Waving our hands in space and time

So I have been reading a book about a book.  'The History of Love - a novel' about a book called 'The History of Love.'  I picked it up somewhere, somewhen, somewhile back...in a charity shop for 20p. Words are cheap, huh?

Anyhow, there's this chapter in the book (the enwrapping/bracketing book) called 'The Eternal Disappointment Of Life As It Is'.  And the chapter in the enwrapped/bracketed book is called 'Feelings are not as old as time.' And, see, the brackets are actually in the wrong place but what can one do, for meaning's sake?

'Just as there was a first instant when someone rubbed two sticks together to make a spark, there was a first time joy was felt, and a first time for sadness,' it says.  'For a while, new feelings were being invented all the time. Desire was born early, as was regret.' I bet.  
And then it goes on...'Even now, all possible feelings do  not yet exist.  There are still those that lie beyond our capacity and our imagination.  from time to time, when a piece of music no one has ever written, or a painting no one has ever painted, or something else impossible to predict, fathom, or yet describe takes place, a new feeling enters the world.  And then, for the millionth time in the history of feeling, the heart surges, and absorbs the impact.'
Tis a lovely thought but...I wonder...how we like to think we're different, don't we?

And there's a bit about lost words, and string, and shy people...

I'm not really sure why I'm even telling you about this book. But still... (The History of Love) also has a chapter called The Age of Silence, which discusses how the first language people had was one of gestures. 'Naturally there were misunderstandings. There were times when a finger might have been lifted to scratch a nose, and if casual eye contact was made with one's lover just then, the lover might accidentally take it to be the gesture, not at all dissimilar, for Now I realise I was wrong to love you. These mistakes were heartbreaking.'

Yet then again, we manage to screw things up perfectly well, even with words, don't we?  And it goes on. 'Your hands remember a time when the division between mind and body,  brain and heart, what's inside and what's outside, was so much less.'  Yes.  I suspect they do.  Is there really a division?  Only in our minds.

But you have to love a book that has a once upon a time...because weren't we all kings and queens, or knights and princesses (or dragons) once.  And can you remember laughter?

Anyhow.  I liked this book.  Not in a gobble it all up way. Not in a let's be distracted from the realisation that we're minuscule specks of dust magneted to a larger speck of dust careering through the innards of what is probably just another marginally larger speck of dust and so on way.  Just in a ...yeah kind of way.

http://architectureofdoom.tumblr.com/image/56589484772

Anyhow.  There we go.  Waving our hands in space and time.
 

I wander...wordwise.

Winter bites. Not just around me in the snow and ice but here inside. My thoughts freeze; my heart aches with the fingertouch of frost.  And I cannot write.  Words desert me, they fly away like a skein of geese, high in the cloud-bound sky. Isigfethera. Icy-feathered. I sit and stare at the screen, my eyes glazing.  Bitter in breosthord. Sad in soul. So I get up, swathe myself in blankets and gaze instead at the snowbound pages of my notebook.   No joy.  It’s a no win/wynn situation.  Did you know that wynn means joy or bliss in Old English?

"Ƿenne bruceþ, ðe can ƿeana lyt

sares and sorge and him sylfa hæf

blæd and blysse and eac byrga geniht.

Who uses it knows no pain

sorrow nor anxiety, and he himself has

prosperity and bliss, and also enough shelter."

This time of year, this sense of mood, often sends me back to Anglo-Saxon poetry – to The Seafarer and The Wanderer in particular.  The Seafarer most of all.  Because Old English expresses cold (of bone, of body, of soul) so much better than modern English. Its words bite.

And, even if words don’t love me right now, I still love words.  There is a wonderful blog on Tumblr called otherworldly which unearths, explores and adores words.  And sometimes, when I can’t write, I go there and lose myself in language.  Because so often what we cannot express in our own language can be expressed quite perfectly in another.  And I love that it has a ‘random’ function, allowing you to use it as a quasi-oracle if you will.  And you know how I love oracles.

Check it out. Wander word-wise. And I wonder, is there a word somewhere in this wide world, for wondering if you’re on the verge of giving up - but hoping you're not?  J

 

You just don't know...

Communication. Talking. Saying what you feel, what you mean. Being honest. Seriously, why are we so bloody crap at it?  I write this agony aunt column every month for Natural Health magazine (yeah, yeah, don’t laugh) and really, I could answer pretty well every dilemma in one word:  TALK!  Spit it out. Say what you’re feeling.  

Don’t be mean: say what you mean. 

Cos most people aren’t psychic.  They won’t intuit what you feel.  They won’t hear the words unspoken. You have to bite the bullet and say it. Not in an aggressive ‘you total manky bitch’ or ‘you ignorant fecking bastard’ way – but in a straightforward, honest ‘this is how I feel’ way.  Simple huh?

