F is for Family*

Tags

Guilt, healing, Mom guilt, Parenting, Teenagers

Warning, contains depressing content

My son is 28.  Christmas 2016, I pretended to go away for Christmas because I couldn’t face us spending Christmas together.  He wouldn’t have wanted to come anyway; we’d only been speaking since the September and things were still slightly frosty.  Prior to that we hadn’t spoken since Christmas 2015:  I had picked him up to bring him to ours for Christmas and he started fidgeting and then shouting in the car on the dual carriageway.  I was frightened, exasperated and completely incapable of dealing with it.  You work in mental health, you’re supposed to help people, I remember him saying.  I stupidly tried to reason with him, to connect with a part of us that was above all this, to explain that I wasn’t the one to help him, because if I had, I would have been.  In the middle of a panic attack isn’t the time, and he was extremely angry and disappointed with my response and my inability to respond.

I think what he doesn’t understand is how upsetting it is for me, but then he probably also doesn’t understand why I can’t just be all mumsy and cuddly, and I don’t either, but I can’t.  I don’t believe that would make any difference, but I understand why he’d be dismayed and upset that I couldn’t.

I remember one time dropping him off at the walk in centre with a girlfriend and just leaving him there, another time him at the doctor’s clinging onto me and me just being unable to touch him.  (This was when he was sixteen or older, in the middle of our relationship being very poor, him having a panic attack).

I used to think there was something deeply wrong with me, that I didn’t love him, or wasn’t able to love him, but then one night in meditation a year or so ago this came into my head:  you love him, that’s why it hurts so much.

Before I got pregnant, I wanted a baby very much.  When he was born his father and I were super attentive and loving.  When he was a young child we had lots of fun times, baking, playing with the dog, painting- there was always an easel and a washing line to hang up the paintings in the kitchen; riding trikes and bikes indoors, having big unruly birthday parties.  It’s nice to remember the good stuff.  Because there was bad stuff: it was quite hard for me, I was very young, a single mum from when he was one, and he was sometimes very ill with a serious medical condition, so there’s a lot of bad memories around that, hospitals, blood tests, unpleasant tests and medicines.  But even so, overall, it was a pretty happy, child centred life with supportive and loving friends and family.

Then he hit 12, 13, went to middle school, and having been very happy at first school, began school refusing, truanting, later at 15, petty criminal stuff and got arrested.  He and his friend would just mess up the house and break everything, so the sitting room ended up empty, it didn’t feel like a home…

Refusing all medical treatment, refusing to have baths or change his clothes… at 16, 17, 18, refusing to go to college or get a job or come out of his room.  I knew something was wrong but was powerless to fix it.  I sought mental health services advice, they said it was behavioural and he wouldn’t engage in any case.  I had no idea what to do.  The relationship had completely broken down.  Everyone gave different advice, I felt like a complete failure as a mother.

I became seriously suicidal.  When he was 16 I called the council about housing options for him.  The woman who answered the phone said you have to chuck him out and he has to turn up here with his bag and nowhere to go.  I can’t do that, I said.  She said, well you haven’t reached the end of your tether yet then, when you have, that’s what you’ll have to do.  Two years later, sitting at the top of the stairs, my boyfriend holding me, me screaming about suicide and paracetamol and knives, I reached it.  I packed up his stuff and called my mum and asked her to have him.  He was 18.  He actually went to stay with his girlfriend, got a place in a hostel, got given a council flat, couldn’t manage it, and now rents a room in a shared house where he’s been for several years.

I am sure there were a million other ways to handle those years but whether or not the person I was then would have been able to implement them even if she had known.  Like a series of random dropped stitches that ultimately cause everything to unravel.  Was there something, were there things I could have done differently?  Was there another way it could have turned out?  I’ll never know, because I can’t go back in time, and there’s no control group for a life.

Relatively speaking, the years up to twelve had been easy.  I suppose I’d always thought love would be enough.  So when this child who you’ve given so much love to, who had previously seemed so happy in your company, becomes someone who no longer responds to you, it is very difficult.  It is hurtful, confusing, and all confidence in parenting abilities goes out of the window.  I just didn’t have the skills to deal with this new person.

