Hunched up against the wall again, a stack of three pillows between the wall and the bed and my bent back, I’m seeing all the things in my room under new light. I’ve really built a safe magical place for myself to grow. Rocks line the walls and the floor, hold overused candles and form small walls surrounding groups shells. One rock stands at the end of a row of old books, keeping them upright and close together and each book is sacred to me and has served as a friend in helping me trust life itself over people’s unsatisfactory ideas about it. I hold words close and find comfort in their promise and their quiet advice, I keep going back to this poem by William Alexander Percy; ‘I have a need of silence and of stars, Too much is said too loudly. I am dazed. The silken sound of whirled infinity, Is lost in voices shouting to be heard.’
I had a beautiful moment earlier. I decided to eat my toast and drink my tea out on the roof in a little patch of shadow. It’s been awhile since I’ve sat on the roof. The first thing I thought about was how often I wake up feeling separated from all of my surroundings, how I have to find myself again each morning in an almost ritualistic way. And so I sat, drinking my tea, slowly waking up to life around me. So many different birds flying back and forth, busily preparing for something or in search of some breakfast to share. As i became still I noticed one bird flying away really fast and then returning with a stick in its mouth to add to it’s nest, before speeding away again to fetch another stick. I watched another bird struggling to stand on the loose telephone wire, flapping and shaking and flipping over for quite some time before eventually giving up and moving to sturdier ground. There is always so much here, weather I notice it or not, flies and bee’s and trees and also the ocean all relentlessly carry on. It calms me down to spend some quiet time outside and remember how connected everything is.
Another day another try at standing up and taking off that heavy coat of self pity, allowing the sadness of loss, but choosing faith in the unknown over waiting for sympathy, or wishing for others help when I don’t let help in. I don’t know the answers and it takes practice not to go scrambling for them when you suddenly feel that deep loss of self. It’s the self that’s left that goes scrambling for what disappeared, and it takes a lot of a much bigger strength -or the belief in that much bigger strength even when you can’t feel it- to see the peace that never leaves. Over time there is less of me around, and more space to be filled up with that bigger strength. And more space for music, as i become the instrument. But for now, discipline and quiet faith. Life is long and full of days, hours and minutes, to fail with, to learn from and to be with.
I feel a lot of love for my parents as they go to the shops this time (although this always happens) to buy food for supper, when they have no money. Just the act of feeding us all and sticking together through the poorer times is enough for them. I can see they’re going through so much and I really look up to them. Everything happening to them must look like a storm, and they hold on as best they can.
This is just the way everything has unfolded, you mustn’t be so hard on yourself. It’s healthy to see things as they are and feel the hurts, but after seeing things it’s good to be something and leave the nest of thoughts. Maybe the shock of new realisations will help you care less about getting over those fears that have been pestering you? Self pity pries on weak human beings who attach themselves too fully to their thoughts, while it is action that will free their minds.