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Maybe I should do another month!?! I find if I write 100 words on here, then I don't answer my friends' emails or do work on my book as punctually and efficiently as I would like to...So maybe our creative juices do have a limit for each day, just as everything else in our physical bodies needs to have some kind of a routine and a limit. There is certainly an ebb and flow within our mental energy, which needs replenishing as well as giving a channel--we are as much part of nature as everything on the planet.
The pond. The green reflection on the cold water moving and dancing in ripples of circular glistening sparkling sunlight; the darker emerald of the banks as if embroidered by the tall elegant reeds which bend and sway in the breeze like graceful ballet dancers in their long flowing voile skirts. Then suddenly a fluffy brown duckling paddles across my view, and it chirps nervously while jerkily changing its direction hither and thither, obviously lost its family and trying to locate mum. A moorhen is sighted nearby and the duckling heads happily in its direction, maybe it is almost like mum.
We started chatting because her name was the same as my mother's maiden name. She had posted an album of photographs of the most beautiful flowers, and I complimented her in Hungarian. We have exchanged emails for a couple of days now. Then the next day I got a letter from a relative, in which she sent a copy of our family tree, which I had never seen before. My new friend could be a relative, as our great great grandparents are from the same area and had masses of children. Ten kids in a family can produce many branches.
So today I am going to attack these piles of papers which are sitting in several baskets-- so at least they don't LOOK bad or cluttered but they do clutter up my mind. What are they? Why are they there, kept by me all these years? I never look at them, so they must not be important, yet I must have shoved them into these baskets, and not thrown away immediately,for some reason. The task I have set myself is to look thorough each one, and throw into a plastic bag for shredding, so as to clear my mind.
asd jhahsn bxsj skkms xkkx msmmn smmsk smmkx wkolllls j hjks nmsla,,mx sk. That's what came out of my automatic writing. I think it must mean something, if it can be deciphered. Like words in another language have meaning if you know the language. Egyptian hyrogliphics...I wonder who can read them.... We do seem to need to record our thoughts, our history. And when you read true stories of people who have had unusual experiences, maybe some of them very traumatic and yet they have lived to tell the tale...it does widen your perception of this world.
Hunger. What is hunger other than the thought of it now being lunchtime, and that your body feels like having the pleasure of something nice to taste and then to chew and then swallow. I don't think most of us in the modern world, other than third world countries, really do understand the meaning of hunger. In fact, most of the people I know in England, most of the female population, is on a diet. Everybody wants to be slim, yet they love to eat. So the answer is to get focused on other things in life, and eat sensibly.
Sorting through a big box of papers has its moments of pleasure. Tearing up old invoices of gas and electricity, cards no longer used, and official irrelevant stuff is almost joyful, as you fill up plastic bags of shredded paper. Then you come across a pile of letters written to you by your ex, when he still loved you so much that it's now aching your heart that you let things spoil over the years, as you did. But then you were so young and you did love him, yet not understanding him and his complicated heart. Love never dies.
"Do you keep yourself busy all day here?" What an annoying question to be asked. The man came to fix the blinds I'd ordered, made to measure for my windows. He and his assistant came twenty minutes earlier than arranged the previous day. So I had not had my morning coffee yet, and felt a little unprepared to indulge in small talk. I answered this intrusive query in the affirmative. What was he expecting me to discuss: my daily routine, my current projects or my purpose in life? "Yes, I am very busy all day, 24 hours are too short!"
Most of the day yesterday I was thinking about mathematics. Even had a discussion about it online, with my daughter's old maths tutor. It all started with finding a sentence in J's old A level maths book, which I put aside after clearing out some old papers from a box. In her own handwriting, she had noted: " All hyperbolas are asymptotic." I somehow knew this could mean something beyond the mathematical, and that it was a message which, if understood, could be relevant to us now. But first I had to look up the meaning of "hyperbola" and of "asymptotic".
So I now know the meaning. I had a wild idea of using that sentence as the title for my book. So cryptic, that it would put most people off, even from opening the book. Is that what I want to do? Well...,in a way, I would like to tease people's curiosity, to take a second look and not know immediately what the contents could be; they would have to read the smaller print under the strange title, to get an idea of the story. And of course her photograph would attract a thousand ships, like Helen of Troy.
