the now

 lately i've been having to remind
myself to be here
to be now
to be present in all that i do

some times i want to rush
through and hurry past

 but when i remind myself to
be here
and now
i always find something
good and warm and nourishing

it's hard to sit with my now
it's hard to focus
and to notice the good

but i find that by remembering
to practice the art of
being in the now

 i can have gratitude for the small
the good
the real
the honest
the un-noticed

being in the now brings a focus
and a peace and gratitude for the
wonderful things that are here
everyday.


what is your wonderful today?
what are you grateful for today?
where are you today?
what is your now?

 i am grateful for walks after dinner in the slowly darkening skies.
for exploring with my babies
for seeing glow bugs lighting our way home
for kissing their sweet grubby faces
for having cuddles that touch my heart to their heart / when i stop and breathe them in
for the way that each new sunrise can bring a new day for me to grow and be better than the one past

for these things i am grateful
and for far off friends who i feel deep and strong always in my heart
and in my essence.

the rain is soaking a melancholy into my body

i feel a grey dampening in my soul

a still, softness seeping through

a moment of sunshine is all i need to refresh

to awaken 

to burst and change

i keep waiting for that small glow of sunshine

i keep waiting

::1::

On some other day, in some other world, I could have been a different person. Might've been a different me. What about if I hadn't done this. This. This big going away and exploringness, 'venturesome. This big finding me, in this big world. Or little my in this little world. Smaller and smaller. We humans are all the same. we're so very different from each other. One - the other - both - neither?
Me. Me, I'm the same. until I find out - found out - that I'm not. I'm different, changed. A different sort of me. A same sort of me.
So. Three months. Gone. Like the essence of that half remembered dream. Of waking and finding you can barely grasp at the feeling of it - let alone the thoughts, memories, experiences, adventures. And then to talk it out loud. Well, that in itself in definitely an experience. And a feeling.
The remembering of a memory. The bringing back to life of an experience, and emotion, thought, a journey. A journey of me or it. Still not really sure.
And why. Why did the journey happen. What was to come out of it? A greater understanding of things, of myself, my world, my life (here, there, back home, now, then, past, future - PRESENT).
Have I understood or grasped anything. Or have I simply let it all go, no no, have I let it float, fly, drift, zoom past. Or have I stopped it - it? what it? - and taken 'it' into me to experience, share, become part of.

And is it really - I mean really - different here. Or is it just the same. People going through the process of being somewhere, doing something. Living, breathing, us trying not to die. Well what!!?

The sun still shines. Sometimes longer, or shorter. Weaker of stronger. Rain comes down, trees go up.
And it doesn't really make a difference what is happening around us - what we want to know is what is happening to us?
I try to stop and think about it - to be part of the whole. But can I? Perhaps I am and just 'm not taking any notice. Don't want to.
I do love this being... being. Just being. How long can we look at a lizard, a squirrel, a tree, a cloud until we get bored and want the next thing. How long? To soak it up, experience it, remember it.
And a memory. Really, was is it, they, them. While we know something happened, and as hard as we try to capture the full essence of it. Well I think it always changes in the re-remembering and of course the re-telling.
Ah... the re-telling. I'm sure this is where stories are embellished, re-written, altered, bits played-up, added, deleted - either forgotten or deliberate. We all try to make our experiences good, happy, fun, sad, exhausting, emotional, difficult, excellent. Better or worse than they were. Really - we are telling a story, it just happens to have been based on something that we did, felt, saw, noticed, took part in, experienced, watched.... something that has now become, well joined and melded with us, to us.

Or is all of this simple lies, mistruths, things taken out of context, pushed, prodded, poked, cajoled into becoming something else. Something new or old, different or the same again.

bangkok 15th july

birthday

Hippiest Happiest Hoppiest Birthday Wishes my Darling Girl (for yesterday!!).

