Connections...

Did you look out for signs over the Twelve Days?  Those inbetween, interstitial, liminal days?  Did you snatch a glimpse of the year ahead by paying attention to the oracles all around you?  I did.  Well, of course I did.  What did I see?  Let’s not go there.  Let’s just say it’s going to be an interesting year. 

One word kept coming up again and again. Connection.  And one symbol kept coming up over and over.  A web.  It culminated in the beautiful image Caitlin Matthews posted on Facebook of not one, but several webs, webs within webs.  The Web of Wyrd.  That links everything, everyone.  Touch the edge of a web and the reverberations are felt throughout the entire structure.  For yes, we are all connected.  Each and every one of us.

I watch the interwebs (there we go again) and I see people who are scared; who are worried about the world. They are scared about what we’re doing to the environment; to the economy; to one another. And they have good reason to be concerned.  We are doing terrible things to our beautiful world.  We do terrible things to one another. We do terrible things to ourselves.

Several months back I remember saying to Marek, ‘How can we save the world?’ and he replied. ‘We can’t. We can only save ourselves.’  And I thought about it and I figured he was absolutely right.  For, truly, you can’t ever change other people. You can only change yourself.  I'm not talking about being selfish; about ignoring what is going on in the world - far from it.  It's simply that you cannot force people to change; you cannot make them see the world your way. No matter how much you would love them to do so. 
In Symphonic Bridges, Marek puts it like this...
"I wish my parents would choose to join me in my spiritual exploration. I wish they would decide to take up the rejuvenation and longevity. The latter  doesn’t make sense without the former, of(f) course. I wish my mother would learn to swim and ride a bike finally. Even at the age of eighty or something. I wish I didn’t think that I should have rather used Simple Past tense after all the above ‘I wish’s’. Wishful thinking… 

Wishing is all I can do really. I can’t even persuade my sons that eating meat is bad for them. Will they blame me in the future for my not being strict enough with them about it now. If they ever go on vegetarian diet. Maybe I should just make them give up this barbarian habit. But wouldn’t it be a violation of their freedom of choice? We all have free will. Though freedom ends where our decision would lead to hurting other people.

Therefore, I choose to avoid enforcement of any ‘spiritual imperatives’. Instead of telling my wife, children, parents and other people what they have to do to live a better life, I just keep setting a good example. That’s what I believe it is anyway."

And that's just talking about simple things like diet.  We're contrary creatures - the moment someone says we 'should' do something, we tend to want to do the polar opposite.  Look at the storm in a teacup today over the government telling us how much alcohol we should be drinking - or rather not drinking.  Look how defensive the US becomes over genetically engineered food or carbon emissions.  We don't like being told off.  
But if we all changed…?  If we all became alchemists…?  If we all saw beyond the greed and the need and the fear and the defensiveness?  Oh then, then…who knows what would happen?  Remember the tale of the hundredth monkey?  

And at Zumba the other night, Debbie played this as our cool-down track…

And this morning, on Twitter, lovely Melpomene played a Cat Stevens track which made me think of this…

And this…

Yeah, it always adds up to one thing…  Love.  Just Love.  

Internet friends and lovers



Jeez, he looks grumpy!

Adrian is perplexed.  While he’s been in Moscow, I’ve been meeting my Internet pals.  He just doesn’t *get* my love of internet ‘relationships’.  Yes, he blogs, he tweets, he FBs – but only because he feels he ‘ought to’ for work.  He frowns at tweet-ups, he doesn’t remotely understand why I keep meeting people I haven’t, er, met.

‘It’s like online dating,’ he said, sitting on the end of the bed.  ‘Except without the sex bit.’ Shaking his head.  ‘I don’t get that either.’

‘Aha,’ said I, sitting up and adjusting the SP.  ‘Now, see, if I were single, I’d do that like a shot.’

‘God no.’ He shuddered. ‘It’s not natural.’

‘Oh come on.  It’s practical.’ I put down my coffee cup so I could wave my arms around. ‘Look. Imagine I don’t exist.  Nothing nasty – I haven’t died or anything.  I’m just Not Here. In fact, let’s take James out of the equation too and make it simple.  You live here. Alone. Who you gonna date?’

‘I’d move,’ he said briskly. ‘I’d go to…hmm….Bristol. I’d go to pubs and clubs…’

I raised an eyebrow.  ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

He shrugged.  ‘Okay, I’d go to pubs and museums. I’d stalk women in military museums.’  Dear God.

