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July 29, 2009

stick at it

It's my birthday today, so yes, I've hung one more year on the line.

And I've been sitting with the various sticks which comprise my life; picking up one, and then another, in end-of-term reflection.

And as I look, each by themselves is a rather peculiar thing, with no claims to great substance, in and of itself.

But even a child knows they are not to be viewed in this manner; held apart and alone, in the grasp of cold inspection. Rather, they are to be let go of, released, each and every one; and then set down together, nestling and snug as one stick, one life - and lit with trust.

Oooh! Its a fine birthday blaze!

I'm warming my hands, and you are most welcome to join me. Because even more important than my happiness, is yours.

Posted by Mr Bojangles at 10:34 AM | Comments (1)

July 26, 2009

Today

Today I am struggling
To connect with the being
Born shining and so full of potential.
My excavations have hit upon
yet another hard layer
which crushes my essence
And makes me feel
Small
So small
Insignificant
Knowing not my purpose.
Unimportant and unwanted
Unliked and unlovable
These are the feelings
That keep re-occuring
Body memories
Strongly stamped inside
Like a stick of seaside rock.

Today I am struggling
I am sitting with deep unhappiness
Thoughts plague my mind
Tears fall down my face
There is no let up
I imagine taking a razor
And cutting into a vein
I imagine watching the unhappiness
Flow out of my body along with my blood
I imagine falling into a deep, deep sleep
And never being disturbed by stupid thoughts ever again.

I smile, I smile at my own imaginings
A pin prick of pure light has just broken through
And I know, without doubt that in time
This layer like all the others before it
Will too, be dismantled
I stop struggling
And focus on the light
I allow myself to be
To breathe deep
It is enough.

Posted by Shelliz at 06:07 PM | Comments (0)

July 20, 2009

Warming to the French

Unlike alot of people, I've been well and truly fucked by successful French author, Anna Sam. And how was it for me? Well, not so good in the short term.

What happened was this. Anna bought out a book on her supermarket experiences in France, just at the same time as I brought out a book on my supermarket experiences in England. Similar so far, but now a channel of difference between us - for when it came to being noticed by the media, she really sat on my face. Despite struggling with English, she was on every radio programme I wished to be on (English is my first language); and in every newspaper I wished to be in. Anna? Hi!!! Simon?? 'Tell him I'm out'.

Whatever and however, she was everywhere and I was nowhere. I was the betamax to her VHS, and our sales reflected this discrepancy of attention.

How did I feel? I was frustrated for 12 hours; restless and despondent. In a swirl of indignation, I looked around for people to blame, as the insecure do. I had a career to look after, and this was my one chance. What future for me if this died? None! Nothing. Hopeless!

And then something happened. Just as my plans had been ripping up me; I ripped up my plans; said goodbye to them. And everything was then all right. I gave up identifying myself as an author - or as anything else for that matter - and became again emptiness, and present to the day.

This was much better. I said goodbye to the books. Whatever they did out there was really none of my business; as signifcant as the dust on my shoe. I write them; and then as children full grown, give up all control over their fragile futures.

Anna had saved me; this is true. My schemes had grown unchecked. Oh yes, they appeared to be carressing my neck with excited touch; but were in fact throttling me. Thankfully St Anna of the Blessed Checkout intervened, wrenching their strong fingers from my wind pipe.

They had truly passed their shelf life.

Posted by Mr Bojangles at 09:28 AM | Comments (1)

July 17, 2009

Times They Are A Changing

To love without possessing
To trust without control
To live for every moment
To feel myself as whole

A prayer from deep inside
Is working its way free
The pain body is melting
Revealing the real me

Times they are a changing
This could be good or bad
Times they are a changing
Happy's comfortable with sad

The scenery is irrelevant
The journey carries on
There is freedom in my footsteps
And healing in my song

Posted by Shelliz at 06:55 PM | Comments (0)

July 10, 2009

flesh of my flesh

When a knife stikes my heart,
pain fills my being,
or longing is thick and achey in my soul -

I will not look round green-eyed at the fireside happiness of others;
nor throw sour petulance at those not meeting the needs only I can meet;
nor become all hoity-toity judgemental, so help me God; please, not that!

Instead, I will walk carefully; walk with care,
like a woman full term, steady and holding,
for these are my children;
not rough intruders from some place else,
some malign beyond,
but flesh of my weak sweet flesh.