After he moved out, I used to see him and drop off bits of money, always feeling bad for not giving enough whilst at the same time thinking I shouldn’t give much so that he’d be motivated to sign on or get a job…  He usually wanted a lift, and it was often difficult, him criticising my driving and us arguing.  His council flat was given to him bare and empty, the same as when I’d been given one at 22 when he was 3 years old.  But whereas I had bought and laid the cheapest office cord and painted it myself, he did not do anything.  His washing up and rubbish piled up everywhere.  My mum paid for flooring, my (now) husband spent a day mucking out the flat.  I went round one day after work when I had a cold and painted the kitchen but he didn’t help and we argued.  He got diagnosed with anxiety.  I paid for endless CBT.  My husband and I spent hours on the phone giving advice about panic attacks when he called us up.  Nothing made any difference.  Until I just kind of stopped trying to help as much.  He got himself a nice room in a shared house, where he still is.  He got himself into college and then university, where he is today.

A Round-Heeled Woman, predominantly about sex but includes a devastating passage about her son, who seemingly ‘punishes’ her failings as a mother by running away, not calling, and living on the streets, in freezing conditions, eventually calling her up on Christmas Day, destitute and freezing cold but refusing to come home.

The only other time I have come across people like me (mothers almost destroyed by guilt) is on an ASD training day where parents of kids with Autism spoke to us.  These mothers had kids who didn’t sleep, who flew into rages and smashed up the house.  They looked like battle worn survivors.  I was in awe of them.  But what I remember most is what they said about how they felt as mothers:  as a mother, you feel like you’ve got ‘guilty’ stamped on one side of you, and ‘failure’ on the other. 

What is the name of the emotion I feel when I see or think about his teeth, which are in a terrible state- I took him to the dentist and made sure he brushed his teeth as a child, but his illness, and poor care as a teenager and adult have taken a severe toll (recently he has said he is going to the dentist and going to go through with what is now major work, and I have given him the money to do this)…

Or when he recently asked for ‘anything from my childhood to remind me it wasn’t all bad because all I can remember is hospitals’…  To quote Alice Sebold, well that last comment just ripped me a new arsehole:  I spent my whole adult life from 18 to now, 47, loving, caring, worrying, and it was all for nothing, because all there was was bad and nothing I did mattered and nothing I do now makes any difference?

What is the name of the emotion again?  Suicidal, if that’s an emotion… despair… anger… panic… paralysis… horror… fear… tension.  Mostly there’s a bit of tension.

I used to work in an anorexia hospital and I am ashamed to say we used to judge the parents sometimes, we used to think they were cold.  Now I realise they were just wretched, forced to look at something no parent would ever want to see, their child yellow, furry and emaciated.  I was afraid of what I saw on my first day; they have to face both the horror and the fact that they haven’t been able to stop it or help with it.

Okay, I’ve felt it.  I’ve taken it all out and looked at it.  Instead of pushing those feelings away, tightening up and thinking that I can’t bear to look and won’t be able to cope, instead of that I’ve let my chest relax and my arms fall open and I’ve sat here with those feelings.  There’s a peace in accepting ‘guilt’, in letting it wash over me, just letting it be, sitting with it without fighting it.  Ready to start over…  To make mistakes every day.  We all do.  Start again every day.  What else can we do?

Is there anything I can do?  No.

There’s a comfort in this calm acceptance, in the moments where I can find it, that feels better than the pushing away or the anxious worrying or the futile attempts at problem solving.  It definitely feels better than endlessly going over past mistakes and missed opportunities.

Like a jumper that has unravelled beyond repair, the only way is to remake it from scratch.

And like my mother says re coping with the ageing process, well you don’t have any choice but to cope with it, because the only alternative is not to be here.

Right now, drag my mind into the present.  Right now, drag my thoughts and my gaze towards the positive.

So this Christmas, when my son said he’d come over Christmas Eve and stay until Boxing Day, especially as my husband was working and I would need to pick him up and drive him an hour to ours, I was a little nervous.  Whatever you do, don’t get angry, or don’t sound angry, my husband said.

The car journey was okay, and once home I made dinner, we swapped YouTube and Netflix recommendations, and the evening passed without incident.  Christmas Day we saw my mum, my husband came home, and my son’s girlfriend arrived in the evening and we all played Cluedo.  So yeah, I guess my Christmas was okay.

