Still waiting

It’s the time of year, it’s because you are tired, it’s hormonal/menopausal, it’s usual.

My life is a messy affair, nothing clean, clear or constant save for the drip, drip, drip of tortuous thought. Nothing wondrous or divine about this living save for the fact that it has somehow continued.

That the continuation is questionable and questioned often and with searing heated distaste as much as joy forgiveness and acceptance is reflection of human heart battered, human spirit stretched into contorted shape and human being twisted and pushed into places and spaces beyond others imaginations let alone experience.

My life is a messy affair much of which has not and will not ever appear as anything more solid than a flitting idea of substance in a drowning woman’s mind.

There are ways of living ones life without owning all of it so I am told but after 50 years of exploring that idea I have yet to find it destination of ease and continue on careering along holding onto the flapping frayed torn and somewhat grubby fabric of my life and looking as clearly as I may in the mirror and taking in the whole picture and knowing it is me.

That the me doesn’t make this heart smile always and often makes despair far too small a response is just as it is.

I wonder what the New Year fast approaching will bring and find myself laughing somewhat maniacally at the thought it could bring anything save for a space for me to stand in a moment. A year is a construct meaningless to a heart and mind and a journey save for keeping note in way others might fathom. When it comes to a heart and mind and spirit the year begins and ends when I wish, begins and ends each moment and fashioning my self in the moment is fruitless task for the next moment begins the attempt all over again.

The rips and tears, the fraying and soiled garment that is my life may be patched occasionally in hope of keeping the semblance of the whole when viewed by outside eyes. More often it is left to express the way it is the way it is as my life as a very messy affair, nothing clean, clear or constant save for the drip, drip, drip of tortuous thought. Nothing wondrous or divine about this living save for the fact that it has somehow continued.

I wonder if I will finally abandon the journey like some unwanted smelly socks and re-clothe myself in something brighter cleaner socially acceptable and in many ways easier than the life I discovered and have sought more understanding of for many years. I wonder if I will stop looking within, looking up to the stars, looking beyond the obvious and take deep draughts of anaesthetic to wander along with blissed out look in my eyes and halo of content around my heart.

That the loneliness and oft times sense of not being could be alleviated by leaving behind the solitude, the silence and the endeavour for simple living – which is more like a successful failure than successful success, is considered but then I have to ask the question where and what would I leave it for and find that wherever I might travel or whatever outer drapery I may hang around me inside silence, solitude and simplicity would still be huge part of the who and why of me.

I find myself at sea in a leaking boat but with no sense that its about to sink and me drown. I may choose to jump over the side and become one with the sea in ways that will start a new life but at present it seems that wet feet and baling muscles are just as it is and that is fine.

My life is a messy affair, nothing clean, clear or constant save for the drip, drip, drip of tortuous thought. Nothing wondrous or divine about this living save for the fact that it has somehow continued.

I worry about this blog not because I am in search of the perfect piece of prose, the bulging comment box, the stratospheric stats counter or the exclusive ring of self perpetuating ‘beautiful people’ but because I am aware how easily words can become shiny promises even in the hands of this particular cackhanded writer.

I use words to navigate, to cling on to as the wet feet are joined by most else of my body and drowning seems a tad nearer:0), I use words to build ladders, weave ropes and sometimes even a safety net to have below me as I climb high up the mast trying to unfurl a sail on my leaking boat.

I use words to tell myself how I am feeling, to discover how I am feeling, to walk away from that feeling, to find myself overwhelmed with the reality but understanding the reality is for only a moment and I needed to be aware of the moment. I use words but find they can sometimes have life of their own which polishes and transforms the shit into a shine and it may be that the flapping, torn, frayed and grubby life can seem way more pure and perfect than even my imagination might wish and certainly is nowt to do with the actual and the real.

Is that what happens with my life face to face.

My life is a very messy affair, nothing clean, clear or constant save for the drip, drip, drip of tortuous thought. Nothing wondrous or divine about this living save for the fact that it has somehow continued.

Finding a life is like rainbow chasing, always the promise of a crock of gold if only the end can be found but all the while the journey, the travelling through geography that could be missed if eyes are only on the crock of gold is the niggle, the nag at the corner of my mind which encourages me to look round at the landscape, discover the many pieces of gold and understand that it’s not about finding a life but being in a life even if it is a very messy affair.

Comments

[Cathy]

This reads like poetry. Thank you.

[Cathy]

Dearest Friend,
I hear the minor key in the beautiful song of you and my heart is traveling across this bit of water and land that may separate our lives but not our caring and love - one pilgrim for another. I pray that rest and gentle light may soon lift you, again, to the energy level wherein the springtime renewal of your garden, the whimsy of pastel, paper and yarn creations, and (selfishly, on my part :0) the words, thoughts and shared plans that bring joy to the lucky recipients of animated star dust - will bloom with the abundance of life that is you.

Catherine of Intent