HELLO

What does Love even mean?

Happy Monday!

Diving deep, what does Love even mean?

HA!

So, this Love word pops up EVERYWHERE.

All you need is Love. God is Love. Return to Love. We are Love. Love is our eternal being. I LOVE you.

And I love the word Love but what am I loving? The concept of love is super appealing, isn’t it. That we are beings radiating an energy that EVERY ONE is aspiring to feel or to be. That when we Love, it’s smooth. It’s a ride we’ve been lining up for our whole lives. We spend time, money, effort, we dedicate ourselves, often without conscious thought to this concept of Love and being in it or being it.

WHAT IS IT? Because I’m betting it means something for you that it doesn’t for me. And the feeling of it when we meet someone and we say those words, I love you, that’s tangible, isn’t it. It’s almost something we can touch and taste and the feeling is beyond overwhelming. Love songs and romcoms and poetry, we mostly resonate with the attraction thing. Lust, right. It gets in the way, or it is the way. I dunno but I fucking love lusting. I also know it’s not what we’re taught in spiritual teachings Love to be.

God is Love. Now, that’s not so tangible. And ALL the Love references in New Age stuff and quotes that float the internet like feathers in the breeze. That’s muddier. I get it, unconditional love. Really though, have we EVER loved unconditionally? Is it an unattainable concept… and is that the point, make it totally unattainable for the human and they’ll spend their whole lives feeling crap as they’re never quite getting ‘there’. Talk about guilt. Not just a catholic thing, huh.

And to not love things, material stuff as much as you love an idea, a concept, well they both feel as empty as each other if I’m honest.

So, what does Love mean?

Is it so fluid that it’s not meant to mean any more than it means to you in the moment you’re feeling it. And is it an expression, a momentary need, like when we graze ourselves and we scab. Love is the scabbing, the protection as cells come together and heal.

Love heals. We’re not in states of Love all the time. I can get so flipping angry some days and that’s bloody healing too. Anger heals. Imagine that. To not be afraid of anger, to see it as vital as Love. Is Love conditioning as we’re less likely to lash out. Less likely to disrupt others. To question. Oh, to question. Love is blind.

Humans have created the word Love. And like everything we create, it’s open to interpretation. I’ve Loved so hard I would fight for it. I’ve Loved so hard I would crack and die a little if I didn’t have it anymore. And I have. So, maybe Love is the container with ALL the other emotions. Or maybe Love is whatever the fuck you want it to be.

What’s normal anyway?

The more I read about neurodiversity, the more I wonder where the bar of normal is. Is there a brain, a neurotypical brain in a laboratory somewhere where ALL activities within our brain are compared against? How was the concept of normal structured and who, with what brain, decided upon the activities within a brain that would warrant a label if it were different from said ‘normal’ brain.

I know, a lot of questions for a Friday. Fridays are ease down days, getting ready for the weekend days. But who the flip developed the concept of weekends and working days anyway! As is apparent, I’m questioning everything.

As Seal said ‘we’re never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy’. The 90’s, my dream days. The days of my prime developmental growth. The days when I felt ok to want to be something ‘out there’. I used to visualise hitch-hiking across America, that was my dream. To live so freely that I didn’t own anything. And that felt ok. It felt do-able. Now, it doesn’t. I’m going a bit off topic here but the point is, I feel the concept of normal has become really narrow, hardly anyone fits it but it’s STILL used to measure our behaviour. Technology has much to with our modern concepts of reality, for sure. It’s opened up so much but narrowed the human existence also. The need for a phone and computer and tablet and WiFi and apps and SO MUCH SECURITY. I never remember my passwords and have to constantly reset them. I never understand why I can’t just talk to people and computer always says NO. So, back to this normal, neurotypical brain, are we consistently living within a constricted reality? If it wasn’t computers it was industry or some other way society was finding ways to ‘progress’. And is idealisation of normal purely compliance to rules within each and many eras of evolution? This then leads to capitalism but that’s another post.

And the irony is, it would have been the neurotypical brain that catapulted us outta one era, into another. It was the neurotypical brain that invented the machine, the computer. Medical advances – neurotypical thinking! And still today, ‘advances’ we’re seeing daily will be springboarding from neurotypicals. The artists, the poets, the novelist, the dancer… need I say more.

So, ‘we’re never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy’ is genius, the truest words. Thanks Seal! Crazy is what’s keeping the human existence beating. Crazy is the electricity that keeps humanity creating. Crazy IS our survival.

