I got to the Coffee shop
After a walk that included
more work chat.
Sitting down.
I
Open the blank lined page
Green tea poured.
Red pen chosen.
Ready.
Tired.
But ready,
The page.
Blank.
Inviting.
Alive with possibility.
Daunting with expectancy.
Weary limbs picking up the pen.
Mind unsure.
Facing the unknowingness of what to write.
This side of the release.
Blank page
Bleak page.
Write,
The place of comfort
as the words flow from you
to you.
As inside your heart breaks open its loose edges
Awakening itself from the slumber of the tired mind.
Pen
Writing
a melody.
A tune echoing in the line of ink flowing onto the page
Uneven, breaking, heart leaking its colour on the page
Giving itself as it appears,
To be immediately read by the eyes,
A message from the heart eyes.
Eyes read,
What the heart bleeds.
Colour lines appear as meaningful imaginations of the soul
Read back into the same mind that consumes it all with acceptance
Rage, Wonder, Hurt, Joy
All taken in in the moment of the hearts disposal in the pen
Soul imagination writing its truth
Soul imagination writing its love
For your mind to keep reading
Head healed by Soul
The Delicate passage of time.
Imagination working at the speed of consumption
Consumption furthering the flow of imaginaion
One stoke
One flow
One ink bleed at a time
Word by word.
Connecting the disconnect within the fracturedness
As mind embraces the speaking heart
Consciousness watching the cyclical orbit around it
Increasing as the mind and soul unite in divine imagining
Heart creating space for the soul to expand
One
Flow
Of
Ink
at
a
time.
Soul words written by flesh hands
Transported back into the mind
Sealing the divine circle
With love within
Eyes read,
What the heart bleeds.
Bleed love
Bleed kindness
Bleed it all through the hand
Restoring fragments buried underground
Subconscious soul connection in the pathway of the pen
Its the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting (Paulo Coelho)
‘Whats the dream?’ once asked my university tutor, over eight years ago. It was a question I meekly answered, along the lines of ‘to be well known in theodrama’.
It was the first time, aged 38 that I had been asked this question. It was a question I couldn’t answer. Dreams were not possible. Dreams were too selfish. At that time, and up until then and some years after, I didnt have dreams, dreams about what I wanted to be, or do. It’s probably the same part of me that couldnt engage with ‘The Purpose driven life’ book that did the christian rounds back in the early 2000’s. Whilst I could also criticise it for the being capitalist American goal setting drivel, it was also that deep down, purpose and dream were something that I couldnt have.
Dreams werent allowed growing up, unless they were the same as the expectations my parents, mostly the abusive dominant one. Yet, dont mistake that for them being driven and forcing me to ‘be a vet, or doctor, or psychologist’ no, that would be too clear cut – because so many people ive spoken to in the last few years talk of parents who pay for their university to ‘make sure’ that their child becomes a certain thing (doctor /vet etc) . My parents wouldn’t do that (because that would mean actually offering financial support) no, the expectation was to just ‘not upset your mother’ and ‘dont let her down’ , without any actual support to do so. It wasnt that they couldnt afford it, they didnt want to.
This meant that my choices for career had to be both self sufficient, and somehow please and not upset. It most definitely wasnt a ‘dream’. It was about somehow making her happy, or fulfilling my role as golden trophy child so I could be boasted about (for going to university) to her coffee shop churchy friends, or instead be complained and moaned about (which is almost certainly more likely) for upsetting her.
Allign this also with belonging to a faith, and having an identity in which I was desperate to please God, and do ‘his will’ and so, in this space and having no dream for any other career, I wanted to continue being a youth worker, after being a junior youth leader in my church. It seemed to be something I enjoyed and was good at. Was it a dream? Was it even a calling?
I hoped it would be a sensible and ‘good’ thing – but no it aroswed their fury…. – and did it make ‘them’ happy. Dear God no.