So why don’t we? 

I guess sometimes it’s because of fear.  If you know someone will act with anger or aggression, that’s good reason to keep schtum.  But then, I wonder, should you really be around someone who reacts that way in the first place?  Sometimes, maybe, you don’t want to ask the question because, in your heart of hearts, you’re scared of the answer.  Or you’re scared of looking and sounding foolish, of making an arse of yourself. 

And some people, of course, use silence and lack of communication as a kind of power game. 

But really, all of it drives me crazy.  So much misunderstanding. So much time, so many opportunities, lost through lack of words. So much hurt and pain sometimes.  Through lack of truth and honesty. 

The mind, left to its imaginings, can be an inventive beast. It can come up with all kinds of scenarios; all sorts of hurt and paranoia.  And thought is creative.  How we think can affect how we feel.  Magicians would go one step further and say that how we think can affect matter – because, really, it’s all just different forms of energy.  So we should be careful with our words, with our thoughts, with what is said and what is thought.  With what is unsaid.  Can something be unthought though?  No.  Only pushed away or buried or – better - replaced with something new.

Anyhow. Let’s be honest (ho ho), I’m not always great at the communication stuff myself.  I’m not one of life’s great splurgers.  Generally I don’t talk a whole load, truth to tell. I love silence. And silence loves me. And, yes, sometimes there can be too many words banded about. I once spent a car journey pondering the maths on how much Adrian speaks in comparison to me – I think it was a ratio of 750:1 or thereabouts.  I’m a good listener though – most journalists are. I guess it's balance again - a question of knowing when to speak and when to shut the feck up.  

Last night there was a deep and not remotely comfortable silence in the house.  Adrian and James weren’t talking.  Again.  Ye gods.  To be fair, Adrian is pretty good at expressing how he feels.  And he will readily admit if he’s done wrong.  But James is a tougher nut to crack. He’s a Scorpio, one of life’s natural silent brooding types.  I’m determined that, if I can teach James one thing, just one thing (after the self-esteem thingy of course), it will be to communicate; to be honest about how he feels.  To state his feelings clearly, openly, without losing the plot.  Yes, that will sometimes bring him heartache, of course it will, but it will also save him heartache in the long term.  So, after a suitable period elapsed (cos everyone needs to wallow for a bit), I followed him, cornered him in his lair and made him look me in the eye and talk.  And eventually he did.  And instead of launching off into ‘And he said this…’ or ‘And it’s so unfair…’ he talked about how he felt.  He spat it all out and felt – he said - much the better for it. 

As the old adage goes, better out than in.  

So, today, maybe…try being honest. Say what you feel.  Is there an elephant in the room?  Name it. Something you’ve wanted to get off your chest for aeons? Shift it. Can’t say it? Write it. Put it in a letter and sign it with a kiss (or knot).  Because, really, life can be too short for miscommunication, misunderstanding.  Yet another person I know died this week (no, no, please no commiserations – I didn’t know him well – the husband of a friend).  She heard his key in the door but he never came in.  When she went to see what had happened, she found him dead on the doorstep.  You never know how long anybody has got.  Use your time wisely eh? 

Words drive me crazy...literally

Words by Eighty-3 at deviantart

Words. They drive me crazy. No matter how hard you try, no matter what you do, no matter how careful and precise you try to be, they slide away; they do their own thing.  Because what you can’t ever control is how another person will read them, will interpret them.  It’s why emoticons are so important in social media, on forums.  End it with a J  and it’s all okay (or not).  But, really, emoticons aren’t enough.  You can’t express tone when you write.  Sometimes I think we need to write as if we were writing novels… adding in the adverbs (against all advice to the contrary) *smiling wanly*. Do you know what I mean? *small sad voice pleadingly, brow furrowed*  

Music is purer, not so open to misinterpretation. *relatively certain tone* Or is it? *frowns* The listener can so easily pull out one lyric rather than another; what one person perceives as a positive note will be seen by another as a negation. It’s why one song can mean a myriad different things to each and every person who listens to it. 

What we really need is a way to beam emotion and intent straight to other people.  That can be done on a one-on-one basis, if both parties are attuned or understand other dimensional working (though I am not always entirely sure about that either nowadays *sad sigh again*). But expressing one's intent, one's feeling, to a mass audience isn't possible or *pause, ponders* probably desirable, come to think of it. Maybe other people need to put their own interpretations on things. Maybe there are reasons for misunderstandings, for missed communications?  Maybe the misunderstandings are there as mirrors? *really don't know, just stabbing in the dark here*. Maybe they help us grow?  And growing is good, right? *asking, not remotely telling* 

Anyhow *with small, not irritated, just sad, sigh; in resigned tone*. I thought I’d been gone long enough, been down deep enough. I thought I was done with the underworld for just a little while. *long pause while looks out of window at soft rain falling, mist over the valley, leaves turning yellow, ochre and copper, breathing consciously, feeling deep yet strangely good pain in heart*.

