the random ponderings of an ordinary person
Monday, 15 August 2011
Special day
Today merits a mention as it is two years (and happily counting) since my first wonderful roller-blading and BBQ-ing date with my wonderful man. I can honestly say I never knew it could be this easy, this relaxing and this much fun with any single person. A discovery truly worth celebrating. May life continue in this vein.
Thursday, 11 August 2011
Response to riots
I've just read an article written in response to the riots and in response to people's reactions to the riots. It's the most intelligent, thought-provoking and eloquent thing I've yet read. It's also obviously written with passion and a deep compassion.
You can access it here.
You can access it here.
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
Migraine
Goodness me, I'd forgotten what they're like.
It came on about an hour ago, the first I've had in decades, other than the two triggered by altitude sickness and my bathroom ceiling falling on my head while I was showering. I suppose then I mean the first I've had in decades with no apparent trigger.
I was writing and job hunting all morning and so I hopped in the shower after lunch (my shake-up action to re-energise and re-motivate) and I suddenly realised that I couldn't see very well. A patch of vision was missing. I knew at once what it was. I looked down at my hands and my left hand had disappeared. I stretched up to the shower head, to adjust the angle, so I could wash all the shampoo out of my hair and my arms seemed like Mr Tickle's - long and wiggly. Too long. My sense of perspective was going, as well as my vision. I started to wobble, because only seeing half of your world makes it hard to stand upright, or rather, when your vision is inconsistent, there is no stability, because you have nothing solid to latch on to.
I managed to finish my shower and to dry off, aware of nothing except an increasingly large arc of brightly flashing and shifting colours to my left. I wasn't aware of any sounds or any reality outside of these colours, except the reality of my consciousness observing the unfolding events. I've never observed a migraine in this way and it was absolutely fascinating. I took some ibuprofen and crawled into bed, hiding my head under the duvet and closing my eyes to the light. I watched that arc of colour against my eyelids for some time. It was like someone was holding a blackout sheet over my vision, and with a knife had slashed an arc in the sheet. Through this arc I could see flashes of life, some kind of events being played out as if in another universe, but I couldn't quite see what was happening. It felt very frustrating to have these images just out of my line of vision. I had a sense that if only I could see clearly, I'd be able to see something very important and significant.
Eventually I woke up and realised that I'd been asleep and that the arc had gone. I still feel a little as if I'm looking out of a very dark room into a very bright world and my head is pounding, but the worst is over. I can move and walk and see again.
It came on about an hour ago, the first I've had in decades, other than the two triggered by altitude sickness and my bathroom ceiling falling on my head while I was showering. I suppose then I mean the first I've had in decades with no apparent trigger.
I was writing and job hunting all morning and so I hopped in the shower after lunch (my shake-up action to re-energise and re-motivate) and I suddenly realised that I couldn't see very well. A patch of vision was missing. I knew at once what it was. I looked down at my hands and my left hand had disappeared. I stretched up to the shower head, to adjust the angle, so I could wash all the shampoo out of my hair and my arms seemed like Mr Tickle's - long and wiggly. Too long. My sense of perspective was going, as well as my vision. I started to wobble, because only seeing half of your world makes it hard to stand upright, or rather, when your vision is inconsistent, there is no stability, because you have nothing solid to latch on to.
I managed to finish my shower and to dry off, aware of nothing except an increasingly large arc of brightly flashing and shifting colours to my left. I wasn't aware of any sounds or any reality outside of these colours, except the reality of my consciousness observing the unfolding events. I've never observed a migraine in this way and it was absolutely fascinating. I took some ibuprofen and crawled into bed, hiding my head under the duvet and closing my eyes to the light. I watched that arc of colour against my eyelids for some time. It was like someone was holding a blackout sheet over my vision, and with a knife had slashed an arc in the sheet. Through this arc I could see flashes of life, some kind of events being played out as if in another universe, but I couldn't quite see what was happening. It felt very frustrating to have these images just out of my line of vision. I had a sense that if only I could see clearly, I'd be able to see something very important and significant.
Eventually I woke up and realised that I'd been asleep and that the arc had gone. I still feel a little as if I'm looking out of a very dark room into a very bright world and my head is pounding, but the worst is over. I can move and walk and see again.
Monday, 8 August 2011
The Museum of Broken Relationships
In the Zagreb upper town, we stumbled across this museum and I loved it. If you're going to Zagreb, I highly recommend it. It was only 20 Kuna, about £2, and gives you free access to another contemporary museum across town (which we didn't have time to visit, but is easily accessible by tram).
The museum provided exhibits and personal stories of people's ended relationships - mainly with boyfriends and girlfriends, husbands and wives, but also religious or political connections. I experienced a multitude of emotions and sensations including heaviness, sadness, loss, hope, desperation and, above all, catharsis. As well as providing a fascinating peek into the minds of others, it also seems to work as a wonderful therapeutic tool that enables broken hearts to heal.
You can find out more here at their website.
The museum provided exhibits and personal stories of people's ended relationships - mainly with boyfriends and girlfriends, husbands and wives, but also religious or political connections. I experienced a multitude of emotions and sensations including heaviness, sadness, loss, hope, desperation and, above all, catharsis. As well as providing a fascinating peek into the minds of others, it also seems to work as a wonderful therapeutic tool that enables broken hearts to heal.
You can find out more here at their website.
The holiday continues
Although I'm home again, my skin is still tanned, my hairs are still blonder
and some of my clothes still smell of my Mama's washing powder and the
air of the Island of Losinj. If I close my eyes I am back there.
