes, we hide. We hide behind conventions and social agreements, lest we be considered too alien to belong. We also hide behind logic and reason, justifying each and every one of our actions. Then we hide behind spirituality and religion, to make sure we are on the right path, so if we 'mess up' we'll know we have credits to be bailed out (in the afterlife, maybe, but then an eternity of punishment is a very scary thought). Back to the physical, we hide behind fashions and symbols of 'tribe allegiance' - are you a Mod? Punk? City slicker? Posh? Grunge? Trash? Emo? Barbie/Ken? Council stater?... So varied! And yet, behind their trappings we hide.

There are many different illusions we use to hide behind, and the more we use them, the more lonely, lonesome, alone we are. It may seem like we're protecting ourselves, when in fact we are merely falling prey to, feeding, further engorging, our fears. We hide, yes, but we are not really hiding from a dangerous and scary world.

We are trying to hide from ourselves. And, newsflash! It just won't work.

What to do?

Let's go naked! Where piling the layers on is harmful, shedding them is actually both enjoyable, terrifying and empowering. And no, once again, I am not sponsoring skinny-dipping in an ice hole - leave that to the seals, they have the fur and blubber for it, bless their dewy dark eyes. What I do support is the shedding of masks, of shields, of definitions, of constructs. It's the shedding of a truly alienating self-delusion, a parasitic image we have created which we believe defines us, identifies us.

Go naked! Out of your head, into your heart. Dare show it; dare share it. Dare leave your face, your mind, your soul exposed.

Naked!

Moving back to move forward

P'atrás, ni pa´coger impulso.

This may sound (let alone look) exotic to some of you, but it is merely a Spanish saying that loosely translates as 'don't go back even to gain momentum'. I have long believed in this maxim. The future is forward, not behind you; therefore, we should only look and move forward, never behind/backward.

I am very blessed to be learning a lot, recently. Yet one of the things I have learned is that this bit of popular wisdom is not quite as right as I always made it out to be. It has taken me many a moment of teeth gritting and consternation; of fear of repeating mistakes; of accepting defeat; of having lost a chunk of my life. But I have to accept what is there: I seem to have created my life of three years ago, again.

Grrr!!

Grrr? Why am I upset? Although it used to have a quick answer (see above for a 'hint'), that reply is not good enough any more. Certainly, I get angry at my own need to revisit situations. I mean, is the same as having to copy the same sentence to memorise it, or retaking an exam. Yes, what irritates me is the feeling of having failed. And it is fear of failure that generated that aversion to go back - even when it would be helpful.

But when my reality is showing me the same scenarios, what can I do except reconsider my beliefs? And who is to say that the beliefs are the right ones for me, or for me at a particular point in time, a particular place, with a particular person? The certainty of only looking forward brings up many an uncertain question.

So I'm revisiting some elements, surprising myself sometimes at what I find. I often reunite with lost strengths and values which served me well, but I let go of to fit others. Mostly, I discover that I am dragging some ridiculous concepts which, hidden in the dark recesses of my mind, are only good for keeping me grounded, or preferably sinking. Safe and stuck, but don't look back! You just might find out why!

Grrr!!

I don't need to retrace steps to gain any momentum. What I do need is to go back and cut ties.

Snip, snip.
Moving on.

Choice and the New Year

And so, the year ended. Another year, another end.
Another beginning.

As a species, we have the marvelous gift of creating new starting points for our lives. We set up dates and hours when we make a cycle end and another commence. Thus, most cultures have set 'new year days' that somehow become momentous despite a certain amount of arbitrary definition. The most arbitrary, interestingly, is the most widespread - the celebration of 31st December/1st January threshold. I mean, after all, the year itself was designed for an emperor and re-designed for a pope. Not really something that really concerns most of us, let alone the flow in nature.

And yet, this pivot point IS powerful. Despite the randomness, despite the awkwardness of ending a 12th month named after a 10th by replacing it with a month named after a god, and even despite our modern scientific thinking, it is powerful. We gather together, we party, we are enveloped in good will to each other, we revise our lives and set up ways to improve them because we let ourselves love ourselves.

It IS powerful, and pivotal, and a true new beginning because WE make so. The rest, the humbug, is just background noise.

So, despite life seemingly going on unchanged, despite the awareness that there have probably been other moments in the year where the death and beginning of cycles is more obvious (in nature or personally), despite learned cynicism towards the rite and ritual, I invite you to embrace this chance to willingly, willfully change the path of your reality.

Look at that point in time, empower yourself in the energy of communal intention, and break away. Break away from whatever it is that didn't serve you, that does not serve you. Instead, just because you, by your mere humanity, have the power to create the places where time stops and starts again, give yourself a new time, a new beginning.

It's the time of a new year. You can make it the dawn of a new life.

It's your choice.