And now again, I sit in the corner of the room where the afternoon sun comes through the curtains, and I open an old album of photographs. And then I am there again, like time does not exist, and I am looking at faces which are no more in this world, but yet they are there and they touch me with their familiarity and we communicate like we never left the places where we walked along the sunny streets of that Spanish city. That was even before the joy of our firstborn joined our adventure and we were so.... serious.
My two little ginger companions came with me for a walk this evening. I had been rummaging and moving stuff around the flat, and by dusk I felt desperately in need of fresh air. It was chilly and damp, still drizzling and almost dark; the city had been enveloped by grey low clouds and mist all day. So I said to the girls,"Let's go for a walk!" and they instantly jumped off their wooly perch by the window and ran through the cat flap, waiting for me on the street, then sprinting along like little squirrels ahead of me.
Yesterday I watched two programmes on TV, and they were both about death. The first one was about the journey of a living animal's skin to a leather car seat. How cattle are slaughtered, and then butchered up, I have seen on TV before, and it is good to know that in most cases the animals are stunned before their throat is cut. But what struck me was a glimpse of these cows, peering over a gate, awaiting entry to the abattoir. Their eyes seemed to show awareness of their fate... The next programme about assisted suicide was less upsetting.
Strange how one gets into a momentum of doing things. Having been immobile all this morning, thinking about an intensely lucid dream, which took a while to recognize as not being reality, so had to take time to get my head straight, and plan my day's practical agenda. Decided to clear out the space for my new house sitter, I emptied cupboards and chests of drawers and came up with ingenious solutions for hanging space for her clothes, without having to buy a clothes rail. The phone rang and texts appeared, but I won't allow disturbance when I am inspired.
I'll have to change the flight date again. It's supposed to be a cheap airline, and the fares are reasonable, if you keep to the date of proposed travel, but if you keep having to change the dates then you end up paying more than it would cost to fly across the world. However, it is a fact of my life, that I can't leave things in a mess and then expect to be able to relax and do the things I have to do at this other place, which could be paradise if one could leave one's worries behind.
Still thinking of a title for the book. Beneath Painted Angels sounds poetic, and it is from a poem by my friend. We were "sitting beneath painted angels" in a church on a mountain top, while "the wind roared outside the cold basilica" and my friend and I and her daughters and my son lit candles and listened to organ music. It was an atmosphere of contemplation, cementing our friendship in sorrow. She later wrote that poem on a train to the airport. We'd been delayed by a landslide avalanche for days in the Alpine village where we'd been staying.
Seventeen, Dancing Queen. Oh yes, she was a dancing queen at seventeen and we loved ABBA. We used to twirl and dance together in the large back garden of our seaside bungalow when she was a little girl, and our grisly old neighbour complained of the noise we were making. We think she must have poisoned our young ginger cat in revenge, which was a very nasty thing to do. And then we moved back to London when she was five years old, and lived in the terraced house until she was sixteen, but we didn't have a large garden.
D. was telling me that the world economy is on the verge of collapse. I haven't watched the news on TV for a few days, so I had not heard things were getting so serious. It does seem scary, but I must admit I don't understand global economics, but the fact that countries have a domino effect on each other, is not beyond my limited comprehension. It was my blunder to mention the garden wall, which isn't even our garden wall, and does not need rebuilding. This irrelevant dispute could be ongoing with our neighbours during a global economic crisis.
My neighbours from hell. They have their huge tarpaulin up again, tables set out in their garden and trendy guests have started guzzling and jabbering. What they are celebrating this time, could be someone's birthday, deathday, wedding or their obsessive compulsive sociability. They have a "do" about once a week, and eat breakfast, lunch and dinner under my windows when no rain or snow. Luckily I'd erected double glazing on my windows above them, a few years ago, when they had rented out to a noisy family, who played in the garden yelling their heads off at dawn each day.
I was being very vicious in my last entry about my hellish neighbours. I'm mostly a sweet and gentle soul, but I guess, being objective about myself, I'm not sugar and spice and everything nice, as some people may think. I'm quite tough and realistic in my attitude to life, and although I think you get what you give out, if these people are continuously nasty to me, and attack me verbally for no reason other than their own envy, deep rooted aggression and personality disfunction, then I should try to ignore them. Living under the same roof isn't ideal.
