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Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

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I remember my mother had a collection of shells
Their beauty, unique variety, natural swirls and structures flowed
Once perhaps a home, once protection bestowed
In the wake of their use to some hermit or runaway.

We’d spend hours, over the years, looking through them,
Turning each one over in curious hands, knowing each fissure, each dip
Every scratch. Imaging them tumbling under waves, under ships
Images of kings and their queens sailing by from distant shores.

Whenever I pick up shells at the beach,
I think of this collection and I am transported back to those days
And I love my mum and her amazing array
Of beautiful things she has shared with me.

A way to remember a memory,
When rifling through your bag, to find the keys in a frantic mess,
You find a shell, or a bead, or some other treasure that got you through some stress.
That kind of natural, transient possession, is the kind I like the best.

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Nature boy…

You know when I was growing up, even when I was little, I always remember The Beatles songs and relate to many of them, lyrically and emotionally. My mum was a huge fan in her teens and still is, my dad was a DJ (Charlie Farley) and they listened to music all the time, my dad played his guitar and still plays all the time, only now he has many more instrument to play!

Music is a big influence in my life. I guess lyrics really can hit home when you connect with a song and you can be transported to a place in time, or to an experience or a person’s presence by a song.

I was hanging out with Bear today and I thought of one particular favourite song. He is generally a happy baby, pretty quiet except for his epic evening repertoire of putting the world to rights in baby language.

But when he is upset and inconsolable, we take him outside and he settles. So much so that it makes me wonder why We are not just living out in nature. It makes me wonder if he’d ever have to be inconsolable if he was there all the time. Would any of us?

Mother Natures Son

Born a poor young country boy, Mother Nature’s son
All day long I’m sitting singing songs for everyone

Sit beside a mountain stream, see her waters rise
Listen to the pretty sound of music as she flies

Find me in my field of grass, Mother Nature’s son
Swaying daises sing a lazy song beneath the sun

Lennon/McCartney

Today we went to the sea. It was a warm day, humid. Bear loves playing in the sand and today he was covered from head to foot in it. Every inch! We played for a while there in the shade, popping into the water every so often to chase and be chased by the waves.

Suddenly, the heavens opened and rain poured, sudden and tropical. Everyone hurried to shelter, but Bear and I took our time, feeling the warm splatters on our sand peppered skin. We laughed as I stumbled and smiled as we watched the sea change. As we made our way along, Bear started waving at the Sea. Saying ‘ayohhhh…’ Which amongst other things, could mean ‘bye bye sea. See you soon’

I love being so close to nature like that and I was honoured today -experiencing the feeling with Bear and knowing we felt the same. Plus, we get a really good nights sleep!

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Well I’m back. I’ve given up everything. That is, I’ve let as many possessions go as possible to live a simpler life. I have my health and I have my beautiful son and my partner. I am alive and I can live however I wish.

I’ve forever been a slave to all of the distractions in the world. The TV, the sugar, the news, the marketing ploys, the social pressures, the cultural expectations, money…I’m sure you could add to this list. Or perhaps you can live with the things I see as distractions. Who is right and who is wrong? Who knows anymore? I’m just going to show people my journey and share with whoever needs or wants to know.

Food is my big passion, well it comes a close second to being a mother. In fact, the two really go hand in hand for me now, because my son deserves the most natural, toxic free life I can give him and I’ve seen the effect my diet and lifestyle have had on my health and my mindset.

I lost track again. In the months leading up to my pregnancy, I was at my best. I was happy, I was very healthy, I ate so well and it became a way of life for me. Somehow, we let it slip. I went from eating beautiful fresh, raw and vegan food, to giving in to my old habits and cravings. I even ate non vegan food because it was there. I gave up my principles to ease and something I thought was comfort. It wasn’t comfort though. Every time I ate pizza, a sandwich, a bar of cadburys, some smelly cheese, cake, my body would react with bloating, discomfort, lethargy and my mind would be punishing itself due to some base guilt factor that I’d picked up along the way. I did all this, even though I knew for a fact that I could make raw healthy alternatives. I knew for a fact that eating fruit instead of a cake would overall make me feel and think better.