I am a witness!
My heart fashions the knife;
my being makes the pain,
and yes, my soul proceeds by longing, every step!
So they are mine, all mine;
the stuff of my cells; a choir I conduct,
and chanting words like buck. And stops. And here.

So I will walk carefully; walk with care,
and be a good parent to my children -
changing, becoming, with futures quite beyond prediction.

And in that beyond, I shall be a good grand parent too, I fancy!
Rocking-chair aware that these things were never the end of the adventure;

but its very substance.

Posted by Mr Bojangles at 03:44 PM | Comments (1)

July 08, 2009

He's the man!

I was sooooooooo excited to see Tess's blog about Hafiz, he is my main man, so much so that once a friend teased me that if I had to choose between them who would I choose.

I just love it that the words of someone speaking from the 1300's in a language I do not understand and a country I have never visited can feel such a part of me. His writing gets inside me moving me to cry, laugh, dance, sing, reflect & become silent.
He is also known as 'The Tongue of the Invisible' and his mission was to show that God could be found in the ordinary here on earth as well as in Heaven and this caused him more than a few problems with the religious fanatic's of his time. So nothing much has changed there then!

I hold my head high in the 'Hafiz fan club' for I am in very good company.... Queen Victoria and now Tess.
For anyone who wants to meet this man, a great book to start with is 'The Gift' poems by HAFIZ, translations by Daniel Ladinsky.

One of my many favourites is this

'Dropping Keys'

The small man
Builds cages for everyone
He
Knows.
While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the
Beautiful
Rowdy
Prisoners.

And if you are interested my answer to my friend, was plucked from the lips of Hafiz himself 'A Pefect One Laughs at the word Two'

Posted by Shelliz at 06:54 PM | Comments (0)

July 07, 2009

Cast all your votes for dancing

Strange. Woken up early this morning by a neighbours car alarm so got up and found that Hafiz visited me twice in Cyberspace. As my holiday approaches, I take this as a sign to buy some and discover properly. Yes, I agree, how could I not already know him especially when I know and love Rumi. This was the second visit and I post it here as it has converted me on the spot tho strangely not the religious bit. It is the lines
O keep squeezing drops of the Sun
from the most insignificant movements
of your own holy body
that make me gasp. Altho I am not a recovering alcoholic, I have an alcoholic mind. Many do not and would even be frightened by reading that last sentence but I feel great and deep kinship with all recovering people as I am one too and each new day, like this one that has just started, is a fresh green span of time to love and to take nothing for granted. I hope to get to the end of it and count at least three blessings.

Cast All Your Votes For Dancing

I know the voice of depression
Still calls to you.

I know those habits that can ruin your life
Still send their invitations.

But you are with the Friend now
And look so much stronger.

You can stay that way
And even bloom.

Keep squeezing drops of the Sun
From your prayers and work and music
And from your companions beautiful laughter.

Keep squeezing drops of the Sun
From the sacred hands and glance of your Beloved
And, my dear,
From the most insignificant movements
Of your own holy body.

Learn to recognize the counterfeit coins
That may buy you just a moment of pleasure,
But then drag you for days
Like a broken man
Behind a farting camel.

You are with the Friend now.
Learn what actions of yours delight Him,
What actions of yours bring freedom
And Love.

Whenever you say Gods name, dear pilgrim,
My ears wish my head was missing
So they could finally kiss each other
And applaud all your nourishing wisdom.

O keep squeezing drops of the Sun
From your prayers and work and music
And from your companions beautiful laughter

And from the most insignificant movements
Of your own holy body.

Now, sweet one,
Be wise.
Cast all your votes for Dancing.

Hafiz

Posted by Tess at 06:52 AM | Comments (0)

July 05, 2009

Playtime

When love reaches inside
And touches my soul,
I come alive,
My eyes are open to see
And the hidden reveals itself.
My hearing alerts itself to new sounds
And the unspoken finds a voice.
My touch has a power
Not of my own making,
I feel the energy surging around my body,
Pushing to break out
And make contact with the world.
My taste buds tingle
As experience becomes food to me.
And as I breathe in something
Bigger than myself,
I know I am held in the arms of the Beloved,
And I cry out in sweet surrender
I open myself up and allow the healing to take place
It's playtime and I don't want the bell to ring.

Posted by Shelliz at 04:58 PM | Comments (0)