 

With metta

 

*F is for Family is my third favourite of the adult cartoons on Netflix, along with my second favourite Big Mouth which is a very warm portrayal of going through puberty, a largely neglected topic that has certainly never been covered like this before, and my favourite, so much loved that I wrote a post about it here, BoJack Horseman

 

 

Act Opposite!

Tags

DBT, Dialectical Behavior Therapy, Dialectical Behaviour Therapy, Housework, marriage, sex

Act Opposite is a DBT skill.  Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT) was invented by Marsha Linehan, a US therapist, primarily to treat a particular client group for whom regular Cognitive Analytic Therapy (CBT) appeared ineffective.  Her clients were mainly women diagnosed with borderline personality disorder (BPD) who frequently self harmed, often severely, made multiple suicide attempts, whose lives were chaotic and whose therapists were frequently burned out.

These were women who had grown up in invalidating environments.  Just being told they needed to change was often experienced as further invalidation.  Enter the paradox:  DBT says, yes, the current situation is untenable and you do need to make changes, but given your circumstances it is completely understandable that you feel and behave this way.  I am going to support you in making the changes you need to make but I am also going to accept you just as you are.  And however difficult I may sometimes find this to do, I am going to hold fast to the belief that you are doing your very best.

That’s quite a long explanation;  when I am in a hurry I just say DBT is like CBT with Buddhism.

There is also a very tight framework which supports the therapists in delivering high quality consistent therapy, this is important as many therapists working with this client group can’t cope and end up abandoning their clients, who have often already been abandoned by previous therapists, friends, etc.

In DBT, the client has an individual therapist who helps the client to talk through their week, focussing on the most dangerous incidents first, in a strict hierarchy, using chain analysis to see what triggered the event and where the client could have employed alternative skills and strategies.  Separately the client attends a skills training group, where they learn the skills of interpersonal effectiveness, emotion regulation and coping in crisis.  That way, even if individual sessions are dominated by chaining suicide attempts and self harm, the client is still getting protected time to learn the skills that will help them in the long term.  Oh and there’s lots of mindfulness.

I trained in DBT and learned all the skills myself.  So when on Sunday I found myself in a slump, groggy, no energy, slightly depressed, feeling kind of incapable, I knew what to do:  Act Opposite.

I wrapped the Christmas presents and actually didn’t hate it.   They look very pretty all together on a shelf in the dining room, surrounded by fairy lights, wrapped in brown paper and bright pink metallic ribbon.  I cleaned the bathroom, all of it, including the black and white lino floor.  (A word of advice, you might think a black and white checked floor will look nice, but it shows every mark, every piece of fluff, every strand of hair…)  I vacuumed everywhere.  All three of these tasks I dislike intensely, but I did them- with sensible breaks for food and smoothies and cat cuddling- and afterwards, my slump was over.  By the time evening came and I put my feet up on the sofa to read and write, I felt much, much better.

So what caused the slump?  Well, it was the weekend and at the moment that means sex:  Saturday night, early dinner, a roaring fire, the floor of the sitting room covered with rugs, blankets and cushions…

It was so good that the next morning we were hungover even though we’d only drunk tea!  In bed in the morning, we weren’t going to come, but then we did.  Afterwards we dragged ourselves out of bed and went for a hazardous walk in the ice, and about halfway back we both just felt the energy drain out of us.   Yes, it really is a thing, orgasms drain your energy.  Plus, we’ve both been slightly ill with colds.  Then at bedtime I realised my period had arrived.  I don’t follow a lot or read a lot, I manage my media and sensory input, and I don’t like much stuff.  But what I like, I really like, and I remember.  I remember this tweet from when I was on twitter about eight years ago:  ‘Do you ever get your period and think, wow, that explains a lot…’

Ready and waiting for 2018

Tags

family, India, marriage, mental health, Travel

Like many people I am looking back on the year, to see how far I’ve come and to take stock of where I am right now.

This time last year was pretty wild.  I spent Christmas alone with my husband and we over indulged in everything, especially sex.  We would not have believed then that this would end up being the year that we started practising karezza and abstinence (well periods of abstinence anyway).

I had grand plans regarding work and my career, there’s a list in the back of my work diary that begins with ‘be the best at my job that I possibly can’ and included all sorts of personal and professional development plans that never really came to fruition as we got short staffed and other stuff demanded my attention.  I still developed though, I just did other things, and I have completely got over my regret that the progression I had planned didn’t happen.  I’ve never planned my career, and even if I had the chances are I would never have done everything or achieved everything I wanted to, stuff just happens as it does in life.