I guess I just used pregnancy as an excuse to myself, when really I should have been more conscientious and mindful in what I put into my body, so I could be 100% healthy for my baby. But also I’ve learned, through all this, that I cannot keep beating myself up about it all either. I’m ok. I’m still here. I just need to remember how much better that life choice is for me, because without it, I’m an anxious mess. I cannot focus on the positives and I constantly self judge.

ANYWAY! Enough rambling. We’ve come to a place where fruit and veg are more accessible in a more natural and less commercial way. It’s a leap of faith, to an extreme, to kick start us back to scratch. To live a simple life.

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A perfect example of nature providing what is needed. In a hot climate, coconuts grow in abundance. The most perfect filter system, just there to quench a thirst.

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Today’s food. Bananas, pineapples and watermelon are in season here, so we’ve been adding these to our breakfast smoothies, with fresh ginger, basil and other delights.

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This is the beginning. We are off out to see what vegetables and fruit we can find and I will start posting our meals, to show you how we spend our days.

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My head hurts and I’m recovering from being stuck in bed for a few days, which I hear you say is ENOUGH of these incessant moaning protestations…and so from that last reference to my health for the moment, I move along to the state of my art.

I am feeling, like I do in most of the school holidays, that I never seem to have the time to produce art work anymore.  I could quite easily sit for days on end painting, making things messy and devoting all of my spare minutes to my heart, but real life has got in the way.

Real life is not bad but real life is what I expect myself to do if I’m ever going to get anywhere … I want to paint today and so I am going to.  I want to paint for the rest of the holiday, but I know I have school marking to do, which sucks.  Maybe I could paint in their books…nope.  Not allowed.

This part of me always surfaces when I have been laid up ill, or if I’ve slept too long, or when life is being awful challenging.  Head before heart? Heart before Head?  Who knows.  What can I make of this mood if I cannot make art?  How can I put my feelings into words, why not channel it into a painting instead.  None of you will be able to read it in the conventional way, but you might be able to grasp my feelings.

Depression, or a flash of inspiration?  Who knows. 

I’ve posted some Art I did a while ago to get me going…

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Five

Far from the maddening crowd.  She knows he was going to be in her sight.  Obsession. 

Looking up the word in the ‘concise Oxford Dictionary’,  I see that it means Of evil spirit, delusion or fixed idea.  The subject will haunt, harass, preoccupy, fill mind of the obsessed.  This is for a dear, dear friend.  He doesn’t haunt or harass.  He may preoccupy and fill a mind, but he is not of evil spirit or delusion.  Maybe he makes one insane, crazy, lunatic, deranged, maniacal and most distracted.  Dr Meridian says that a patient that suffers from obsessional syndrome with potential homicidal tendencies is described as a wacko! The only escape is the purge the fixation.  Are you saying I’m a wacko?  Are you saying that Anna is a Wacko??

She sees the kings and she sees the herd. They are guided on the path of honour.  The sound is for miles and miles and she looses her breath to the people who pay for this blessing.

Six

My dear friend.  We talk of Andrew.  I’m sure you guess by now why I writes.  I need to get rid of it somehow.  I’m not going to end any fixations with violence, because there aren’t any obsessions.  How far do I need to go before I can reach the end? 

She needed him.  She wanted to hear his sound every day.  She wanted to see him when he wasn’t there.  When he walked away, she was empty.  On the day of rest and the day before, she cried,  like they talked, because nobody knew them.

Seven

Searching the everlasting depths for him, she has no choice but to stop her plight, so in the morning, she goes to sit amongst the sea of pages.  She gets to the door and her heart stops beating.  He is standing there, facing away.  Has he read her mind?  She starts to try to leave, she isn’t prepared, but he turns round, acknowledging her.  She can’t go now.  It would be so obvious.  Just go.  Forget him.  Calmly sitting down, she spreads out her work and begins to write in pink.  As he slides past, she whispers.