‘Right.  But say you couldn’t move.  Say you worked here?’  I named names. He looked alarmed.

‘See? It’s not easy once you’re out of your twenties.’ I keep saying this to my mate who just wants a nice man with a labrador.  She doesn’t buy it, the Internet dating thing – but then she doesn’t do Twitter or FB or anything other than the odd brusque email.  Maybe the world is divided into those who click and those who don't... ;)

‘And it’s the same with friends,’ I continued.  ‘I know lovely people here but I can’t always talk about the stuff I need to – about writing, about books, about mad spiritual/mystical stuff.  They’d think I’d gone bonkers.’  His turn to raise an eyebrow.

‘Hence online friends.’

‘Okay, I get that,’ he said.  ‘But then you go and meet them.’
‘Not all of them,’ I pointed out.  ‘But yeah, why not?’

See, I’m fascinated by people online and particularly by how online personae can be so different from RL.  I was talking about this with Jake and the lovely M (his wife) yesterday – how some people are exactly the same on and offline while others are, frankly, unrecognisable. 

‘Anyhow,’ said Adrian.  ‘If you were here alone, who would you shag?’ 

Shag?  Don’t you love the way women say 'date' and men say 'shag'?  He named names.  My eyes widened. 
‘Oh, I don’t know…’ I said with an evil smirk.

He lobbed his croissant at me. The SP neatly intercepted.  I grinned and picked up my coffee cup.

But, seriously…if you wanted to meet a partner, would you consider Internet dating?  Anyone tried it and a) loved it b) loathed it?

How many of your online friends have you met in real life? Were they how you imagined?   

And, before I go.  The ila competition.  I decided, in the end, that I couldn’t just give all that gorgeousness to one person. So I talked to ila and we split the prize.  The SP was the most fragrant creature I could find so he plonked his paw on these guys:  Zenandtheartoftightropewalking, Tiger Princess, Posie and Preseli Mags

Revealing the real "me"?

I haven’t been tagged in a meme for positively years. But my dear mucker Laura has done the dirty. Apparently this originated in The Guardian Weekend mag and the answers have the power to reveal the ‘real you’. I’m always trying to discover/uncover/whatever the real me so I figured – why not? – and merrily ignored my inrushing deadline to pay it some thought.

When were you happiest? Oh God, question one and I’m struggling already. I don’t really do long periods of happiness. I think it has to be those rare ‘flow’ moments that come, unexpectedly, out of nowhere and set your entire body and brain tingling. For some bizarre reason the one that sticks in my mind was driving across London Bridge in my VW Beetle as the sun was setting. I had a sudden feeling of ‘YESSSS!!!’ I was about 23. Jumping off a mountain in Austria was pretty cool too.

What was your most embarrassing moment? Hmm. There are many candidates and I’ve confessed plenty in the past. Being told to ‘fuck off’ by Bob Geldof made me wince at the time but, on reflection, I don’t think it was personal. Discussing the ELLE sex survey on live TV was pretty cringe-worthy – I spoke in an unstoppable torrent of totally inadvertent innuendo.

Aside from property, what’s the most expensive thing you’ve bought? Boring answer – car. Not even a good car either...crappy Toyota RAV4.

What is your most treasured possession? I don’t really go a bundle on stuff. I love things James makes for me and I'm superglued to my iPod. I’d hate to live without my PC – does that count?

Where would you like to live? I’m happy where I am but would love to travel for part of the year. I’d definitely like to bale out of the UK for January and February. Love the US, adore Greece and Egypt. So much of the world I don’t know but would love to meet. Would it be greedy to have a crash-pad in London too?

What’s your favourite smell? Woodsmoke.

Who would play you in the film of your life? Tilda Swinton, please.

What is your favourite book? Sorry – gotta cheat and have three and all spiritual, not novels. The I Ching; A Practical Guide to Qabalistic Symbolism;  Symphonic Bridges.

What is your most unappealing habit? Readjusting shop displays and pointing out abuse of apostrophes.

What would be your fancy dress costume of choice? Trinity from The Matrix. Worked that look pretty well a few years back with boot polish in my hair.

What is your earliest memory? Lying in my pram looking up at a hedge and seeing hundreds of caterpillars.

What is your guiltiest pleasure? Chatting on the Internet.