Still, I never would have thought that this was the year that I would be leaving not only this job but my career.  (It is my intention to burn my degree certificate and registration card when I leave, if I can be brave enough, as a show of faith that there’s something else out there for me.  If this sounds crazy, well it’s not as crazy as keeping your dead dog in a solid wood coffin that you drag from room to room so it can be with you while you watch television or do the dishes, as my mum’s neighbour does, and she’s out there, surviving.)

My relationship with my son is much better than it was this time last year:  as near as it can be to two adults who meet now and again and talk about their respective interests.  He is doing much better which makes everything easier, it is very painful for mothers to watch their children suffering, no matter how old they are.

My own mother is not totally on board with all my plans, even though I am not suffering and am in fact, when I am not worn out or run down as I have understandably been lately; very, very happy, and soon to be ecstatically excited- I can feel it brewing!

Apart from my wild teenage years I have not really gone against the opinions of my mother (except for having a baby at 19 and more recently getting married, and the tattoos…) but generally, I’ve gone to work, I’ve recycled, and on a day to day basis I’ve not done anything to provoke discord.  Which is why this is probably quite hard for both of us, but the sooner it’s past the point of no return, the better.

I was thinking this morning, when we are teenagers and can’t wait to leave home and be free of our parents, we have no idea that we’ll still be under their power and influence in our forties and beyond, not all of us, but definitely some of us.

I have photographed all our furniture and sent the pictures to friends to see if they want any of it, before the man who is buying the house comes round to decide if he wants anything.  Anything left is going to go to charity.  Tomorrow we are tackling the sheds and garage and making trips to the dump, as long as it isn’t raining.

I have also spent some time thinking about India.  I have written down the names of places we want to go, some for an extended period of time, some just passing through or for a brief stay, others in between, with a rough route planned whilst knowing we will be open and flexible to going with the flow when we actually get there.  I am happy that two hill stations that a friend recommended are in Tamil Nadu, where we want to spend a lot of time.  I am a little apprehensive about the heat*, so knowing about them gives me reassurance.  Plus they look beautiful! – Ooty and Kodaikanal.

*Mind you, I’m not doing so well in the cold of the English winter, yesterday we had all the heaters and about seven layers of clothes on but it wasn’t until the woodburner was roaring that we finally got warm.  Just as long as we didn’t venture outside…

Today

Tags

Christmas, family, gratitude, Present moment

Today I had arranged to go into the city.  It was raining, then it began to sleet and then snow.  My husband advised me to be careful as there’s people out there who don’t drive according to the conditions (he may have been slightly less polite than that).  We debated on the best route to go, the busier but straighter main road way or the back roads, and decided on the quieter back roads; like in the Walking Dead where the other humans are often more dangerous than the zombies, as long as I drove carefully I reasoned other drivers probably posed more of a threat than the roads.

I met my friend and we went to a lovely little cafe in St Benedict’s Street, Norwich.  I can’t remember what it’s called but it has a black cat on the door or window.  To go to the loo we had to take a key, go outside, down an alleyway and to one of a little row of outside loos backing onto a row of terraced houses.  I was confused at first, as there were loads of doors, to houses, flats and loos, and as usual I hadn’t really taken in the directions given, but luckily there was a big black cat stencilled on the door.  Inside was decorated in cool posters.  I reflected on how rare outside loos are nowadays and that in 10 years time this quirky little place may not exist as the whole courtyard may have been gentrified.

Prior to that I finished my Christmas shopping; everything this year has been products or massage vouchers from Neals Yard or locally made consumables, to be topped up with cash for the ‘kids’.  Luckily we get paid early so this can come out of next month’s payday as I seem to have spent quite a lot in a few fits of generosity, but no matter, I have much to be grateful for.

Prior to that, I had a chat with my son and was able to dish out some well deserved and specific praise, which I sometimes find hard to do, due more to awkwardness than anything.  I am the same at work, often needing to remind myself that what I say has an impact, and that just because I think something doesn’t mean people know it, unless I say it out loud.

