Failure?!

So where have I been, again, all the usual places, floor, bed, poised over u-bend, medical waiting rooms, armchair and places beyond place.

Anyone who has ever experienced even mild vertigo will understand that trying to sit in front of a computer and look at a screen was way beyond anything I might contemplate for more than a second at a time, just finding the floor to put my foot on was a major undertaking for some time. Couple that with a skeleton which was insisting it could crawl out through my flesh and a head that seemed to be on the verge of imploding or exploding from minute to minute with the added bonus of running nose that was not ejecting snot but blood plus a brain that could not quite cope with the simple act of commanding my legs to move but thought it would show willing and at least get something to move which left puddles and dampness aplenty this last few weeks have not been grand.

In the last week there has been progress but mainly towards yet more medical appointments / medical waiting rooms to sit in which were less than delightful, though did give me a laugh at the mobile mammogram set up, with me winning a wager hands down or should that be breasts up on just how many films the operator would have to use to get a full picture of my chest... very funny as she kept repeating the phrase 'You're very deceiving I can usually size people up as they walk in', just made me giggle as it reminded me of other times when clothes have been removed and I have got a 'gosh', ah those were the days:0)

Anyone reading this might remember I had begun ‘playing’ with a paperback copy of In Search of Adam, those few weeks ago, by first ripping it apart. Now, even as floors and ceiling seemingly spun plus ‘fabulously’ marched towards me threatening to squash breath and any sense of life out of me, ripping pages out of a book seemed almost cathartic though often an addition to messy bed was also noted:0)

My ideas book has been scrawled in, experiments and test assemblages been cut, sewn and stuck whilst hastily having to lay them aside to force myself to another position as physical imperative blew away any mental, emotional or even spiritual need I sometimes find met when I transform and create with my hands. I have got to a point with ‘the ripping’ where I feel I have found a way to transform the book, which doesn’t make mud of gold. I am still unable to take photos but will post some of the work in progress and some pages of my ideas book as soon as I can get my eyes to focus as well as the camera:0)

Frustrating does not get near to how I have been feeling about these last weeks in particular but it’s much wider than that, but, in truth frustration does not really that often enter the picture for longer than short rants or moody walks:0) Why get frustrated about what is if it is beyond ones control or any ability to alter save for making landings as gentle and soft as possible.

There is another word beginning with F that is much more personal and experienced every day, and expressed throughout a day and it is not the obvious favoured four letter word which does pass my lips on a regular basis… it is such a rounded wasted word hidden behind polite distaste and manners it’s a word I reclaim as mine to use as I will not as shock tactic but as empowerment for a spirit.

The F word I refer to is far more powerful, far more fearful and dangerous and totally a word that grazes and gobbles my life to a greater or lesser extent it seems day by day.

My logical analytical self tells me that though all senses touch taste feel this F word that cannot be true as I am still standing in terms of being moment by moment as open to possibility as I can be. But there it is huge and fearsome and oh so familiar.

This could become a post for a very adult episode of Sesame Street… and today’s word begins with the letter F… frustratingly fearsome, fundamentally fucking forceful, found understood so deeply as to be molecular, recognised accepted embraced as truth a heart can see, a mind hear and a life express… Failure.

So this is THE downward spiral, depressed and despairing post then? NO. Actually it would be so if I pretended that failure never knocks at my door, that all things are not only coped with but sailed through as if on calm waters.

This life seems far more like a journey over quicksand.

Walking on quicksand requires spreading the load and a certain amount of hopping around, not staying in one place too long, quite literally not getting bogged down. It’s about being actively and acutely aware of where my feet/mind are being placed each time I go for the next step and realizing when there’s a loud squelching sound followed quickly by a sensation of damp knees at the least:0), rather than just small pops and plops as toes try to grip without pressing down or disturbing the surface that holds me up, that I have a choice to plough on regardless and find my bottom back and neck quickly become very damp and somehow squeezed into inescapable situation or I stop lie down and listen.

I try to lie in such a way as to minimize pressure and soon know if I am failing at that as my hands begin to slip into the bog, or my legs begin to drop in to some sticky void so I crawl in as spread out way as I can and inch my way towards a small tussock and just hope it will hold me up a while.

But I know I can’t stay there long as it’s apparent stability is slowly revealed to also be ‘floating’ only just above the surface of the quicksand.

Choices to be made, decisions to be acted upon but still the quicksand’s grainy insistence tires me out, becomes familiar, friendly and fabulously enticing ‘til I lie once more stretched out with arms and legs as splayed and stretched apart as I can manage when because I have rolled on to my back to impede any quicksand blocking up airways, I see a dark unlit sky and I wonder where is the quicksand.

Am I just the filling in some huge joke of a sandwich, which will make of me pressed meat no matter how much I fathom, learn and put in to practice what I discover about walking on quicksand?

The wondering can be overwhelming but not as annihilating as the total sense of failure that slaps me in the face when I consider what my life on quicksand offers, gives, really creates for those around me or if anyone notices as I slide beneath the surface or lie stinking and exhausted from the crawl. Do they see me as unique human being just like themselves or just a waste product better absorbed into the quicksand than taking up valuable space on someone else’s tussock.

It doesn’t matter, none of it does, as in the end if I don’t continue to try then how could I ever begin to recognise myself. By accepting, questioning and listening to the voices and visions I experience whilst crossing this quicksand I grow whether failure is my first middle or last name.

Failure is such a dreadful word to many people’s ears and I’m not so keen on it myself but it would please me rather a lot if when I relax, be that through choice or circumstance, and find my body turning to quicksand I can slip a waterproof note to lay on the surface that reads ‘Successful Failure’.

That only the Earth and the Stars may really notice is fine by me for it is they I find give me the voices and visions, which make the crawling across the quicksand possible in the first place.

I draw inspiration and intent from them and don’t care if I am their pressed meat filling. It is essential to explore the meaning of these gifts, as that is what I see all of them to be even the darkest most detestable voices or visions, for these ‘dreams’ and ‘symbols’ from my unconscious mind are the link to the lives gone before me and those to come in the future and to the lives in other places held in this place I name as now..

“Would you tell me, please,” said Alice, “which way I ought to go from here?”
“That depends,” said the Cheshire Cat, “on where you want to get to. Over there… lives a Hatter,… and over there… lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.” “But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked. “Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad, you’re mad.” “How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice. “You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here”.

I do not understand myself to be mad in the sense that others would use that word to treat trap and torment people with. Rather than the Cheshire Cat alone I also draw inspiration from someone rather well known as a hearer of voices and seer of visions Teresa of Avila.

All shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.

Above or below the quicksand that does not change.

Comments

[Cathy]

The spirit I see here - cannot be constrained by quicksand, bogs or a tumble down a rabbit hole.

Tender wishes for that bright flame that shines steadily during these trying past weeks.

[John Baker]

Great post, thoughtful and meditative and filled with life and the love of life. Thank you. It was a humbling experience visiting your site again.

[John Baker]

Great post, thoughtful and meditative and filled with life and the love of life. Thank you. It was a humbling experience visiting your site again.

[Natalie]

Anything I can offer will merely be words. I perceive a picture of a fine soul in great pain and discomfort, yet managing to find beauty and light in the midst of it. This picture leaves me feeling helpless, inadequate and ashamed of being unable to help. Failure you most certainly are not, Winning Daisy.