‘Can I show you something?’  Now you’ve done it.

‘Just a sec…’ He goes to find wisdom.

Go.  Go now.

They talk of the kings.  they talk of the music.  She shows him the writing.  Seeing an old pal, she walks and talks.  She splits her skirt and takes out her temper on the guru.  A slow silence as the two main characters of The Song of the Skylark write their controversial verse on the bridge by the woods.

Eight

Tonight the night she dreams of.  Her mind races with thoughts of colourful dance and beautiful words.  Arriving, she begins to forget and joins her friends on the flashing floor.  Her boyfriend remains the one she has.  Crowding people, each face familiar.  A sudden reminder as a girl whispers the appearance.  A group of excited faces smother the two that shine with hidden beauty, known only to a few.  She watches with a mixture of envy and joy, then walks to his side and taps on his broad shoulder.  He spins to face her.  Smiling briefly.  He’s gone.

She thinks nothing of it and then joins the crowd again.  Finally after an exchange of single words, no mind conversations, the girl and her friend don’t seem so close anymore.  Not understanding, the girl dances away.  With another, he does the same.  It shouldn’t be done.  When she looks in his eyes, she can’t name what she sees.   It could be pity, it could be sorrow.  If only it were love.  Over shoulders they stare.  Can she hear his voice?

He hates you. ..A voice so strange, so distant, yet so close. What are you going to do.

‘Who are you?’ confused, Anna cries silently inside.

I’m the one who’ll save your heart…can she hear singing?

‘My heart,’ She hears the far away song. ‘Who are you?’

A friend.

‘Can no one hear us?’

No one else knows us.

‘No one else knows us.’  Her mind repeats.  She listens with wonder and fear to the song of the Skylark.

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There is this kind of feeling
I get it when all the sounds merge into one
And when all the colours combine
So they go all kind of brown.
Over there I see that feeling
Is suddenly charging towards me,
Faster and faster.

There has to be a remedy.
I’ll get it when all my hope has gone
And when all my thoughts blend
To form this mass of images and grief.
I cover my face, but it doesn’t stop
The feeling that I know is going to hit.
Stronger and stronger.

What can I call this hell, this pain?
I get angry when I see it,
But I just can’t stop it coming at me
With rage I can’t even imagine.
When there isn’t anything more,
And when i can’t feel the pain,
That is when I’ll be cured.

It takes such a long time.
Everything I say, I stop.
Everything I do, I close.
Everything I feel, I pause.
But there has to be a cause.
You must know the cause.
The cause cannot control what it does.
Slowly, so slowly.

Skylark

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One

She sits.  She waits.  She  waits an hour, a day, a month.  She passes his door and sees his silhouette.  He crouches over the work that looks like a sea of dark waves.  He stretches and she dips by the room, Making a full circle, like a seagull she swoops and dives, peeping.  Spying.  She waits.  Third time lucky.  She waits on her prey.  Stealing a cornered glimpse, her eyes blink and the keys jump and click with his gentle, rhythmic approach.

‘You’re hovering around as usual.’ he grins and flits away.  A sudden stop and he turns, an impulse to her waiting there.  Standing alone.  ‘How are you?’

She pulls back her hair and smiles, falsely shy. ‘I’m fine.  You?’  she laughs, ‘I sort of need your help.’  She leans against the wall.  The pictures tickle her  neck and she plays with the leaves of paper.  ‘I need your advice…are you busy…because all my friends seem to be busy and…’

‘I’m not.  I know.  Come with me.’

They walk back, tracing his previous steps.  His smell is of the sweetest breeze, of the fresh grass in summer.  She flies as high as the clouds.  She flies free with him.  Inside, she waits.  He smiles.  She smiles.  In his room, they speak of her life.   Secluded she would lay, with no sympathetic friend.  She decided he would be her friend.

‘A relationship must be based on honesty.  Not necessarily trust, but honesty.’  He flows with ease and their eyes meet.  She hardly thinks about how hard the cool wood of the table is.  Her elbow pains her, but pain is far away.

