being : real ... part 1 (of 4)

I'm floating here, mind wrapped in clouds. My little house isn't so much on a hill but its tower-like feel definitely has something to do with how the land lies. I'm right up there, in the sky. Part of it. More intimate with its words and ways than the ground below. That seems further away right now than ever before.

It's very windy. There's a gate banging open:shut:open a few yards away. I settle to its crash and slam. The noise is fading into almost-mute. As if we're all agreed that it can do its thing, but it won't disturb me.

Ferocious wind is a dragon, storming up to claim these heights. It sees my open window but rather than destroying everything, it shrinks to fit the gap. Slips in to brush bare arms, cool but gentle. Like it wants to leave wild bluster and bravado out there, curl up on my cat-filled bed. Rest. I let it do just that. I soothe it. I don't know if it hears me in the echo of its madness, but inside I am singing softly. An elemental mother-child sort of scene. Comforting all round.

part 2

My eyes are full of clouds and every-Me from young girl up to now. It's like I never moved from the lawn of my parents' house. I'm still a child. Gazing up at summer in vast blue above. I am at home. Not because of childhood security, god no. My family's a limping disaster. We wear Misery as Sunday best. The rest of the week is unendurably ragged. But when I connect with bright sky this August day, I am safe. Complete. I'm on Earth gazing up at my own Eternity.

It isn’t really a god-moment, not in the usual way. So maybe it is. But really it's more a sort of cosmic hug. Which sounds even worse if you abhor this almost mystic sort of chatter. And when I say hug, think more the embrace you give a loved one when you know they're heading off to try and achieve the impossible. Like slay a dragon, get a job, pass the exam you know they haven't studied for. Resigned, accepting, a touch of "oh shit, I love you whatever" about it all.

I know that my heart dreams will be preciously unfulfilled. I am awed and maybe just a little scared too - of what is to come. I can't see the details but I sense the scheme. Probably a mercy. If I see the small print, I'll have to quit. Prescience is so natural. I've always known that 5 is just a starting point for awareness. But in a scientific medic family I keep such thoughts to myself. They are too far up their own unhappy backsides to want to hear about my private world of knowings anyhow.

part 3

So here I am and that girl who was, still is, me - gazing at the sky right now. It's almost freaky but I'm used to that and there's kind of a frisson. Like re-meeting someone you haven't seen for decades, only to find it was yourself all along. And you were never parted. I feel the shine of dreams and hopes back then. Now. Because they are still here. Still behind my eyes reaching for the rolling clouds. I don't know who's trying to catch what but it's all so close to being tangible, if I don't hold on too hard.

I don't really have anything to say to young-me. She's been through it, knows what I know now – indeed she knew it first. We're all here. Me at 12, 17, 21, 29, and so on … all of us-me. And actually, it's beautiful. We're beautiful. Ok I'll get a shock if I see myself in the mirror later. Maybe I'll even feel a little sad that I gave this erstwhile pretty piece of flesh to the most dastardly of causes. But that's not really fair. We're our own causes. And effects. Others screw things up just to keep it interesting, eh?

part 4

I don't want to turn back time or clocks. Goodness no; re-do it all, even with the changes I could make? I couldn't take it. Suspect I said as much one August day, just before I did. Take. This. Life.

When I pull the notebook from my bedside drawer a barely half-formed poem I'd forgotten tumbles out. It may seem like a tangent, but right now it asks to be part of this long post. I don't know why, but I trust. So here it is.

i love

piano
acoustic guitar
natural drums and
voices breaking silence
into windswept rhythm

find me in it all
waist deep in tones
moments wrapped in
dreams pulse breath and

you

*images: Michael Parkes

oddly enough ...

... the post below (which may or may not show up right - let me know and I'll reformat if it's rubbish ... or delete if it's really rubbish) was inspired by Neil, who composed his autobiography in five year chunks. In one post. I wondered if I could do that. Five hours later, grumpy with recollection and repeat insights of stuff I've already analysed to death (then chased around the Underworld to do it more damage) I realised - no chance! But then of course I had to write something. I couldn't go to bed with a self-imposed challenge hanging over me. Incomplete. Grrr ... why do I do this to myself?

Of course I did go to bed incompletely grumbling, but today fashioned something out of the mess. I'm not sure how it reads but I so need outta there! And heck, you'll either read it or not but at least I feel I've done "it" - whatever "it" was.

strange mood

quiet thoughts