So, what’s normal anyway?

ADHD-er for life

I’ve not written in a LONG time as, well, writing is HARD! And you may not be one-tincy bit bothered as who am I but an occasional writer of stuff who rocks up every now and again on WordPress. And the hard time I’ve given myself about NOT writing as much as I’d set out to at the beginning of my not-quite-writing career has been mega. So, I gave up the concept of writing as I thought ‘writing is HARD so it can’t be natural for me to do it therefore I am NOT a writer.‘

But…

Turns out, writing isn’t the hard thing. Concentrating is. Because turns out, I’ve ‘got’ ADHD.

I’m 39 so this is a later in life discovery for me. and I’m not one for labels and a few years ago I would have literally turned my back to any ‘diagnosis’ as I was living in a deep ‘I’m so fucking spiritual’ world.

But…

OH MY LORD. The past 18 months has been wild, for everyone. I don’t know a single soul not influenced and effected by what’s been unfolding. And for me, it’s been spectrum realisations. And also letting go of ‘I’m so fucking spiritual’ because reality check, I’m just as spiritual as a fly and flea.

In the last year my dad has discovered his Autism (which brought its own healing) and consequently this led to MUCH hyper focused research on my part into neurodiversity as, well I like to feel like I’m knowing something about something. I felt like a nodding dog when reading the stories shared by women who also had a later diagnosis of ADHD. ‘Wait, that’s ME! I bloody align with everything they’re saying!’ HERE.is.my.TRIBE.

And the thing it, it’s not about needing the label of ADHD. It’s about a discovery of WHY my life has been sculpted the way it has by me. WHY I’ve felt so much like an alien in many social and working environments. WHY I’ve found committing to any relationship so flipping difficult. WHY I couldn’t hold down a job. WHY I couldn’t complete projects, any project unless I literally had someone holding my ass up telling me I CAN, and that only came through course after course after course. WHY I can’t focus for more than 30 mins without needing to move, get up, sing, shout, stare out the window or do a wee just to see a different set of walls.

Bloody hell, the realisation has been a revelation to say the least. And it goes deeper, much deeper. I had my assessment a few weeks ago and I’ve been ‘diagnosed’ with combined type. And this is what I think I’ll be writing more about, the neurodiversity spectrum. The WHOLE spectrum because as it turns out, nothing I thought to be fixed about me, is. Now begins the process of integration and re-evaluation of my life, my expectations, my self-belief system. It’s ALL different. The grief is real. The shock is real. The excitement about how these shifts will ripple through my entire reality, is REAL.

Being Childfree

I don’t have kids. 

I’m 39 and I’ve never tried to have children. I’ve said the reason for not having kids was not wanting them but the truth is, I have no idea about my fertility as I’ve never explored the prospect of birthing a little human! Until now.

But…

I can feel my body changing, I can feel my hormones shifting, feeling a little peri-menopausal. 

Recently my bleed is doing weird and wonderful things, one day of spotting and nothing for the next few days. This is the case this month, I’m sat here with an ache in my womb and feel absolutely knackered. My womb wants to release, I can feel this need to let the fuck go but it’s not coming easy. I bled a few days back on the new moon for an hour or so and then, nothing. I don’t know if this is lockdown side-effects, it’s been a whirlpool of all-sorts-of-crazy over the last year, of course my body will respond.

Or

It could be the beginning of peri-menopause. This can continue for a good few years before menopause, an initiation into wisdom-hood. This is how I like to see it. 

And if it is, babies may not be written in the stars for me. There is a history of early menopause in my family too, which I’m trying very hard to forget.

This is a hard pill to swallow. As a woman without a partner, I don’t have the ‘let’s try and have a baby’ option. I don’t know ANY men to ask if they want to co-parent and the route of IUI or IVF is way out of focus, having little £££ to my name. I never thought I’d opt for the medical route to get pregnant but honestly, if I had the money, I think I’d try. I don’t have a house to re-mortgage or a rich family member to go to for a loan. Life panned out VERY differently to how I’d imagined in my early 20’s. My mental health took a nose-dive in my late 20’s and it’s been a long road to recovery, which has been the most empowering and incredible journey but not without compromises.

I was able to move back with my folks to recover from severe anxiety and agoraphobia. Dating was NO WAY. I didn’t want to invest in anything other than myself. I’ve been able to write, paint, pray, meditate and move my body to health. This is wonderful but has taken it’s time and in doing so, through my 30’s, when my friends were getting married or having kids of their own, I was healing and craving no distractions.

