Falling into eternity
Sparkling dots
enveloped in a
billowing vacuum;
through the cool night air
I breath in
thousands of light years
of this elegance
of something
more than I am.
Sparkling dots
enveloped in a
billowing vacuum;
through the cool night air
I breath in
thousands of light years
of this elegance
of something
more than I am.
They say that if you fear something enough
you will bring it into your life. I have feared, all of my adult life, that I
will be on the streets, homeless. And here I find myself. Worry being a prayer
to the higher consciousness asking for what I do not want. I wonder how many
others fear the same, how many people accept jobs they do not want, to avoid
this fear? I do not know if I am a brave lightworker, struggling through
unchartered darkness of the soul, or if I am simply disconnected from reality,
irresponsible and as my father and brother love to label me ‘a failure’. I
don’t feel like a failure, even now, travelling into London on the National
Express to do a course in Hakomi, Applied Buddhism within the psychotherapeutic
world. I am not sure where I will sleep tonight. I have a pretty sure
possibility of staying in Welwyn Garden City, an hour outside of London, and a guy
interested in mystism and Sufi has somehow popped up and offered me a place on
couchsurf, but no address and no dates.
I feel like I am in a big game, where I
need only trust. So simple, it is hard to believe. I remember countless
occasions of travelling and never knowing where I would stay. It was a way of
life. Something always turned out...I always found a play to stay, even when I
was travelling on bike with 5 others in a place without hostels or hotels, and
we ended up sleeping in an old folk’s home. I had asked for directions from two
nice looking younger people on the street and the girl’s mother ran a residency
that happened to have 3 double rooms free.
I want to believe that this is happening
for a greater good. I feel often sick in my stomach, and breathe through it,
and as I do I seem to be constantly transported back to being a child. I’m not
sure if it’s because I’m in England now, and England is only the place where I
grew up, or if I am working through limited belief systems created as a child.
All I know is that I am being forced to break down my (Buddhist) ego, and
though it hurts and I feel in a state of constant alert, it also feels as if I
am breaking away from old patterns, letting past chains fall away like brushing
dandruff away from my shoulders. The old, is simply the old. I’m sure I needed
those limits, those defence systems, at the time, or I felt it to be true, but
now, is just now. I am not the little girl who was bullied by her Dad, nor the
older sister who was never enough for her brother, nor the daughter of a woman
who really wanted a son. It is not relevant any longer. I am me.
The last two nights have been
psychologically hard. I met a girl on the counselling course who invited me into
her house, I liked her, she seemed the most ‘evolved’ on the course. I started
to get a whiff of something not quite right when I couldn’t get into her car
without stepping in rubbish that didn’t look too new. She talked incessantly,
for hours and was very attentive to me drifting off and not listening...she
would bring me in every time with a ‘Julia look....’ and a trick with the
dog...she is shaking his hand now, she is kissing him now, look she says I can
make him talk to me...etc etc. Trying so desperately to be friends. Trying too
hard, so that I was exhausted. I didn’t feel I could have a minute to myself,
and yet I needed to sort out accomodation in London, which just hasn’t
materialise as yet. It was stressful, and probably well summed up by an email
to John ‘Is it ok to kill the dog?’ It’s hard to keep stroking an incessant dog that is giving me allergies.
I recognise all this
patter, recognise it in a past good friends, one of whom by weird coincidence
contacted me that same day. I wonder why I keep attracting this chaotic female
energy into my life?
Last night the little one Pauline, had ballet. I know that
because Edith had got Wednesday mixed up for Thursday and had thought it the
night before...so ballet time comes, Pauline has been dressed for an hour...she
has come in and told me at 3.30pm about her 5pm ballet...at five to, Edith is not
moving. Pauline is dressed but not for walking, she’s got a little leotard on
and Edith’s night dress, because Edith will not buy her ballet stuff until she
goes every week. Pauline says ‘Are you ready mummy to take me in the car?’
‘Not in the car...we are walking...what are you doing dressed like that?’ It is
the best that Pauline can do - there is fierce competition in the class to look
good, Edith has already explained that to me. I had watched Pauline check
herself various times over the last hour in the mirror. ‘We are walking!’
‘But mum it is five to! We are going to be late!’
‘Then I am not going to take you!’
‘Mummmmmmmm!’ Pauline holds back her, obvious habitual, frustration. I feel it as repressed rage.
‘No.’ Edith says waddling like a duck in power.
‘It’s your money, you have paid and it is a waste! Mummy please!’
‘Do not talk to me like that!!’
‘But mum it is five to! We are going to be late!’
‘Then I am not going to take you!’
‘Mummmmmmmm!’ Pauline holds back her, obvious habitual, frustration. I feel it as repressed rage.
‘No.’ Edith says waddling like a duck in power.
‘It’s your money, you have paid and it is a waste! Mummy please!’
‘Do not talk to me like that!!’
Etc etc.
Eventually Pauline puts on some
leggings and they walk there and must have got there late.
In the morning just before time to go to
school, Edith decides to call her mother in Poland, because she is in a panic
that she may be in hospital because she didn’t answer the phone a couple of
days previously. I don’t understand why she waited, in this emergency, until
now. The children get alarmed, try to talk to her while she is on the phone. Edith
cannot hear anyone, everyone is shouting over each other. She puts down the
phone and starts screaming at the children not to talk to her while she is on
the phone, that it is rude, that it will make nobody happy...she does this, in
her Polish accented English for a long time, going in cyclical mind troughs...meanwhile
they are becoming later and later for school. The children are quiet. They’ve
been here before.
I think about my fear of leaving the
house...it’s not a fear of being out, and not of being in, but of leaving the
house, of going through the front door. And I remember all of the stress that
happened every single time. How we were always late for everything, how my mum
would be in a constant stress about time, how she just had to wash up, to not
return to a dirty house, how suddenly she had to attend to a cake that she had
forgotten about, how she just had to do one more thing and she will be with us...and
I thought that getting to somewhere meant going as fast as you could in a flap,
watching the seconds on the clock and feeling that the red light was being
totally unfair to us.
So, I wonder if this journey that my soul
is taking is about trying to explain to me that the past is the past, that
people are not perfect, that it is ok, that now is now, and that it is actually
completely ok. Good enough.
I mean I totally respect Edith, she is
bringing up two children, with an ex who is really not helping. No details here,
but imagine the worse. And they are safe and clothed and fed and schooled, and
they obviously love their mother unconditionally. She is doing far better than
me right now. I can only just put someelse's roof over my own head, let alone two dependent
children.
As Pete Robinson said 1. This is not
heaven. 2. You are not god. 3. Try and not be an asshole.
I’m trying. It is not easy. I'm doing well just not to express it.
3 positives from the day
I have accommodation at last for tomorrow! I have been saved by a couch surfer who lives in Welwyn Garden City, and who is appanrently, according to others, a really great host. I will get to that Hakomi course!
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