Also we have sorted out Christmas Day, which as it is for many people, can be a time of second guessing what everyone wants to do, no one saying what they want, feeling dissatisfied and/or guilty, etc etc.  The plan is for me, my husband, stepdaughter and my mum to go to the local Indian Restaurant for lunch.  My son and his girlfriend will either come with us or come later on and have tea with us, which can be a kind of edited version of Christmas dinner; depending on her work rota which she will get in the next few days.  Boxing Day we’ve been invited to/invited ourselves to visit three lots of relatives on both sides, and have had the idea to just go and see all of them but just for an hour or so each.  This means we can get to see everyone’s relatives but not get stuck for too long anywhere, mindful of young person getting bored.  So now there’s a plan, I actually feel much more positive about it.  I might even find myself looking forward to it.

This post is essentially about being happy right now.  The piece of paper in the photograph contains my instructions to myself on how to ‘get into’ the present moment, written at the height of my first wave of awakening.

With metta

 

Narrowboat shopping and to do list

Tags

escape the matrix, Living on a boat, Minimalist living, Narrowboat, The matrix

Warning: another list post

Clothing from proper outdoors shop: one super warm, waterproof and windproof coat.  Two very warm funnel neck fleece type tops, two pairs of lined trousers, two long sleeved tops, two sets of base layers, all quick drying.  Extra warm socks, hat and scarf.  Bootie style thick lined slippers with proper soles.  Guest slippers.  A very warm dressing gown.

Buy/have made proper seating that converts to a guest bed.  Buy large Moroccan style floor cushions.  Buy electric heater(s) from chandlery (for when there’s not time to light the stove).  Buy an electric blanket.  Buy a MyFi internet box from BT.  In order to save space, instead of having dinner plates, side plates (which are pretty pointless anyway) and bowls, buy dinner plate sized bowls, shallow enough for dinner and sandwiches, deep enough for cereal.  (I am hoping such things exist outside of my imagination, if you have seen them do let me know!)  Buy proper working gloves.

Get bilge pump fitted.  Buy a new centre rope.  Buy and fit a horn.  Buy and fit cratch cover to keep wind off the doors (thank you to writer,  blogger and narrowboat dweller Ian Hutson for this).  Paint walking board with paint and sand to make a non slip surface.  Add a rope for safety when walking around the outside of the boat, if possible.  (Did I mention I am Little Ms Health and Safety?)  In the/a summer, get boat taken out of the water and blacked, and also paint outside if needed, if not just give it a good wash.  Attach tyres around the outside as extra bumper protection.  Upgrade the solar panels.

To summarise, I have two lists on the go:  a going travelling list and a living on a narrowboat list.  The narrowboat is for when we come back, although we may spend a few weeks on it before we go, just to make it real.  I also have notes for a new about page and plans to upgrade to a paid plan (is this a good thing to do fellow bloggers?  If so, personal or freelancer business package?) once I leave my job and can be both more dedicated and more open; there won’t be thirty intense hours of my week that I can’t write about, and I won’t have to worry about protecting my professional reputation.

India packing list

Tags

India, Packing, Packing list, Travel

Warning, quite boring unless it’s the sort of thing you are interested in

We plan to go to Thailand first, where from what I understand we would be able to buy everything anyway, but I don’t want to have to go shopping as soon as I arrive.

I want to travel as light as possible, but I am also quite attached to my ‘products’ although I realise I can’t take a year’s supply of everything:  I am assuming I will be able to get most things in the big cities and that I will just adjust and start using whatever’s available.  I am also Little Ms Health and Safety and a bit OCD which doesn’t help to keep the list down.  If you live in India or have travelled there and have advice about what to cross off or what to add, please do tell me as any advice would be gratefully appreciated!

The list:

Thyroxine extras, name to buy it under in Thailand, nasal spray, needles for India, doctor’s letter for carrying needles in Thailand, Iodine/life straw/pen/alternative method of water purification, metal water carrier, antibiotics, diarrhoea meds, rehydration meds, cystitis meds, thrush meds, athletes foot cream, plasters, sterile dressings, sterile wipes, antiseptic, aloe vera gel, arnica, tea tree oil, mosquito repellent, mosquito net, Shewee, day pack, money belt, sheet sleeping bag, waterproof sheet, ear plugs, dust masks, inflatable travel pillow, travel towel or flannel, universal plug, passport photos, padlock, one smart phone, one basic long battery life phone, tablet, plus chargers and adapter, swiss army knife, tweezers, needle and thread, reading glasses, emery boards, hairbrush and hairbands, Lush deodorant bar and solid shampoo-soap, Oil of Olay face cream, Body Shop hemp hand cream, vaseline for lips, body lotion, small sunscreen, toothbrush and toothpaste, dental floss, talcum powder, wax strips, Mooncup and cloth sanitary pads, (plus tampons, pads and liners because I’m not perfect all the time), sunglasses, etnies or other good sandals and light shoe/trainers, flip flops, cotton long sleeved shirts x3, long cotton trousers x2 one black to not show dirt when travelling, one light coloured for evenings as less attractive to mosquitos I am told, big thin pale scarf, sun hat, pacamac and for Thailand only- skirt and blouse, vest tops x2.

