Today my husband is not at home. Today for the first time in maybe three years since his back began to cause him unending pain, he has managed to take a trip away long enough to involve an overnight stay. He is working, and interacting with the peers he has for so long only known by phone, and spending a day or two under the glare of fluorescent lights in a world of dispassionate and cleanly impersonal pre-booked and air conditioned hot-desking stations.
Whether he knows it or not, he must also be reassessing his own value within the group, and the pros and cons of silence at home with me, here at the top of a hill in a 'back woods and bunny rabbits' Brigadoon seaside town,
Miss him as I do, I don't share his ability to crawl out of bed and immediately fire up the work laptop. I don't share his attitude that awake = on the clock. Today without his glorious energy stamping it's dynamic and focused mark on the very fabric of our shared reality from the very moment of awareness, I have rediscovered my love of mulling time and blissful, restorative, no-reason silence. Today I have found opportunity to accidentally meditate, or at least be introspective and lost in connection to God-source, even while doing two days worth of washing up by hand and mucking out the household garbage wheelie bin. Simply the gift of choosing to do those things without referencing them to the noise they would make, or his needs or his work, that was a luxury I guzzled down with joy, too much joy to stop and recognise my gratitude and satisfaction until after the deed was done.
Today, I am so blessed, I have had space to stand in the middle of the living room, stare out of the back windows and think of nothing at all. Not calculating, not listing, not imagining, just being. Being with the effervescent summer dawn light, the jolly caws of the early seagulls a few streets away, the tiny, playful breeze in the long grass at the bottom of the garden and the cheery solidity of stout wooden fence poles and boxy British back yards as far as the eye can see, as if bright sunshine was to them a new set of best clothes to be paraded and acknowledged. If brickwork and concrete and sun-bleached woodwork (long missing the creosote) were to have any scent at all, it would to be that of potential and joy and the promise of a glorious day.
True, I also live not too far from the sea. In retrospect, having let thoughts glide through and on and away like paper boats on a shallow stream, I find I am so, so grateful that in all this 'normality' (such normality; deliciousness! Rows upon modest rows of compost heaps, garages and garden sheds, oiled garden tools and small petrol mowers and old paint tins. The thrill of deep, dark, loamy soil in moist and life giving grow-bags - even the thought smells of humidity and woody tomato plants, so green), where was I? - in this 'normality', intertwined, dancing behind it all, there is a gentle waft of salt on the air, and seaweed.
Such safety, such joy; childhood promises of sandcastles and ice cream, new sandals and crisp cotton holiday wear; home sewn, hot washed and starched and ironed like never before (must look and feel sunny, even out of a suitcase, after all). It's all love. The air is full of love, received and given.
After all these years it took one chance to potter about inside my own head, inside my own home, and I am in bliss. I need to learn to do this even with others to care for. I need to learn to step down out of fulfilling whatever childhood belief I made about 'doing things properly', about 'caring for a husband the right way' about seeing the the 'us' before seeing to the 'me'. The echo that comes up from the mists of memory suggests family trips, and putting on coats, and nobody being able to leave for the car until everyone is ready. Somewhere I made a vow never to do anything, if I loved anyone at all, until everyone was ready.
I wonder how many loving little souls on this planet also sucked that one up into their self built personality, without noticing. I mean, this is how we do it, right? This is how it's done, yeah? Proper manners. And if others aren't ready to see that yet, to follow our lead and mimic the extent of our love, then, true to the truism, we wait. And the more we want that trip, that adventure, that experience out there, and the more it means to our darling, bursting little hearts, the more we hold back in hope, determined not to leave without the others, determined not to express such terrible cruelty as would be inherent in leaving them ever so slightly behind.
A double bind, then. The more it's wanted, the more it can not and must not be had, for fear of mortally wounding those we love who show no signs of being ready, even if that's true only because they fail to share the interest, or the sense of urgency, in the first place.
People like us get good at crying silently, don't we? Good at taking solo walks? We have world standard throat muscles, for sure, holding back so expertly; Olympic standard self-control. For what?
For love, yes, but love with the logic of a child who had to wait for the sake of others. Others who probably, even joyfully, couldn't give two hoots.
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I love my brain dumps, generally they mean big change is coming, or already happening. Generally they seem to correlate well with the idea of the cocoon getting itchy, with the need of the butterfly or moth (who never knew that's what he was) to start fidgeting. I wonder what I am.
Funny, I've just realised that my opening paragraph, the first words out of my mind and onto this virtual page, describe, exactly, this so-far-ingrained conditioning that says I should not impinge but should wait; to be seen, to be recognised, to be heard, to be given permission. Hah. Maybe this will go to Facebook after all.
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Post script
The original intention of this post (so thought I; what do I know?) was to honour, bless, thank and express gratitude to and for all the glorious healing souls that are currently working with me 1;1 or face to face. Those who have come into my life right now as clients, as mentors, as colleagues, friends and team-mates. This is because the other thing that startled me with it's beauty this morning was the heap of gifts and blessings in my life that I'd been too blinkered to step back and really see. I could see them, sure, but I never added them up. I mean, come on, if you knew even one of these people, you'd know what a gift I've been given.
The few I know I can name without rushing back to ask first (thank you God-universe! Such people you send me!) are, alphabetically:
Emma Armstrong - already my honorary cousin/sister, although she might be startled by that prospect - I'd trust her to hold me accountable, to cover my back or to dig me in the ribs if it was called for. She wouldn't; I'd just trust her to. If Atlas was female...
Tahira Aziz - spiritual teacher, chemistry teacher; a practical, sensible, logical weaver of energies. Work that one out. I have learned so much.
Sarah Howard - When you hear Sarah makes her own scented oils as well as doing reflexology and energy therapies, it just makes so much sense. If you've ever met her you'll be able to imagine the amazing, nurturing energy that must transmit to those glorious little bottles. She ought to have flowers grow wherever she walks barefoot, too, that would honestly fit; you know? Just a lovely, skilled, practical, caring person.
Kumudha Jayakumar - Gita, Such a friend, such a skillset, such a powerhouse, such a wonderful outlook. EFT and Meta-Health is just scraping the surface.
David Rees - I'm going to learn SoulPlan reading from this open hearted guy, just up the coast in Worthing! Can't wait.
Jenni Tribe - Visionary manifester. A walking example of finesse, genius little skills and polish and reframes, and a natural teacher. I tend to realise how much cool stuff I learned, after the fact, it just integrates so well.
Although it's been a month or two, the skills mix represented by the following is a world class education several times over,. Each and every one a friend, and an amazingly supportive, encouraging and lovely person that it would have been lovely to have more time to fully appreciate (then again, it's all perfect...) :-
Mark Bristow (he put me on the radio!),
Jan Parsons,
Anya Berry,
Kate Marillat,
Bryanie Nercessian,
Omar Raafat ,
Jayne Forknall ,
Karen Rayner,
Benita Scott.
Louise Burford
All this is just the tip of the iceberg. LOOK at the LUXURY of my personal and spiritual development! And all that LOVE .
If this was deliberate, planned and paid for, it would have an end goal in mind, and would be the elite kind of hot-housing normally allotted to rare blooms and famous world shakers. The Universe planned this, and as I didn't, I'm trusting the same God/Universe/Source to have the end goal in mind. I wonder what it is.
How does it get any better than this, and what else is possible?
Gratitude! Gratitude and Joy.