12 years later, and even having written books on youthwork and done an honours degree, (all paid for myself with £0 from them) I am asked when I am going to get a proper job like a teacher on a regular basis. Or whether the degree I had paid for (and completed as a mature student with two small children) was worth it. Though it didnt stop them coming to my graduation and ruining it, with the celebratory present to me being a meal out in a cafe for lunch in which I was asked to pay 1/2. (that went a long way to pay off the £9000 fees, I tell you)
Anyway, I digress.
What i only realised a few years ago, and its been reiterated to me in the last 6 months too, is the level of coping that is required in situation of high emotional, physical or financial stress (and a lot of my first 40 years included these at varying degrees of high) is that its only possible to think or plan one hour, one day or one week, or one pay month at a time, and even then, being in a constant place of turmoil, navigating eggshells, fears, avoidance and drama – life is only about being in it and soothing it – through whatever means.
Future planning felt conditional. Some of my thought patterns were things like:
If I become a ________ then we’ll have money and then _______ will like me.
If I do _________ and then ________ then I might have temporary relief from being hurt.
If I do _________ then ill get a qualification and more money and with more money itll mean things will be easier.
If I do ________ then God will be happy with me
If I do __________ then my parents might be actually proud of me.
None of this was ever about dreams. It was about trying to please others, trying to soothe others, trying to be safe, trying to earn something that with emotionally abusive people, was actually not possible. But I carried on. Thats was the pattern.
And then I would get angry and think to myself that I had done something that would hopefully help….but it was met with only further rejection or criticism, so, then I would try harder.
It wasnt dreams, it wasnt purpose – it was existing inside a tortured shell that was trying to earn impossible affection, validity and recognition.
Thats what survival does.
And that had been my conditioning since birth, and until the last few years, I hadn’t realised how unnormal it was, or the effect of childhood trauma on being able to think about the future in a clear purposeful way.
I read ‘Codependency no more’ back in 2019/20. In it Melody Beattie, describes how healing from this, is about slowly remembering that we can have our lives to lead (and not be waiting for someone else to change/get better/not be addicted) , and start setting small goals, and maybe even have dream lists. Even at this point in my healing, I found this a really difficult thing to do. It was alien to be to set a goal. To make plans. Yes I was in my own flat, yes I had all the opportunity and space in the world. but I hadn’t yet given a future a thought, and in that space I was just enjoying being, and enjoying being safe.
Goals and plans did include being able to go for walks, or holidays. But not quite dreams. It was all week to week. And then Covid hit.
Bottom line is that I was scared to have dreams. Scared because for so long any dream was conditional, and any dream was something I would have to more than likely have to support myself alone. And for so often dreams meant a kind of work that I didnt have the confidence to keep going in, or had the voices of self criticism that would cause it to end. Any encouragement was in the main self determined, and that was frail, especially when those thoughts had been indwelt with self protection and fear. Dreams means desire, and desire was also quashed as being selfish.
Can you understand the mess of my head?
In Johann Haris book ‘Lost Connections’ he shares, when talking about children who had experience of abuse and depression in their lives:
At some profound level M had discovered that , extremely depressed people have become disconnected from a sense of the future , in a way that other really distressed people have not’
They are, in all intense a purposes living in the here and now. What he tried to set about was whether this was cause or effect. It’s significant though, that if motivational growth is dependence on Autonomy, Belonging and Competence (Deci/Ryan) then if that Autonomy is about being able to create, plan for and make choices about the future, and growth happens when this is the case. What happens when that is taken away – consciously or subconsciously. This happens in organisations too, purposeless organisations become depressed and anxious.
For about 14 months I had been living in a state of being that included enjoying my job, having a sense of distance from my childhood past and feeling safe, secure and getting to a place of relative security. In that time I had began to be able to give time to the possibility of a dream, and give a lot of time for this dream. I was able to think ahead… and thinking ahead was a gift, as this helped to balance the times of anxiety and ‘the past’ coming back – and have one tiny foot in future possibility to keep hold of.
For the last 6 months that has barely been possible. Ive been hit with a number of situations, relating to facing the past again, its situation and injustice, that has meant that what I have needed to do is to dig deep into ‘just being’. Whilst some of that hasn’t quite ended, theres relatively clarity in the mud of it all. But what happened as a result?