What do you owe your parents? Genetic gloom, existential angst, long legs, big tits and a broad mind.

To whom would you like to say sorry, and why? Terry Waite (for saying he was smelly) and (oh God) the smelly girl in my girl guide patrol.  Note to self: sweat isn't a sin.

What does love feel like? Depends on the love. Warm sun on bare skin, melon sorbet on the tongue or jump leads to the heart.

What was the best kiss of your life? North London. Mid 80s. Random party. Random guy. Sheesh.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse? ‘Shit yeah’; ‘to be honest’; ‘Oh FFS’; ‘Sorry’.

What is the worst job you have ever done? Filing for the Immigration Office. I won’t tell you what I did to pass the time.

If you could edit your past, what would you change? I would love to have had a daughter (as well as a son). And I said no a few times when maybe I should have said yes...but then again...

What is the closest you have come to death? Blow-out at 90mph on the middle lane of a US highway. Time really did slow.

What do you consider your greatest achievement? My son. Simples.

When did you last cry and why? A few weeks ago. But I cry at anything. Music usually sets me off – I have been known to sob at adverts if they include the right minor chord.

How do you relax? Seriously tough aerobic exercise. Or seriously tough hard massage. Or seriously tough hard... never mind.

What single thing would improve the quality of your life? Enough money to follow my heart rather than chase bills.

What is the most important lesson life has taught you? I know nothing. Be kind. Okay, so that's two but they're linked. 


Now then....time to tag?  Okay, here are the people to whom I say - 'reveal, reveal'....

Hestia
Frances
Milla
Lulu
Viv

Who's Jane Alexander?

the real Jane Alexander

Someone online recently described me as a ‘60-something Tibetan nun with a 36-year old son and an arthritic hip.’ Kinda interesting. Where on earth did he get that from? So I Googled myself. Absolutely fascinating. Who knew how many weird and wonderful Jane Alexanders there were out there. So, without further ado, let me introduce you to some of my many and various alter egos.

I’m an actress. Well, I knew this already. When I was young I went to see the bloody gloomy movie Kramer v Kramer with a bunch of friends and, as the titles came up, so did my name. ‘Hey, I didn’t know you were in this, Jane,’ quipped one pal, rather loudly. Within five minutes the buzz had gone round the cinema and everyone was looking round. Apparently I am “Angular in features, reserved in demeanor and more-or-less plaintive in appearance.” Good fit?

I’m a bishop. Wow, I didn’t know that. Cool. A bishop in the Anglican Church of Canada. Get those robes.  Actually, I love the idea of being some kind of prelate. In another life, mebbe.

I’m a South African sculptor and an artist. Oh, God, I LOVE this Jane Alexander. Her work is amazing. She is SO damn cool. She is also, apparently, infamous for her silence.
I could learn a lesson or two from this me.

I’m a wedding photographer based in Surrey. I’d show you my images but apparently I don’t allow reproduction.  So this is a generic pic.

I’m a brave woman who was institutionalised for mental illness and treated against my will. This Jane Alexander has written a book called Possessing Me: a memoir of healing, detailing a seventeen year battle with mental illness. Well, well. That one brought me up short. I wondered for a moment if I really had written that book. If you know me (me me) you’ll know that I am a fervent believer in outing the shame around mental illness. So, bravo, Jane Alexander – bravo. You can read more here.

I’m an illustrator and a marketing officer who loves 8th century Irish balads.  Oh good choice, marketing me....  here's a snippet...

"You have taken the east from me; you have taken the west from me;
you have taken what is before me and what is behind me;
you have taken the moon, you have taken the sun from me;
and my fear is great that you have taken God from me!"

I think that’s enough. A few other clicks gave my anti-virus program several jolts of adrenalin and firewalls came hurtling up at the speed of light. So I obviously have a fair few skeletons in my cupboard too. But there you have it. The many faces and skillsets of my online alter egos. Will the real Jane Alexander please stand up?  Sadly, not a Tibetan nun to be found.

How about you?  Ever Googled yourself?  Who are you - as well as being you?  And then again, who is 'you' anyhow?

The universe cares about my washing machine

Okay, so I was putting off buying the washing machine. I don’t know – it was all just too complicated. Too many choices; too many considerations. Spin cycles; energy ratings; load weight; integrated or non-integrated. Heck, who cares? It’s why I hate shopping nowadays. Too much choice is killing us. Good book incidentally.