Ten days, I have ten days to sort things out and relieve this weight of the worry from my shoulders. Amazing how a mental worry can feel like a physical burden that is wearing you down, and it is especially frustrating when things to be sorted are dependant on other people,and you are writing them emails, and then getting answers back that they are out of office, and having their annual leave, and don't give a damn about your stuff anyway, except for getting payment themselves for sitting behind a desk and playing on their computer. Life is unfair.
Just as well that I didn't write yesterday, it would have been an angry rant. I went to bed quite late the night before, as D and I were discussing important stuff. So having gone to bed quite late, I was still having necessary dreaming time when Ma Foghornvoice's blathering and cackling at an early hour, just below my bedroom window, filtered through the double glazing and woke me. I was too awake and angry to put earplugs in, and go back to sleep. To feel such negative energy is destructive to one's own health. I've had thoughts of moving....
Today I am blank. It is quite a nice feeling. Like giving in to a state of mind-- which is necessary to be going through. Not forcing myself to use my intellect, thoughts are randomly coming and going, passing through my mental vision. I feel dreamy. Not feeling creative ,nor productive, but letting each hour reveal it's possibility; so there is a chance that I may even get something done today. Maybe it's time for a siesta, a real proper rest, and close my eyes and sleep. I tried to contact my dentist , but he's finished work for the week.
I'm lying on the floor, propped up by cushions, and feeling the breeze from the bay windows open on all sides, my book at my side, not bothering to read... The book of my own memory is more relevant to read ...strange how just facts and dates are so inaccurate, when you start to remember with stark honesty, how it felt to be you at that time...I was the same me as I am now but so much of a believer that things cannot be as drastic as they really were. And now I know that's what saved me.
Going to clear out the kitchen cupboard today. It's been on my list of things to complete this week. Clearing out and getting rid of things I don't use is very liberating, and gives a sense of achievement. The problem these days is where to take things, which someone could use, but you don't need. Charity shops don't take electrical goods, and you can't put out stuff on the street either, and the re-cycling rubbish is not the place for things like gadgets or knick-knacks. So you end up having a pile of stuff blocking up your hallway.
Very hot today. Wrote a poem the other day. Here it is:
Now floating in gyrovector spaces Euclidian geometry we leave behind so the quantum of reality becomes clear. While the angels push back the mists of dawn And our eyes hurt with the filtering rays of light Yet the dream gates are reentered and we are talking to some person who seems related. Now sudenly fully back here, and I blink out of my head and see my arms and my body reminds me of food and drink. Yet our meetings beyond are real in a different way.
It's my cousin's birthday today. She is a week older than me. I think I'll write to her, but would have to send it by post as I don't have her email. Found an old childhood photo of her and her mother. Her mother and mine were close friends back then and our fathers were brothers. She now moves in very high circles and we haven't met personally since we were in our twenties. I tried to make contact with her a few years ago, but her response was politely cold, so I'm not sure why I'm really bothering now.
Again I am blank. It is good to write when you really feel like writing, but this exercise is good to keep a certain discipline going. However, it is difficult to write something that has energy, when what you really are concerned with at the moment is something that is a little too personal to write about. No, I don't mean personal in the sense that it is about a love affair or anything exciting like that, which people may pruriently want to read, (if they read these entries.) My personal stuff is just dialogue with myself to resolve stuff.
I keep remembering someone said,I think it was Carl Jung, that we don't necessarily resolve problems, but we grow out of them. I think that is so true. When you are looking for answers to questions, it can be a good thing to just shelve the problem for a while, and distract yourself with everyday living, for as long as necessary, and then the answer to your question may appear out of the blue. "Go with the flow" is another idea to keep in mind; that you don't have to make rash decisions about resolving problems. Give yourself time.
Can't get to sleep and it is 4 in the morning. Too much has been happening. Strikes going on and the country is in a state of upheaval. I guess we are all connected, we are not islands. What's that song? Is it Simon and Garfunkel's "I am a rock, I am an island"....Talking of islands, I don't seem to want to set off soon, from this island to that tiny Mediterranean island... it has become too trendy and congested.... I've loved it many years and still do but have to disconnect, be sensible and be mindful of practicalities....
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