Its funny, its one thing trying to live in the now, in the present – but theres one thing about living in the present when the future is open and full of possibility, another when the past has seeped in and the future feels clouded. It’s still the present from a time perspective, but it’s a space full of anxieties, flashbacks and uncertainty, digging deep one day at a time. Dreamless, with the only dreams being the nightmare of the past being relived.
I couldnt think about the future. I stopped being able to write creatively (part of the dream has been writing a children’s book) , I was writing responsively, expressively and about the hurt or the recovery or the learning through the moment by moment of it all. But sitting down and being able to write, or focus on the dream, was difficult, almost impossible. I was ok, in my day to day, but future thinking was nigh on impossible, though I tried to valiantly keep the flame alive.
I didnt realise the extent to which being able to have dreams was a luxury, and privilege. I didnt realise that it wasnt selfish for me to have dreams or purpose, that was about me, and not just for others. Working on a dream stimulated me, gave me life, gave me purpose, spark and creativity, and took me one step into an unknown future, that I was in a good place about trying to get to.
The only way we can save our dreams is to be generous to ourselves (Paulo Coelho)
Dreams are important. They make life interesting.
They take effort. But they require soft open heartedness. To be generous to myself in search of them, to know they will happen, to give myself grace in the pursuit of them. Grace I had, but had to unlearn self criticism and the voices.
Dreams are important to have a step in a future that can keep the past thoughts away at times, not deny them, not bypass them, but balance them, because it can be so easily, with a traumatised mind, to have two feet stuck in the past, stuck in other peoples drama, stuck in responding to others.
And now that ive got to a place in time beyond the dealing with and responding to past related stuff…. it’s time again… to give time for the dream.
Having a Dream is way more complicated and important than it seems.
Which given my output previously was probably not a surprise. Writing on here has taken a bit of a back seat for a number of reasons. I quit Facebook for two months too, and whilst ive spent a bit of time on Substack, where theres other writers and far far less on current news, drama of politics and tbh quite a bit of stuff I just really didnt need to see, engage with or for it to take up my energy.
I needed to switch off.
Ive switched off before, and many of you know that involved avoiding the news and radio, and quitting twitter.
Its been a time where I have had to face a number of battles, ones that will probably never get mentioned here, and also some personal challenges that one day might do, some of which began days after I temporarily quit Facebook itself.
What I have needed to do is dig pretty deep into whatever reserves I have just to live, and when I say live, I mean respond well and stay emotionally afloat amidst alot, when trauma, triggers, fears and anxieties could easily start to pull me backwards, and this includes work, and rest and be there for people close to me who have been in a place of struggle too.
So I have been a bit quiet recently, in terms of writing on here, but what’s been so important to me has continued to be ….. writing….. whether this has been daily journalling, free writing and expressing myself in words – the writing that releases, thats not for public consumption.
I have also realised that the last few years of being in a good place has significantly given me the inner space to be able to deal with the last few months, even if that has also meant refining what I was spending my energy on, a refining that was as much about making powerful choice to favour myself in my own soul and power, and not give myself away to consuming and reading.
I have been quiet recently. Because I am ok. Because i was giving too much at times to this type of writing, the type that could sometimes get me into that endorphin cycle feedback loop of positivity, and maybe even trying too hard to be creative, original or helpful, when actually what I needed instead was to be me, in my raw vulnerability, and write for me. Im already on journal number 3 for this year.
And Im typing up version 2 of my second book, and yes, sadly this stuff has stalled too, but I am about to restart this too.
Am I writing because I need to explain everything to you? No.
Or to apologise? No
Maybe its just to say thank you, thank you for the messages that you’ve sent me via whatever means whenever I have mentioned that ‘your words were meaningful today’ or when ‘you’ve sent a message of support’ when I haven’t been able to say why, and still can’t.