But then the old one chewed another set of branded towels and spat globules of snot over my one remaining halfway decent bra and so I sighed, girded my loins (love that phrase) and turned on the PC. Sometime a while back, someone on Twitter talked about some website that gave really good reviews and helped plough a meaningful furrow through all this endless tedium but could I remember the name? Could I hell. Brain is disintegrating so fast, there will be just vague shreds of words left soon and this blog will be unintelligible to all but those loyal (foolish) souls willing to put in the hours plugging the gaps.

Well, blow me down with a feather, Trevor. Or rather, Ian. An email from Ian Goodall. Who he? Well, only he of Appliances Online. Now THAT was the badger! And you tell me the universe isn’t listening? Heathen scum. Shit, the universe even cares about my washing machine.

But seriously. Neat site, if you have to buy dreaded domestic appliances. Otherwise, it is (let’s be honest) probably your worst nightmare.

So. I was dutiful. I checked a few models. Even browsed a few videos. Then I thought WTF? As long as it doesn’t deposit slime and makes clothes appear reasonably clean and fragrant, I don’t really care. So I did the usual eeny meeny miny mo and picked one. Don’t even THINK about asking which one and don’t for the love of God tell me why I should have bought this or how you adore that because I don’t care. It is done. I have probably chosen poorly again (still puzzling over how tiny my iPod is – it didn’t look that tiny in the picture) so I don’t want to know.

Enough already about this bunch. You’ll be thinking this Ian chap is paying me to talk about it. Huh? Oh. Yeah. Well, he did offer me £30 of Amazon vouchers. And I have just got a new iPod and a new Kindle and am about to go to life rehab (necessitating ten hours of rail travel) so...well... y’know. Life is tough and we are living on cereal (don't panic; I’ll save that for tomorrow - so you can purposefully avoid it).

So now I have a whole new set of dilemmas. Because, really, £30 goes nowhere if, like me, you a) speed read and b) haven’t bought any new music for years.

So...suggestions anyone?  

While I’m dithering, I’ve been downloading some nice music for free from here.... the composer is a bonkers Scouser who warns that there may be subliminal messages in the tracks...(he can’t quite remember). Just don’t blame me if it does your head in, alright? He’s just some weirdo I met on the Internet. :-)

On parental guilt and virtual strawberries

Right now I should be out fertilising. Or planting soy beans. Or harvesting strawberries. Nope, I haven’t gone all Felicity Kendall Good Lifeish, my son has hauled me onto Farmville.
There are times when I lack all parental willpower whatsoever and this was one of them. ‘Can I join Facebook, Mum?’ said James.
‘Certainly not,’ said I.
‘But Christian is on it.’
‘Well, whoopee for Christian.’

‘I’ve got 50 friends,’ added Christian with discernible pride.

‘Well, I sincerely hope you know all of them personally,’ said I, feeling very grown-up and responsible (quietly nudging aside the fact that I’ve clean forgotten where I picked up half my own friends on Facebook).

‘Well, I know some of them,’ he said.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. I spent the next hour unpeeling all manner of unsavoury looking types from his profile and giving stern warnings about Internet safety.

Once we’d done that, he showed James his farm. Let’s be quite clear here – it’s an online farm, where crops grow in a day and where the sheep line up neatly. I took a quick look and figured it might be educational – as in managing money, taking responsibility, learning cause and effect.

‘So, can I join? Just to play Farmville?’ said James. ‘It’s educational.’ He knows me too well.
I caved.

Of course the reality is that it isn’t remotely educational; it’s darned commercial.
‘What’s PayPal, Mum?’ asked James.
‘What? Why?’
Seems that, if you get impatient and can’t wait for weeks to earn your gold coins (to ‘buy’ your pigs and geese and crops and so on) you can pay REAL MONEY to bypass the boring bits. So I suppose there is an element of reality about it after all.

Of course it wasn’t enough for James to have a reasonable farm, he wanted a darn fine farm. Not content with soliciting my friends for manure and building materials, he sneaked onto my PC and joined me up.

I tell you, it’s stressful. ‘Oh dear, Mum. You didn’t harvest your crops, did you? They’re all dead.’

What? Will someone please tell me why I’m feeling guilty about virtual withered strawberries?

Probably because guilt is every working mother’s middle-name.