September, 2008
One month… and three-and-a-half years
It's been one month already, i can hardly believe it. I'm liking my flat more and more and starting to find routines that feel comfortable again. Trips into town and my general busy-ness are keeping me occupied, though i'm still feeling a bit shy about joining any classes. Yesterday was his birthday, a milestone birthday that i know he would have wanted to ignore, but i wasn't able to: i thought about it all day. By the evening something had shifted inside me; i still had one photo i kept in a frame, so i placed it on the coffee table and lit a beautiful orange candle beside it. All evening we sat together, him and i, in the candlelight. I thought about the good times we'd shared, the really searingly awful times and everything inbetween. At ten to midnight I took his photograph out of the frame and held it in my hands. I'd never said goodbye to him, not in all these years and months, not really, not in any way that was true. But last night i thanked him for all he's taught me in his life and death, and i said goodbye. And the lightness i felt in my heart was just like a small child letting go of a balloon on a windy day. As i blew the candle out, I set myself free.
September, 2008
The House of Belonging
The House of Belonging
I awoke
this morning
in the gold light
turning this way
and that
thinking for
a moment
it was one
day
like any other.
But
the veil had gone
from my
darkened heart
and
I thought
it must have been the quiet
candlelight
that filled my room,
it must have been
the first
easy rhythm
with which I breathed
myself to sleep,
it must have been
the prayer I said
speaking to the otherness
of the night.
And
I thought
this is the good day
you could
meet your love,
this is the black day
someone close
to you could die.
This is the day
you realize
how easily the thread
is broken
between this world
and the next
and I found myself
sitting up
in the quiet pathway
of light,
the tawny
close grained cedar
burning round
me like fire
and all the angels of the housely
heaven ascending
through the first
roof of light
the sun has made.
This is the bright home
in which I live,
this is where
I ask
my friends
to come,
this is where I want
to love all the things
it has taken me so long
to learn to love.
This is the temple
of my adult aloneness
and I belong
to that aloneness
as I belong to my life.
There is no house
like the house of belonging.
~ David Whyte, The House of Belonging
September, 2008
Hope-full
I'm still hopeful that I will find a way to make a thriving and abundant living from taking photographs of the things that catch my eye, the dreams i see in my head and the memories that follow me around.
I'm still hopeful that I will publish the book that lives on my hard drive, the one i have been chipping away at for a while now; the one that wants to be birthed.
I'm still hopeful that love will find me again, that i will trip over it when i turn the corner i hadn't planned on taking.
I'm still hopeful that I will be kinder to myself when I feel i can't cope, that i will lower my expectations of myself and others and simply be grateful for the smallest kindnesses that come my way.
I'm still hopeful.
I'm still full of hope.
September, 2008
Ordinary Sparkling Swirly
One of my favourite moments during my trip to California last year was when the four of us hunkered down on Christine's studio floor and got messy with the paints, glue sticks and scraps of vintage papers. I remember watching as she created three new pieces of work, selecting paint colours and papers quickly and instinctively, occasionally pausing for a moment before launching back in with a flurry of pencils, pastels and inky fingers. She drew wings and stamped words, and writing a personal message on the back of each piece, she gave one to each of us, just like that. While we'd been learning to let go and play, Christine had made us art. It was magical.
Now she's given art to everyone, with the publication of her book, Ordinary Sparkling Moments. It's easy for me to gush about it, seeing as she's my friend and I love her, but friendship aside, this really is a wonderful book. I've been having a tough few days, and as i always do when this happens, i reach for my book friends, the books i keep on my coffee table ready for any creative or emotional crisis. Ordinary Sparkling Moments has now joined them; each page sings with colour and wisdom, her journey as an artist, woman, wife and friend so inspiring and moving. I recognise myself in the page, yet i see her up ahead, leading the way too. Reading the book last night was like having Christine here on my sofa with me again; as i type this I can see the book now, sitting on my table, shining like a miracle made real – the power of dreams and making them our reality. If you haven't already, go buy this book!
