D is for Dreams

I’m not talking about the type that you have at night… although I sometimes dream so vividly that they will cast shadows across the consciousness long into the day… No. I mean the dreams that I might have stuffed into a tiny corner of my mind many years ago.

Even before Anorexia poisoned the greater part of my mind, I think I’d stopped dreaming properly. I was a ruthless gardener, pruning without sentiment, uprooting indiscriminately. No sooner than the fresh stem appears, I cut it off. tiny-seed

For the purpose of this post, I’m laying my secateurs down. Curiously, I have to really squint to see the tiny beginnings of dreams. Some so small I can’t even identify them.

One is to travel. Preferably across the US… in a truck… with a camera and a guitar.

Another is to live abroad for a year

One is to recover from this illness and then serve others who are plagued by it.

And I’d really like to have a craft business, or a coffee shop.

Oh… and I want to write a book… or two…

Then there’s one I can barely see, is a dream I fear to admit. The dream of all dreams. The dream that almost everybody has. I screw up my eyes and exhale as I blow away the seeds… If I admit it, it might not come true…

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A for a blog I never write…

20160403_164645.jpgSo… here’s a place I write in almost NEVER.

I’m puzzled as to whether it’s connected to my other blog. I avoid checking. Too lazy? Too
technologically compromised?

It’s the A- Z challenge thing, and I want to do it (late) but I’m already convinced I’ll fail. Yes,  my mantra should be I CAN AND I WILL! I CAN AND I WILL..! But really? This ‘positive thinking’ thing… Does it work?

Even thinking about it makes me cringe. Such are the depths of my dark cynicism.

I’m throwing caution to the wind. It’ll be good for me to move out of my ‘safer to not write at all’ zone…

So… A is for a blog I never write.

B is for Better, as in, ‘must do

and today is C, right?

C is for Challenge. The one I’m rising to.

Join me?

 

 

This Short Life

wpid-imag1676_1.jpgA poet like Dickinson has the enviable ability to load a verse with meaning so deep and so heavy you wonder how such simple words can bear the weight.. Her gatherings of commonplace words so often made to shine by their careful ordering, carry a grief so weighty you wonder the words don’t crumble beneath the despair.

This simple little verse almost sags in the middle with the enormity of her existential reflection!

I wanted to put it out there because I think it’s something that every one of needs to have asked and explored. Not in a naval gazing way, more in a back-of-the-mind type of way.

Because I think it’s sometimes good to widen my frame of reference. To briefly place my life on the time / space continuum. It’s sometimes good to feel humbled by the stars. To put my pain and suffering in the context of world history.

And sometimes, it’s good to rethink the areas of my life I can control; and the areas that I can’t. Personally I find it useful to remember that life is short, and wanting control over something doesn’t grant me the right to it. More than that, I know that there are things WITHIN my power, that I need to take control of, rather than deny or disown.

THAT is the hard thing. That’s where Dickinson’s innocent thought is a smack in the face!

Shhhhhhhhhhhh..!

ListenCame across this today and thought it was worth sharing. I honestly think that people don’t get properly listened to.

So many problems go unheard, so many issues misunderstood.Two ears, one mouth, yet our listening rarely reflects that ratio. The antithesis of this little saying is of course, the better known concept of giving somebody “a good talking to”. And really, how often is THAT effective in solving a problem?

Perhaps we can make more of a conscious effort to listen a little more carefully to those around us today. Maybe just being in less of a rush to respond with an opinion, or trying to quietly understand more.

Go on! It might make a real difference to somebody.

All Aflutter

RSCN0069Gentle storm of flurried pink,

South West winds

scatter Spring confetti

fragile as moth wings

carried on musical score

to settle on new

green

ground