Green Mist Theory 08:08

Tags

dreams, escape the matrix, reality, The matrix

All this came to me, fully realised, in a dream.

You created a machine, a robot cyborg of flesh and blood, the movies etc. are clues or faint echoes of this truth.  We think they are fantastic fantasy but they are nowhere near as exciting as the truth:  We were ‘mist’ (we are energy) and we created a vessel that can cry and feel and we created the world we live in.  But then we got distracted by our bodies and sex and forgot.  (I even got/get distracted by that in the dream/my dreams).

Look in the mirror, at yourself crying, at your face melting, at it going through all ages.

Me to my mum: ‘Mum, are you awake?’  (Use of the word ‘Mum’ as a mindfulness bell (or spinning top, or programmed pendulum) as I don’t call her that).  ‘Is there a club for people who are awake?  Is there training?’ ‘Yes, in a mental institution.’  Oh yes of course, you’d think I’d gone mad… But it’s everyone else that’s mad, the mad people are the sane ones.  But fair enough, you’d think I’d gone mad if I said ‘None of this is real’.  The trick is, to know the truth but to still carry on living in the world (to keep one foot in the visible and one foot in the invisible).  We did this for a reason, perhaps we forget for a reason?  Maybe sex, and beauty etc was a trick we inserted to help us forget.

We made the body like people make robots but then it began to become real (like robot AI stories again) so yes, when you feed something, it grows.  And so we began to feel emotions in our bodies, emotions began to live and be processed in our bodies; so that our bodies became more than just a vehicle to hold the mist in or to transmorgophy the mist.  We only really need to remember this at death, that these bodies were only made up, and that we go back to being mist, and that this adventure was just a dream.

You get more out of the experience of being here by not being locked in a mental institution so it’s best to follow the earlier advice and keep most of this to yourself.

 

My attempts to ‘start a conversation’ and wake everyone up, were hey, let’s talk about being little kids, about when you toilet trained, about toilet stuff, hey, I wet myself once, or what about sexually when you are a child, did you ever, or let’s talk about sexual abuse… (groans from John)  okay, okay, let’s talk about… and John as old, lots of grey hair, beard.

(Not, how you used to always have in your draft manuscript as a footer, ‘all you have to do is meditate’- all you have to do is write, (which you are doing) so you don’t actually have to do anything: stop studying, stop meditating, stop all ‘spiritual practices’).

Looking in the mirror and crying, saying, what if I could create a machine that cried and moved how I wanted and could change its expression, and, and, and, that I could totally inhabit, so that even my emotions would be felt in its fleshy parts, because this machine is flesh not plastic and metal.  Oh look, I did.

Re aliens:  we are aliens.  We transmorgophied, and dropped into, or integrated into, living spacesuits, hence all the sci fi things along this line (no wonder I don’t like them).  They distract us by giving us something that seems fantastic yet the truth is far more amazing- it’s not made up on television, it’s here, in front of the mirror, take a look, if you look carefully, you can see.  (And if you take magic mushrooms, you can literally see)

Bodies are important as they are our vehicle to live on here and do things, so look after them.

Practical application: do my best to look and act normal at work; do as little as possible, for now, out of work, in order to leave space to remember to remember and to write it down.  Cease all spiritual practices.  Allow maintenance, allow reminder activities? Cease seeking behaviours but allow documentation?  My reminder activities:  read my writing, write my writing, old stuff, and maybe new stuff, read books e.g. Russell Hoban and Krishnamurti and Liz Gilbert.  Quiet time, meditation, contemplation, self healing, exploration.  Do healing, do writing, food and exercise of course, no fb just check for messages.

Mum:  ‘People used to say, remember to remember, but I’ve forgotten what that was about.’