This year I realised that although the Island still holds magic for me, its magic has lessened. I was disappointed at first to realise this, but the reason why is a good one. I used to escape there in search of peace and relaxation - now my life at home is the most relaxing place to be and so the contrast no longer exists. It's still an exceptionally beautiful place and despite eating more than the usual, including cake, I seem to have lost two kilos somewhere along the way. The land, the air and the sea are good for me and make me healthy. I walk more, climb more, swim more. My body is pushed and challenged, because I have a desire to seek and explore. My curiosity takes me further than my body thinks it can go.
As I contemplated this loss of magic, I started to recognise that the things I do there, I now also do here. I walk more, climb more, exercise more. I then realised that I've not lost any magic, but that I've been lucky enough to have gained more of it - that this magic is now present in my every day life, plus some!
I wish you all magic in your lives. As I've realised for myself, the only thing stopping you having magic and living the dream is your own mind. The secret is to be in the present moment and to hear and see what is really here in the world. The only thing holding you back is you.
This year I realised that although the Island still holds magic for me, its magic has lessened. I was disappointed at first to realise this, but the reason why is a good one. I used to escape there in search of peace and relaxation - now my life at home is the most relaxing place to be and so the contrast no longer exists. It's still an exceptionally beautiful place and despite eating more than the usual, including cake, I seem to have lost two kilos somewhere along the way. The land, the air and the sea are good for me and make me healthy. I walk more, climb more, swim more. My body is pushed and challenged, because I have a desire to seek and explore. My curiosity takes me further than my body thinks it can go.
As I contemplated this loss of magic, I started to recognise that the things I do there, I now also do here. I walk more, climb more, exercise more. I then realised that I've not lost any magic, but that I've been lucky enough to have gained more of it - that this magic is now present in my every day life, plus some!
I wish you all magic in your lives. As I've realised for myself, the only thing stopping you having magic and living the dream is your own mind. The secret is to be in the present moment and to hear and see what is really here in the world. The only thing holding you back is you.
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
I wish...
...to continue to live my life in the present, appreciating and savouring each moment as it comes upon me
...to live a life with no regrets
...to continue to expand my capacity to love and to be loved
I wish for you to have the same.
...to live a life with no regrets
...to continue to expand my capacity to love and to be loved
I wish for you to have the same.
My counselling training
Chaos, noise, discord, darkness
I am stuck in a moment of anxious eternity
Then
Beams of light come from nowhere and break up the darkness
I see, there at my feet, a key
I pick it up, hold it to my heart and I walk away, smiling to myself
I found what I came for
I am stuck in a moment of anxious eternity
Then
Beams of light come from nowhere and break up the darkness
I see, there at my feet, a key
I pick it up, hold it to my heart and I walk away, smiling to myself
I found what I came for
Tuesday, 26 July 2011
Emergencies?
Someone gave me this yesterday and I really like it: a reminder about not to get sucked in to other people's dramas. Hope you like it too.
Saturday, 23 July 2011
Here today, gone tomorrow
I haven't written for ages and I think this is because I feel a bit as
if I am floating, waiting for the next step. I think it's also because I
am writing a lot anyway, my book. This blog is more of an outlet for
when I can't write. I'm feeling a bit philosophical too and I tend to get introverted when I am in contemplation.
I've felt philosophical quite a lot of late. Not sure if it's all the change in my life, all the endings. The last day of college is this Monday - still got some things to tie up, but essentially this is it. Three years of training spread over seven years. Seven years ago I was living a totally different life with friends in London, some of whom are no longer in my life, in a houseshare in Hackney with a garden with vegetables, grown by my sister. We were all different people then. At least, I was a different person. Those who are still in my life have also changed as their lives swirl around them in planned and unplanned ways, moulding them as the wind shapes the rocks it blows over. I don't think we could ever have predicted many of those changes...at least, not seven years ago. Those that aren't in my life anymore have also no doubt changed; I just don't know how, because I don't see their changes.
Some people who were in my life then are gone forever, not just gone out of my life; but in an odd way, as I write this, I realise that those who are gone forever from my life, through death, are actually more present to me than those friends who just took different paths to mine. The people I loved who have died are still with me, in my heart and in my intentions. I have no idea who will remain until the end, out of those that are currently in my life. I used to think I could predict that, but I now know that I can't. It's a funny old world.
The sky outside my window is deep pink and smokey grey, almost purple, shot through with vivid bolts of orange. The day is coming to a close. I think it may be almost time for bed. I'll fall asleep in today and wake up again in tomorrow. It's a funny old world.
I've felt philosophical quite a lot of late. Not sure if it's all the change in my life, all the endings. The last day of college is this Monday - still got some things to tie up, but essentially this is it. Three years of training spread over seven years. Seven years ago I was living a totally different life with friends in London, some of whom are no longer in my life, in a houseshare in Hackney with a garden with vegetables, grown by my sister. We were all different people then. At least, I was a different person. Those who are still in my life have also changed as their lives swirl around them in planned and unplanned ways, moulding them as the wind shapes the rocks it blows over. I don't think we could ever have predicted many of those changes...at least, not seven years ago. Those that aren't in my life anymore have also no doubt changed; I just don't know how, because I don't see their changes.
Some people who were in my life then are gone forever, not just gone out of my life; but in an odd way, as I write this, I realise that those who are gone forever from my life, through death, are actually more present to me than those friends who just took different paths to mine. The people I loved who have died are still with me, in my heart and in my intentions. I have no idea who will remain until the end, out of those that are currently in my life. I used to think I could predict that, but I now know that I can't. It's a funny old world.
The sky outside my window is deep pink and smokey grey, almost purple, shot through with vivid bolts of orange. The day is coming to a close. I think it may be almost time for bed. I'll fall asleep in today and wake up again in tomorrow. It's a funny old world.