The stars are falling
One by one
Upon the ground
While the little dog dances at our feet.
No one, no one will know
For this is ours
And ours alone.
Ok, trust I repeat.
For now and for ever more.
Stars are falling
And within each
A night of abiding peace.
to the beach above Borth.
Perhaps roads cross there.
Or a journey to be
from west to east
and the road
a grandmother’s bread van once traversed.
But even before
lies the cathedral at Brecon
and three candles lit.
So quiet and waiting in silence,
there upon the left,
as energies alight then come to rest.
Under an image
a word resounds
how to find a heart not divided.
Fly through windows?
Oh yes, they do.
Turn about and bright happenings ring out.
When lighting struck it came quite literally as a bolt from the blue. It was a morning of blue sky and one singular cloud. The fire was lit in the front room and I sat by the window on the phone to a friend. We spoke of Gretel’s book, a woman’s story of being struck by lighting. A Match to the Heart she called it. I like the book, the title appropriate for ………
Then, it happened. There was no thunder. No warning. Just the explosion as a bolt of lightning struck the house. The phone flew. The electrics went. The air ionized instantly.
It has been a year of lighting bolts, although not ones quite so literal or stunning as what struck that morning. Over the course of the year, so many strikes, each one an ignition, each one a match to the heart. For better for worse each one sudden, unexpected. It seems this year, I was the woman whom lightning followed.
From the beginning with saying no more to one known too long. To a surgery that went from difficult to just wrong. To the loss of two cats, long travelling companions of heart and soul. To suddenly finding a light of pure gold where and when least expected. To the night that light arrived yet again at my door not meaning to leave. And then with that light co-creating a language seldom spoken. To the offer of a field I can with eyes closed still traverse. To travels through karma and visions of futures waiting to unfold. To a bridge that can not be burnt, only crossed. To a loved one’s fear, the one who fled without leaving. To flight not forewarned making misfortunes befall but leading however to crumbling walls. To a heart that restarts each time like a bolt from the blue. The clearing of old, the welcoming of new. With each strike another match to the heart.
Tonight I light candles in the window to the front. The window by which lighting arrived. I do not light candles to ward off other strikes, nor to cast upon the night prayers, wishes or dreams. Tonight I light candles and begin to say goodbye to the year of 2013.
How could I Ieave it like that? With the posting of those last words? She’s gone? Yes, she was gone. But the woman who wrote those words, and all words before it, eventually found her way forward despite hardship, despite anger, despite grief. Since then much has transpired and this life continues on in Wales.
We all have different ways and we do the best we can to find our way forward through times of great strife. How? We come together. And then? We heal one another. And in the healing we find our way home. How? Through love. Love is home and love is at home always waiting for us and willing to receive us with acceptance, with open arms, and with the deepest of recognition. Home takes us in without question without judging who how where why or when.
Home. How to find where we belong? How do we recognise home? To find that belonging is a blessing in itself. And once we find it we will know, deep within the very essence of our being, that this is indeed where we belong. It can be that we find our true belonging beyond the family we were born to. Or we may find our true belonging with a person we never imagined in our wildest of dreams even when we were brave enough to allow ourselves the freedom to dream wild dreams.
At first, there may be difficulties to overcome. If so, they can be overcome with courage and determination as we discover that in belonging there is both comfort and great freedom offered. And then, there we are - finding ourselves finally with the family or the person, the one or ones who are ready to embrace us, accept us, to lift us and support us for who we are and for all we are. With them we find our belonging no matter how odd or unconventional that belonging may seem to the world beyond. With them we build the foundations of our future.
With the belonging our true home is created. Home takes us in. Home nurtures us closely and allows us to fly free at the same time. In finding our way home we find our way to that which will always sustain us – love. Always love. Always sustaining. That is what it is about. Love. That is what it always comes to. Love. From beginning to end. Love. Always returning home, is love.
I can’t bear to look at the previous entries here; to reread them would bring too much grief because I don’t know who wrote them. I mean, for sure it was me but not the me who is here and now. The woman who wrote these entries is gone. I don’t know when she will be back.
At last posting I was picking up after an intensive meditation course. There were some moments of both questions and brilliance afterwards. But I had also begun to withdraw from a pharmaceutical medication which I now refer to as “the drug from hell”. I was told that if I did not come off it I could die. I was told that coming off it could also be life threatening. Either way I had to come off it. For the next 8 months I damned the useless German doctor in Regensburg who put me on it after the septicaemia in 2001. I damned myself as well as to be so stupid as to blindly trust a doctor.