But we must have done it for a reason (made these machines to live (love?) in and come down to live in this world) and seeing as when we die we go back to being green mist again, then that must mean that whatever the reason is it is what we do on the planet with physical bodies.

So it’s not correct to say ‘none of this matters’ and maybe it’s not actually correct to say ‘none of this is real’ because it’s what we’ve got- it’s all we’ve got, until our bodies expire.    You can spend some time hanging about as green mist (e.g. meditating, doing metta bhavna) and that is very nice but I wonder if it is not what you are here for?  You weren’t given, you don’t transmorgophy into a body and arrive here to sit in a room on your own and play at being mist again.

It’s useful to look down at yourself from the point of view of the green mist.  E.g. when to take a break from the computer, when to leave work on time.

In the dream I kept trying to write this all down but kept falling asleep or not being able to read it back, or kept getting distracted by sex, and then someone said they would read it out to me from a book, so I thought, oh well, it’s in a book, of course it is, I thought I’d thought of that myself…. but it isn’t in a book, unless I write it.

(This really did come to me in a dream, a couple of years ago now.  It’s old, but it’s still pretty good!)

I’m here

Tags

dreams, mental health

So, in the midst of family members having health scares, dentistry, offers and counter offers, blah blah blah, stress everywhere, blah blah blah, this happened:

About a week ago I got out of the bath (I try to only have two baths,  with hair wash, per week.  For me, being a ‘dirty hippy’ is now something positive to aspire to) with the mirror all steamed up.  All I could see of my reflection were two blazing circles, like silver metal discs where my eyes would be.  I thought of zombies for a moment (I am very scared of zombies, too much Walking Dead) then realised, no, not like a zombie, more like a robot.

Then this morning, same thing again, except that this time they weren’t just silver discs, there were also circles in rings around the discs like a metallic target.  Like a cyborg, as if there were something inside, light blazing out through the eyes of a suit or casing.

A reminder:  In the midst of everything, don’t forget this.

I tried unsuccessfully to photograph this phenomenon, almost making myself late for work (where I had a really good day).  To the middle right you can see one of the disc/circles although in the photograph it doesn’t appear over my eye.

It reminded me of a previous post that I don’t think many people read, so I shall re post it.

A thank you letter

Tags

Narrowboat, Travel, Travelling

This is a thank you letter to, or rather about, my ‘awareness advisor.’  I don’t like the word spiritual and she probably doesn’t like the word guru so that phrase will have to do.

My husband introduced me to her in April of this year.  Out of all the different people he came across, she was the one who resonated with him.  I liked the fact that she is a woman and that he had chosen a woman.  I also liked the fact that she was older, as I am in my forties and my husband is in his fifties.

Basically she imparts information.  Some of what she says is easy to hear, reflecting back to us what we already know or believe.  Some of what she says encourages us to go a little bit further, or to fully commit to things that we had been circling around for a while e.g. going vegan.

Some of what she has said has been very challenging; I had to have a break from her for a while because I got frightened.  But mostly, she is straightforwardly neutral and at times warmly encouraging and helps me to stay focussed on ‘the path.’

One of the things she has said is don’t look back, with the exception of allowing yourself an occasional brief glance just to remind yourself how far you’ve come.

I remember back to when we first started listening to her, first started dreaming, allowing ourselves to entertain the bare imaginings of our best life yet.  We rolled around the idea of selling the house, buying a camper van and travelling the world or going to live in a healing centre in Mexico.

I remember it was a weekend morning, I was standing in the hallway between the bedroom and the bathroom.  John was in bed.  John said, what kind of people would we have to be to sell the house and just leave everything and everyone and go off on an adventure?  Strong, I said, we’d be so f***ing strong.  Electricity ran up the length of my spine when I said that.  Wow, John said, I just felt a tingle all over my body.

Now here we are:  the house is on the market, people have already been to view it.  We have put a deposit on a narrowboat, the vendor will very kindly wait for us to sell the house and then look after it while we are travelling South East Asia.  We have told family, friends and work.  We have found a lovely home for the cats.

Written out like that it all looks so easy and straightforward.  Yet it felt so hard to do at the time, I suppose it must be all the conditioning.

Tomorrow I am having my final laser treatment to get rid of my old tattoo.  I suppose that’s as good a metaphor as any.

With metta