Hoping that you had a lovely day, enjoying the Summer weather with your darling little ones. Maybe you spent the day in your garden space, picking bugs off your lettuce, or carting water bucket by bucket. Or you were in town, going to lovely cafe - and not quite being able to relax and settle into being at a cafe, cause the kids won't sit still long enough for you to think properly, and you wonder - all over again - why you actually went to a cafe. Maybe you found yourself a new skirt, or dress, or shirt, or even more exciting a new book - and you decided to spoil yourself, for once. Maybe you went to the beach, or had a picnic with your whole family.

Maybe you did nothing. You took the girl to school, stayed at home with the boy. Cleaned, cooked, washed, lay on the couch in some sort of doldrums. Picked up the girl from school, made dinner for the husband, cleaned, washed. Dropped into bed, and then got up this morning and did it all again.

I hope, whatever you did, that at least someone made you laugh and smile. Made you feel happy for a moment. That you stopped and looked up at the glorious day, listened to a bird call out to it's mate, noticed a flower poking its head up through a crack in the pavement, heard some music from another house that you actually liked, smelt the clean soft baby hair of those little ones. Got to blow out at least one candle, and have some cake - even if you did make it yourself.

Here; I was thinking of you. Sending you birthday love. Wishing that one day we would be able to slip down to a quiet river bank, or cafe, or book shop, or rockpool, or walk up a hill and settle under a big shady tree, in the soft grass. And maybe slide back down the hill, on pieces of cardboard. And maybe call out the words we might remember from our youth - from Rosalind and Celia and "what is truth, what is love, what is fear". Laugh about the fight about the barbie clothes, where you ran away. The night we lay out in your yard, on the trampoline, and watched shooting stars skim across the sky. One day would be enough - we would make do, if that's all we had, wouldn't we?!

Love you, E xxx

PS - something will be going in the post next week, hopefully.....

Death, mothers and petalplum...

Well, Ell, after that wonderful talk we had the other day on the phone, I was thinking about you loads. I thought I'd take a look at your blog that night (I wanted to feel closer to you.) I haven't looked at it in ages and was amazed both by the rich texture of what you've created and the quantity and the quality of the comments and support. It's a beautiful thing Ell. A real work of symphony and celebration. I could really feel you in it, changed, and yet not; you know what I mean. I love the pictures and devoured the ones of the kids (I think Misch looks like Sylv but I'm probably wrong.) But loved everything that is just about you too. Your writing style has changed alot since highschool, hey? I loved it.

But scrolling down, I came to the entry about your mum and seeing the photo was like an electric shock. I felt this mass of grief rising up through my diaphragm and couldn't contain it. It feels so selfish to talk about my own grief with you, but so much of it is an empathetic pain..... I hope you understand. I'm so far away from anything connected with where I came from. I don't think I've been able to believe it in a crazy way.

I stared and stared at the photo, overwhelmed with memories of Michelle; of what she looked like, how she moved and spoke, how she looked right into you, how she was. Her clothes, her hands, her potting, her bonsai trees, her hair, her yoga, her beautiful, grounded, earthy feet, her smell, India, the creek near your house, your house, her jewellry, Kangia, Sylvie, Eric, Tim, Anouk, her face. Her face. And you. It's a confusion of emotion; memory; painful joy; joyful pain; greedy, selfish grief; and heartfelt compassion. The terrible devastation of what everyone who was ever touched by her has lost is still sinking in I suppose. I hope it doesn't sound trite Ell. I mean the complete opposite of that in every way, but I feel helpless to explain it.

I woke in the night and had a cry and a think about her. I fought it at first, was cross to be awake, but gradually accepted my agitation and sat with it. Tried to allow my mind to wander freely. I thought alot about your account of what happened that day, I felt I was there with you. I lived it as though I stood beside you when that darkness came to pass. I remembered the brittle sound of your voice when I spoke to you a few days later. As though you couldn't believe it was still possible to speak....

God, this post is maudlin. I'm so sorry love. You always said it was okay to talk about her. This has been uppermost in my mind for the past few days and I desperately wanted to share it with you. I love you very much Ell, I hope this isn't too much. xxx