Life is bigger than writing, and Life is bigger than the stuff and I am continually , daily remembering and giving love to myself, to feel loved everyday, is also to care for my energy and protect it, to realise I can sit and read, listen to music and not use what I read to write something, or to expend energy writing in the way I have done fairly prolifically in the last few years.
I have been useless at ever doing a regular piece of writing, ie just doing one piece a week, and limit myself, its seemed to be in bursts, or gaps, maybe thats what I could do, more heat and depth, and not just noise. But let’s just see, maybe thats for a next chapter of writing…and the books I want to write will definitely take priority. Am I ‘coming back’ …maybe…but definatley differently..
I had the weird moment a few weeks ago when I was standing in the well known outlet store ‘TK Maxx’ in the stationary and journal section, where I was joined by….another man in the aisle, looking for a new suitable journal. It was a rare experience. I have never encountered another man in the journal section of either TK Maxx, Waterstones or WHSmith. The lesser spotted male journaller.
In amongst the array of pink, peach, ‘self care for you’ , ‘be your better self’ journals, that were mainly targeting the female journaller, in conversation we realised we were both looking for something very similar. A plain looking, plain inside journal. No ‘Year planner’ no ‘Goal setting’ no ‘write your dreams for 2026’ – just plain, so that we could write, and write without prompting.
Oh it wasnt allowed to be pink. Sorry. Just plain. A blue, green, black or purple.
I didnt feel like asking this random stranger male what he journaled, or what he wrote, we just looked for a while trying to find what we were both looking for.
Given that its incredibly important that we men have healthy avenues to try and describe, write and formulate our thoughts and feelings – that it seems that its a market more targeted to women, is another tiny obstacle men face when beginning the inner journey. (dont mishear, this is not an excuse..just an observation)
So, I journal. And I realise that over my lifetime I have written down my thoughts in different ways.
Firstly, given that bedrooms weren’t safe, there was no way I could write about what was going on at home as a child, nor leave it in a place. Some of my girl friends (friends who were girls) wrote diaries, as did the girls in TV shows, but rarely did boys. The times that I did I kept everything factual and boring, like the weather that day, school homework and probably football scores. Thats all that was safe to be left in my childhood bedroom.
Between then and 5-6 years ago I would write thoughts and ideas down, usually stemming from what I had read in the Bible, talks or conferences, training notes or my academic notes or ideas for essays. Rarely entering the world of my feelings, or heart – just ideas, thoughts, concepts.
I probably baulked at the idea of doing journaling back 6 years ago. It seems like a ‘girly’ thing to do. But that I know now was my reactions to it, because it wasnt a safe thing to do in the recent or long term past. But now, I had my own flat, my own space, and I was learning to realise that i was safe to write, safe to express myself and safe to put anything I want down on paper and in any shape or form. Even if at times this had to be fought against the inner voices that were inhibiting it at times.
I would say that I have used writing in four main ways in the last 5 years, the private stuff, not what I write here.
Free writing – This can take the form of wax crayons, colours and plain paper, closing my eyes and just scribbling, and writing anything on the page depending on the feeling that wants to come out, anger, rage, frustration, hurt, pain, and it can be anything, swear words, scrawl – anything at all – sometimes its a fight to come out but I just sit there and let it, however much thought resistance there might be.
Therapy homework and dreams – After one particular time of therapy I was introduced to inner child writing, and so, i have a journal in which i have an ongoing inner dialogue with my ‘self’ or my feelings, my childhood ego state, and listen, love and care for it. I do this one more often when feeling anxious, depressed, or fearful – but also, when calm too, as it’s a good way of assessing my inner feeling temperature. I followed the ‘discovery of your inner child’ book by Lucio Cappacione for a very long while. I needed to do..not just understand.
Dreams. I write them down. So that I notice what my subconscious is having a play around with during my sleep.
Raging words and trying to understand things. One of my journals was about trying to understand things, trying to write out the questions, the reasons, the hurt and pain of what I suffered.