For the next 8 months I suffered through a nightmare of withdrawal that I can not explain to you unless you have lived in hell. And now, more than 6 months later, I am still living it. I am not who I once was. I am not sure that I like the woman who has emerged. I have yet to make friends with her and I’m not sure I really want to be friends with her yet. She is difficult and sometimes very angry.
I had to learn new words though, like myoclonus. I had to learn that the brain will try to heal. I learnt that if I didn't line the edges of my bed with pillows, that for a time, at some point during the night I could end up on the floor. Will this change, eventually yes I believe it will.
I have learnt that if you tell people why you are struggling they tend to avoid you. I have learnt that I can find my self sobbing profoundly without advance notice and not know why. I have learnt that my spine is not being ripped out through my skin, it only feels that way. I have learnt that I can swing between here and hell within the space of a minute.
Will this change? Yes, I believe it will, eventually. Meanwhile, I don’t know what will happen to the blog. It seems so alien and foreign right now. I do know that I need to spend time learning how to live from here on out. As for the rest? I don’t know.
Like staring into a mid-December sun I am as feeble as the light it emits. So long gone from here and that was never my intention. Now, whole chunks of my life remain heartbreakingly treacherous so much so that I can not completely recount them for you.
I left the blog at a time of an elderly parent’s slide into life threatening critical illness. At the best of times I can barely navigate my own health - there was then hers and the nurses the intensive care the doctors the surgeons the surgeries the infections the blood clots the scans the procedures the nursing home the bills and there in the maelstrom was me – the only child an ocean away trying to orchestrate some sense into madness while remaining too ill to travel.
After this was all to pass it would have perhaps been wise to declare the remainder of the year a holiday but I have never been that kind to myself. I instead enrolled on a four month long meditation intensive. Sound peaceful? It wasn’t always. When the cocoon begins to unravel you begin to see what is there, or not there. At some point you stand naked in atonement and pray for a redemptive state to be found within - regardless of whether or not you feel you have previously touched the face of God. Everything begins again.
Thus began where I am…… and my questioning of faith both lost and found. This repeating theme will one day find grounding. Of this I know.
The few posting I’ve been able to make here this year are another signpost of just how absent my energy has been. I’m not up for much. It’s taken a week to put up a small Christmas tree and even that is not completely decorated and I doubt it will be finished before it’s time to take it down. Even a year ago I would have rushed, or tried to rush, to have the house decorated for Christmas and the fridge stocked for the holidays. Now I know I’m not going to finish even half of what I set out to. Oddly, I am at peace with this.
This autumn I became acutely aware of just how little energy I have left and how little time I have left to spend it. For some reason in accepting the limited I’ve had a glimpse of the limitless. I made changes, positive ones. Some of the changes I know have come as a surprise or shock to people in my daily life. But to those in my circle, to those who have really been listening to me over the past year, they understood, applauded and accepted the changes. But not everyone heard me and some continued to demand my time or energy even after I said I have nothing left in me to give you.
If I have nothing left in me how can I give to others? That makes sense, doesn’t it? Even this replenishment of self is part of process, a healing process and a return to flow. Why do we spend so much of our lives struggling against flow? Trying to do more and be more so our lives have “purpose” when really, our only purpose is to simply be ourselves. And right now who I am is a woman who is working on being healthy. Reality is far from perfect but as I am learning: healthy does not necessarily mean physically well. Even this has become a positive touchstone in my life.
There are a great many positive touchstones in my life at the present. In each moment, by day and by night, I find myself immensely happy and celebrating being here. However, “here” doesn’t look like it once did, nor how I ever imagined it would look – but then I never imagined things could be this good. Funny how that works, isn’t it.
I’m still here, however slight. I have been living in the long months of utter exhaustion, surgery, anaesthesia, attempts at recovering and then the realising I will never be able to go back to the life I once had. For the first time in 12 years I may finally be coming to terms with that.
I may never live my dream to walk the pilgrimage route across France and on across Spain, to Santiago de Compostela. I can only hold on to that dream as that: a dream. At one time I had the ability to follow dreams and make them real. Now I walk much slower through what is real.
I have to admit that I am not one to lightly give up on dreams and goals. So I am making compromises and holding them in a different place inside me now. Meanwhile I try not to look backwards at my abilities of 12 years ago, or 6 years ago, or even a year ago when I could accomplish more than I can today. The more my life becomes narrowed by illness the more I am finding what counts, while seeming small, is actually limitless – because what is left, after all, is something so precious it is without price – it is this – this precious present moment.