I tried being back in the world, tried to smile and talk and be normal but it felt like I was outside myself, watching a puppet moving jerkily, on strings. I really had nothing to say; I have nothing to say. Because, see/hear/feel, right now, I'm only half-cooked (or half-baked, yeah, yeah, I'll say it so you don't have to *smile, yes really, smile*). And that’s okay, really it is…*nods, trying to convince self as much as anyone else*.

This morning the path was slippery, slick. I felt like I could so easily fall.  The big field was no longer empty; cows stood watching.  The path was strewn with shit. Go figure *rueful smile*. A friend said she’d dreamed of me, twice…with shelves full of dust.  And so I took the books that had been gathering dust and started to read.  And the synchronicities started crashing in again, one after another, again and again and again and again. Just too too much. *awe, wonder, fear, trepidation, uncertain to the core*.  What the shit is going on? I don’t understand.

Whatever it is or isn’t, I realised, *big deep sigh* that I had come back too soon.  I have more I have to do.  Back to the crucible I go.  Honestly, don’t worry – it’s okay.  It is what it is. Byss; abyss. 

Uniforms, twibes, vague meanderings

James phoned me from the school bus this morning.
‘It’s a non-uniform day,’ he said.
Oh shit.
‘I forgot,’ he said.
‘I didn’t even know.’

Damn. I really must get a grip. Start using a diary again. Maybe even get a battery for my watch. Did I mention that the batteries in both my watches packed up on the same day? I think I may be out of time.

Thankfully he didn’t sound too perturbed.

‘I suppose you could wear your tracksuit?’ I suggested, hopefully, uncertainly.  Knowing that, even if I drove in with some clothes, he wouldn't get them until lunchtime.
‘Yeah, I guess I could.’
Bless him.

Cheers!

But it worried me and it will bother me slightly all day long. I know how important it is when you’re his age to fit in, to be the same as the rest of the gang. Children desperately want to bond with the pack. Then, in the teenage years, comes the urge to differentiate (just a little); to identify with a ‘set’ – wearing another uniform (usually of the music you like), finding your tribe. All the time fighting vehemently for your right to be ‘different’; all the time yearning for people who feel the same as you do.  One of these days, if I ever get a scanner, I'll give you all a laugh and load up pics of some of my more, er, interesting, fashion incarnations (as a taster, I offer you the 'Haystack' phase - bleach blonde, backcombed to death, leather jackets and spiky heels).  I made those earrings, btw - hearts and demon baby faces.  Some things never change. :-)

And it doesn’t stop, when you grow up. Maybe we all – consciously or unconsciously – seek others like us: who won’t judge; who won’t call us crazy (or, if they do, at least do it lovingly, with a fond shake of the head). People who understand. And if you can't find them in everyday life, you can look for them online.  On Twitter people are joining ‘twibes’ – online tribes.

Not me. I’m not a joiner, never have been. Adrian's the one who does committees; joins societies; belongs to things. I made an exception just once to get an integrated health care centre up and running here on Exmoor. I've always believed that if our doctors focused on preventative healthcare, they would create health and save money. If they taught people how to eat properly; how to meditate or do autogenic training; how to relax and exercise... If they employed osteopaths, bodyworkers, taught Alexander Technique...and good (firm emphasis on good) psychotherapists (just for starters)...we might have a health service, rather than a sick service. But anyhow, it drove me crazy. Sitting going round in circles; endless meandering; talking, talking, talking: everybody thinking he or she were right.

It didn’t happen. Of course.

A backwater of Epidauros - my dream healing spot

You know (or maybe you don’t), the more I hear of words, the less I trust them. The more I read, the less I know. One of the most blissful weeks of my life was on silent retreat – painting into the night, music in my ears, sometimes dancing, sometimes crying. Another was in Greece on dream pilgrimage, visiting the ancient healing temples, stretching out on the warm sunkissed stones, being bitten by the snakes of Asklepios. Or just sitting in the bus, as it wound through the mountains up to the plains of Sparta, to magical Mystras, staring out, wondering... No words, just feelings. Sometimes nothing. And nothing is alluring, so alluring. Then it tips into everything and...

Sorry, I’m meandering, wandering off again...  Not to the woods today but to the gym – in my uniform of course. Chatting to my neighbour, our lovely vicar; to my instructor, just back from Austria, high on mountain air and cross-country skiing. Chit-chat. Chit-chat. Nice really. I guess it’s what we humans do.

But, then again, why? Are we so scared of what lies beyond silence? Ach, I can’t explain it. Words, see? Useless. If I could only show you...