My Affirmation journal. I began this in 2023 (Here is the story), and continued it each day (give or take a few) , in which I write to myself affirmations, no negatives, no questions, just positive affirmations, as if the universe and its angels were looking at me with delight and then telling me, or as if I as a friend to myself was telling me my truth. Who I am. This has been utterly transformative, not using the language of lies and limitations to shape my inner voice or self any more. To re – orientate my inner critic into something small, and let me heart and soul speak into my life.
The blank one. There always a blank journal on the go, for anything else, just to grab it and write something, a sentence, a phrase, a line from a book, a meme. It’s a bit like the journal equivalent of saving screen shots from healing memes on fb, that also include stuff from books too. Sometimes words just find me, and so I let them arrive and put them down, sometimes these become titles for blogs too. Oh and more recently writing poetry has begun from this.
For most of these I use coloured pens, to express myself inwardly, and also because blue and black are too close to official colours of study or work. My inner life deserves purples, pinks, greens and yellows, and feelings often emerge in colour.
I have used writing in a number of ways to listen, and speak from my pain and trauma, from my heart and to my wounded parts, and as the process has continued I have developed different strategies as different aspects have required attention.
I definitely didnt start this process thinking ‘I am going to journal’ though maybe it was likely given my blogging history and love of writing academically, that writing was going to be one way that was going to be a very useful tool for my healing processing and journey. I did find it painful to start, to force myself to write deep things, as I had spent so long writing thoughts and ideas and my inner heart and feelings were so locked, shamed and hidden away. It was always going to take time, and the guidance of psychological professionals to help me unlock and unblock.
Sometimes it’s a quick grab of the paper and write down something, sometimes I realise that ive been fighting myself for hours and I just needed to sit, and write and listen and respond. It doesn’t matter, it’s just day by day doing the work, rebuilding, noticing, revealing and loving my self through its own expressions.
This has been, so far my journey of journalling, what about you? Id love to hear in the comments below your hints and tips for journalling and how it has been part of your healing journey through whatever the situation has been for you.
I had one of ‘those’ kinds of days today. The kind of days I used to have a lot of, and the kind of days I never used to notice.
Today I had one of those days when I just felt a bit ‘meh’ a bit ‘unsettled’ a bit ‘I had expectations to try and do a bit of writing and creative thinking and it didnt quite happen and so I was a bit frustrated’ days.. and then I got frustrated, because I was frustrated….
I sometimes call them ‘treacle days’ – just a bit stodgy, for no real reason, when nothing happens, just that there’s an inner fight.
But I realise, that I dont get them very often. Which is a nice thing to be reminded of..and thats why they’re unusual and help me stay a little in check, a little moment to remember my vulnerable new humanness with all its emotions having space to play.
But the reason I get them at all, is that I realise that I am in a good place generally, and that not quite every day can feel calm, can feel easy – especially creatively easy, not every day feels like flow. But thats the thing. Its because I now I feel more feelings, that I can sense that there’s something not quite right.
It may be absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things, not a big problem, but thats not what my inner critic wants to hear…… and when it starts to latch onto the tiniest of anxieties, or self doubts, or moments…
The everyday ‘recovery’ from childhood trauma, and the associated behaviours, continues to be a daily, ongoing piece by piece listening, attending and loving these wounded parts, even if they might just be a bit of frustration……unsettled……
And so, in a way I realise that I am grateful for the treacle days or treacles moments, because its a part of me thats alive, its apart of me thats allowed and safe to be wanting to tell me something, or do something.
What I used to have was continual un-dealt with bottled up emotions so that every day was painted in survival stony grey. No treacle days as there was no contrast, just stoic grey, avoidance and dissociation and self soothing one day to the next.
And back today, what I stopped myself from doing, which I have done in the past is attach the frustration with negative self shame talk like this:
‘Ive done all this therapy and healing, I shouldn’t feel like this’
but thats not the reality is it. Most days are good, most days I feel alive, whole and in the main secure.
But there are treacle days. Even, actually especially in the process of learning to be our loving whole selves….
And treacle days or hours that require a little attention, a little love, and little bit of gratefulness, for the feelings, and thoughts themselves.