‘I get afraid’  she follows a design scratched into the wood dreamily with her finger, ‘I mean, is he thinking me…’

‘Or her?’  He taps his finger.  ‘Talk.  You can only talk.’

She nods.  She checks the time.  His perfect features dance as they watch.  She laughs.  The dark room echoes, empty, though full of them.  He leaves for lunch.  She thanks him…with they speak again?

Two

The day starts .  A mermaid, she glides and with glittering tail, she thinks.  The wind blows her hair and kisses her skin gently.  A girl arrives.  Travelling by the lonely people, they stare.  Each face they see, they know.  They share harmless laughter.  Inside, she waits, remembering her friend.  Again.

An ocean of blue ripples over her.  She knows her time.  She lingers.  Restless.  Secluded she lies.  Where is her friend?

At screen she sits.  Reflection bored.  The embers of him in her heart are screaming he’ll be here, he’ll be here.  She feels that he is here, near.  Where?

They line up, three blind mice, three monkeys. wise.  Her in the middle.  They speak, they hear, they see.  See how they run.  Filing like a snake of spiritless colour, a walk they take every day falls before them at break time.  The middle one laughs.  Her friend has forgotten their time yesterday and she sighs with pain inside.

‘Boyfriend.’ the one on the left utters.

I’m not sure you’d understand the way I’m telling this, you see, the girl in the middle is the one on which I base my story.  Lets call her Anna, to make it easier on all of us.  I know when I say ‘she’ I mean Anna.  Her boyfriend is nothing.  He’s a minor character, but the friend…the sympathetic friend, he’s got to have a name.  I always liked Andrew.  Anyway, these two, she and the friend, Anna and Andrew have this thing.  They have a connection.  Something silent and unsaid.  Nothing physical, just a mutual respect.  I like them.  They are two beautiful but mixed up people.  This common ground is not a good thing. Hopefully by the end of all this though, you will see and know why they are so incompatible in any and every way. 

Anna sleepily grins at the boyfriend.  There isn’t much to say.  The other two mice chatter and squeak in girlie ways.   She can think of nothing but her friend.  The time plays on her mind like  deliberate torture and she looks back, waiting to leave – to return to her friend.

Back inside again, thank goodness.  She waits.  A second, a minute.  Her friend, his approach, like a familiar drumbeat deafens her.  She presses her hands onto her ears and can’t block it out.  She smiles at the pain.  She looks up.  The green-blue of his shirt flashes before her eyes.  She whispers hello and watches him fade away into the crowd.  It isn’t the way she wants it to be.  Will it ever be?

Three

Today she tries to forget her friend.  For hours she splashes the blue with delicate strokes on the sheet before her.  Looking up, she meets his face.  A flustered smile.  He returns.  On every side he grows with curiosity.  He watches.  Approaching her, he raises his eyebrows, his beautiful eyebrows, with overwhelmed approval.  Her eyes avoid the background.  She sees nothing but him.   She tries to talk to him without speaking aloud.  If only he could hear her.  He is taken by force from her to his job.  She says goodbye without a word.  She looks forward to tomorrow.

Four

Again she paints in misty blue.  Hours pass and she looks up every time a new face enters the room.  Never him.  She begins to give up, until suddenly, she hears his sound, smells his smell, feels the warmth melting her frosted heart.  His arrival – her deliverance.  Almost finished she can take the time to watch him.  She can hear him talk in her mind.  Concentration breaks.

‘Hello,’ his exquisite eyes say, and ask, ‘How are you?

‘Wonderful now!,’  she looks around. ‘Can no one else hear us?’

‘No one else knows us.’  He smiles.

‘No one else knows us.’  She repeats, ‘I’ve nearly finished.’

‘I know,’ he says with silent breath. ‘Its amazing.’

‘Thankyou.’

‘Ive got to go now.’

Another joins him.  She looks away, then back up at him.  He is watching her.  Could it be?

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