So , instead of continuing the inner self fight, I moved, I went out, and I took myself off out for a walk instead, breathed windy air and sunshine, watched ospreys land, and watched as the lizards moved around my feet.
One of the concepts I really like that I have used in some of my community work practices, is that of ABC, and it’s taken from Deci and Ryan’s stuff on self -determined growth. I first found it in Jocelyn Bryans book ‘Human Being’ :Insights from Psychology on the Christian Faith.
A link to Deci and Ryans stuff is here. Basically how I have tended to share this has been about how young people, more pertinently, how three key factors are required to enable us to be able to ‘grow’
They are A – Autonomy – the capacity to make decisions about the things that are important to us
B- Belonging – it’s all about relationship…. but felt safety, felt sense of ‘home’ , being valued, being seen…
C – Competence – Having the opportunity to do things, take risks, have positive feedback, ‘go beyond’
Thats it in brief. So, when I share this stuff i normally do so on the basis of the ‘external’ places where these things happen…. or dont… and so when young people (or anyone) feels that they dont have these things, or maybe only 1 – then its unlikely that they will be able to flourish/grow in balance.
A place where there is felt safety – but no challenge o autonomy might get boring or belittling…
A place where there is challenge- but no relationship or autonomy might be task heavy, uncaring and disempowered…
How might all be present, to the extent that a person requires in in a setting, and then, what’s required in a place like a workplace to keep someone in a role, when these things aren’t there. Higher pay? Better conditions? enforced compliance?
Not every situation is going have ‘all three’ in balance, and maybe thats an impossibility given our individuality, however, in situations where 1, 2 or 3 of these is seriously lacking… and maybe there’s a thing too that some places offer one of these, because of the damage of somewhere else, and people embody these as much as places create them too.
Yet, I was pondering all this over the last few weeks, given that I used this ‘model’ in a conference recently.
And I was wondering, how might this all be applied on the inside.
What if instead, the ‘place’ of growth wasnt the external place of the school, youth group, workplace etc… what might it be if the place was the ‘community’ on the inside?
The heart, soul and mind in community – linked with thoughts, memory and experience?
So often I have realised that what I tried to create for others…..I needed myself….
On the inside….
What might felt belonging and safety feel like – inside? – a place on where emotions are free to come out and play…. all of them , a place where inside there is a sense of calm, and not urgency, fear or danger…. a place where the talk inside is caring, soft and loving? A place inside of connection and harmony. The inside can rarely feel safe, more a barren landscape that can be thought of in fear…..
True belonging……. on the inside…..
Autonomy – on the inside… the ability to make decisions about thoughts and emotions, distinct from the thoughts and emotions, having a sense of control rather than bewilderment, overwhelm and where there’s is choice. Choice to act in a way that is conscious. Inner choices to make assessments of emotions, and thoughts.
And what about Competence. Inner competence. To feel internally proud of achieving and making hard changes, in behaviour, whether this is addiction, dependence, whether this about self protection, or whether this is the day by day, step by step of seeing, feeling and becoming more awake. Brave steps to face stuff on the inside and work through them, rising to that challenge, often reluctantly or belligerently. Often starting with the externals, the relationship, then working on the internals, the default protective patterns, that are self prisoning. Competence on the inside as a process of ongoing healing from trauma and growth amidst it…and beyond.
All of these are required for growth. All of these are required in the process of inner deep healing.
I was reminded also of these yesterday as I watched Brene Browns TED talk again of 15 or so years ago, and the path of vulnerability.
Im just pondering really, giving these some thought space… what might be required psychologically on the inside for healthy post traumatic growth?
Maybe these are markers that inner growth is happening?
Ive been on what I call ‘Project James’ for over 6 years now, and in that time to heal from 40 years of manipulative abuse since childhood, including recovering from unemployment and homelessness.
Internally, breaking down behind the ‘I’m doing ok’ facade, pretend strength but hollow and hurting inside, that had been my survival strategy since childhood, one that I thought was normal, a lifetime of running, avoiding or soothing, in a variety of destructive ways, oh and hoping that Jesus would deal with it, fix it and that ‘church’ would be my saviour.
And thats just a summary.
In summary, then, the last six years has included
4 different bouts of therapy, including trauma therapy
Pages of journalling, raging and writing
Reading an extensive amount of self help books that encompassed:
Undertstanding narcissim, psychopathy and emotionally immature parents
Codependency
Self Understanding on Enneagram
Self compassion
Inner child work
Trauma – including Edith Eger, Victor Frankl, The Body keeps the score etc…
Spirituality, including Eckhart Tolle, John O Donohue and others.
Personal freedom, such as The four/five agreements, and The Untethered Soul
It’s been a lot. A lot to try and understand myself, alot to be able to become more and more safe for me on the inside to be able to feel emotions, to be able to regulate and to face the pains and damage from my abusers, and also how I internalised and survived it all, and at the same time, work, earn, live and exist.
Yet, when I think about it, it’s been a long journey, to make a small distance considerably more healthy and whole.
It has been a long journey, in thinking, feeling and experiencing.
To build connections where there once was fracture.
To heal the holes, brokenness and wounded-ness between my head, my heart, and my soul.
The distance from I to myself.
An extensive work to heal a small amount of space.
A journey I was putting off taking for far too long
A journey I invalidated and avoided
My thoughts that I believed, told me that I was too broken, too beaten, too frightened, to guilty, to shameful, too small, too weak, to make, and the journey
Too big, too exposing, too tiring, too massive, too encompassing, too hard, too challenging and was also too invalidated by those around me, or my own beliefs ( I needed more of Jesus, and not anything of myself….)
And a journey that didnt promise any outcome.
Didnt shout its reward.
Didnt have a map, or compass
Or sometimes any directions
It just needed to start.
And it started from being broken, started from the place of nothing.
‘For when she had nothing to lose, then she was free’ (Paulo Coelho)
It started as I changed, slowly, trusting in a moment of vulnerability,
‘I have no home, will you look after me’
When for so long I couldnt articulate weakness, vulnerability or be anything other than ‘the strong one for others’ …
The longest journey of the smallest distance started with being broken.
Started as my mind had run out of resources.
Coping wasnt living, especially wasnt coping in survival mode.
The packaging of life hadn’t fulfilled its ‘James hoped for’ expectations.
Because the landscape on the inside was a barren mine- filled land of fear, terror, a landscape I was afraid of, that was dominating every action, every moment.
What I was afraid of held power over me.
I couldnt go there.
And yet…. as soon as I started the walk….. the universe provided…. angels in the form of spare bedrooms, kind words, walks, safety… beyond anything… safety.
And slowly, slowly I began to tentatively see, feel, walk in the landscape.
It was and is the journey of a lifetime, for it has been a journey of life.
Maybe the longest journey is the shortest distance, and how this is navigated shapes so much of our lives.
There are times of deep searching, deep disconnection, emotions and fear, yet I have been open to the possibility of healing and growth within it all, for nearly all of the time, yes some resistance… but old habits change hard….
It was only the gap of the thoughts,
It was only the gap between heart and soul,
No distance at all…..
Yet an ongoing journey of love, of life and gratitude
Next to me, the footsteps of people, passing by, their flow of movement, the chatter, the excitement, the practicality of voice, crossing roads, heading out, heading home, their movement a flow, to and from, each with different speeds, unless their hands beautifully held together, walking to the same rhythm.
And then the cars, in the space behind me, from many destinations, it was their engines, the acceleration, and brakes, from known places to other places. Carriages of metal, making their way, as they did so, I felt the air pressure change on my back, as larger cars, or trucks forced themselves through the cool air, and made themselves known.
Underneath me, the flow of water, gathering pace down stream, clear, greens underneath, awash with whispers of white waves, reflecting the sun, twinkling in the sun, water reaching for its sea destination, and on the way accommodating, inviting life to partake in the home it creates in its depths.
Flow, restless, never ending, from its origin, ultimately the heavens and back to it, via the mountains, the gulleys and heading out to sea.
Flowing underneath me. The river dancing its way in shimmers of glossy light, its flow controlled by volume, and directed by the land with which encases it, aside from later in its life downstream its force brings edges of soil and rock to their knees.
And as I stood, alive to the flow, the wind breathed its deceptively coldness, on this bright sun filled day. Origin unknown, destination, unknown, yet it made its presence real to me, the cold flow across the back of my arms, head and calves.
Wind, that breathes itself freedom, an unstoppable, untameable force, now creating power, yet as I stood, its cold flow caused shivers, its energy cool.
Underneath the river
Behind me the cars and people
Around me the wind
The Flow of life
That exact time, of a quartet of flows, never to be repeated.
And I, the watcher, the feeler, standing there.
Still.
A contrast to the flow.
Preventing in a minuscule way, particles of wind from finding their destination, affecting on me.
Flow of energy all around, life force mysterious, known and unknown combining in restless urgency, and creative power, nurturing life, and travelling through, each journeying. And I being.
What flow, circulates around me, invites me, where shall I go, how shall I flow, open, flying on the breeze, floating down the river, swimming up the stream, walking along predetermined concrete, free as the wind.
Where time is measured in wonder, and joy and creativity, partners in the dance.
And then, it was time.
Time to walk.
Alive to flow.
Alive to being Still, amidst it.
‘Stillness is the canvas against which movement can become beautiful’ (John O Donohue, Divine Beauty)
I am not entirely sure if there are words in the dictionary to describe the events of my last three weeks, and in the main they are not for here. But let’s just say that for almost every single one of them, there have been moments of being brave, courageous, of facing inner and outer demons, and doing a lot of digging deep. Much has been revealed.
But yesterday I crashed. I was done.
A call to my line manager, and two much needed days off were required. Yet I woke today with barely a plan, and barely the energy to even think of what I might do for the day.
Instead of giving I needed to receive.
Instead of trying to write, and be creative, just needed to be
Instead of learning I needed to feel
Instead of self help, I turned to poetry.
And after a walk along the river, and with my free Caffè Nero vouchers, started my flat white coffee, and picked up ‘Brave’ by Donna Ashworth.
And for an hour it was as if she took me out for coffee.
Words of her poetry speaking into my soul.
Phrases that leapt off the page, some more warmly received than others, some affirming, some bringing a silent tear, but delivered with a warmth, care and love, that I needed.
I offer some that struck out for me today, my coffee out with Donna Ashworth, for you today too.
One Day you will see,
That all this mud
was simply the soil
that grew you to full height
(Donna Ashworth, Brave)
You Mustn’t run on a broken leg
bones rest to heal, thats true
but you can still love with a
broken heart and you must
because love is the glue
(Donna Ashworth, Brave)
And this one:
I wish you beauty in this life, my friend
but most of all, I wish you the bravery
to see that beauty in yourself
because it is there, it most definitely is there.
(Donna Ashworth, I wish you beauty)
To become a more positive person
you must make a pact with your inner child
to hear her voice above that
of your inner critics and demons
(Donna Ashworth, The Positivity Pact)
Just begin….
The world may not immediately embrace
your contribution
but the universe will and its her you need on side
(Donne Ashworth)
If you dont know how to move forward…
just take a few brave steps and have faith,
the universe will meet you there
(Donna Ashworth)
It is brave not to be busy
to be bare and boldly being
when everyone else strives to buy
the emperors new clothes
(Donna Ashworth)
My Soul garden is in bloom when light is being sought
and love is at the forefront of all I choose
starting with
me
(Donna Ashworth, Soul Garden)
Sometimes it was just the words in between the poems, the almost throw away sentences that had no titles, not made it to ‘poetry status’ just gaps in between when balming words gracefully arrived from the page.
In amidst the conversations in the coffee shop, I had this one with Donna Ashworth, she sat there, invisible in the chair, but the words of her heart, written, calmed and restored my soul.
James Ballantyne 