I consider myself lucky that I’ve had time and space to explore my human make-up and deepen my faith, yet now, I think about having children.

Is there a little soul waiting to be born into existence with me as their mother?

I don’t know.

To be continued, I guess.

Pass the time

I’ve decided to write a poem

Trying hard to make it rhyme 

I wanna be good at something

And find a way to pass the time 

I’ve thought about many things

The subject? What could that be…

I close my eyes, I focus

Nope, nothing exciting to see

So what, right now, is important 

What do I want to say?

Do I want to make a statement 

Or brighten someone’s day?

To be honest, I don’t really care

If people are happy or not

As long as they’re ticking over

Not hurting people a lot

But maybe they are hurting people

Maybe I’m doing that also?

Shit, now I think of my life

LOVE… I could have done moreso 

Have I said mean things in passing?

Things that were not meant to hurt

Have I triggered a response

Like flight or fight in the dirt? 

What a quandary I find myself in

this turmoil, it’s thick and fast 

I just wanted to write a poem

Not question ways of my past

So here, I’m writing these words

Caring little if it rhymes 

As I seem to have quickly discovered

It’s distraction I need in these times 

But would you Adam & Eve it

Rhyming ain’t hard to do

So I’m passing the time quite easy

Turns out I AM a poet too.

Winter can get VERY dark

I wrote a poem a few months ago, in December.

It’s called Together….

I stood above you 

With an axe

Wanting to slay 

Slicing you in two

Soaking the pillow with your warm, crimson blood

With hate at the end of my fingers

Wanting to wrap them around your neck

Squeezing so tightly 

Your eyes bulge and your nose turns blue

Those lips of yours, they’d quiver in fear 

I stood above you 

With fever in my eyes

Salty sweat engulfing you  

Watching you drown

Wanting to drink back my tears

Filling my belly like a balloon

I stood above you 

And if I were to burst

My guts would cover you 

Together dead

As it has always been.

The End. Need I say more?

Being Ordinary

I AM outstandingly ordinary.

Totally ordinary and doing it to the best of my ability.

I once wanted to be EXTRA-ordinary, in a way we’re fed being extra-ordinary is. And by the way, being extra-ordinary is different to being EXTRA, I AM extra and not afraid to say 🙂

We’re fed that extra-ordinary is having a ton of money and being noticed or having a career that means ‘something’. Or now, in these modern days, being an activist or social influencer totally makes you ‘somebody’.

Being a star, being watched and admired and reflected upon. I wanted that, when I was a rebel-do-care teenager. Wanting all that didn’t go away either, everything I did during my 20’s, there was always a “does this make me somebody?” “Am I standing out?” “What am I going to gain from doing this?” “Can I make MORE money?” 

And I’m not too sure how making money makes you extra-ordinary but it seems to carry that weight and I was first in line to hold that lie, totally convinced I’d be happy, only when I was extra-ordinary and proving myself.

Proving to who? I’m thinking about that as I’m typing, who was I trying to prove something to?

The WORLD!… I would have said that back then.

I am standing tall, with ‘success’ beneath my feet and people wanting to ‘be’ me. Totally laughable now, who the hell did I think I wanted to be? God maybe? Some kind of capitalist warmonger? I would have totally argued against the latter in my 20’s. 

“I am a really nice person!… but fucking LOVE me and think of me more than you think of yourself!”

It was absolutely that extreme, and if humans were totally honest with themselves, about 80% of our daily thoughts are pretty irrational and extreme, without our even noticing. 

Example A: Years ago, I woke up during the night, I’d just moved into a flat in London so it was all new. It was a flat share, and I was the first to move in so I was alone that night. I couldn’t sleep as I never do someplace new and every noise had me jumping out of my skin. I decided, now dosed up to the eyeballs in fear, to get a glass of water as that’s what people do through the night when they’re terrified and living in a horror movie, and in my mind, my life at the very moment was being written by Stephen King.

There was a flashing blue light coming from the bathroom. 

What the hell is that? 

By this point I was utterly petrified and had come to the unquestionable conclusion it was aliens. They’d landed in my little east London flat and wanted to take me away to experiment on me. I crept to the door, as you do, because again in horror films they always creep towards danger and mass murderers. I flung the door open as my heart skipped a beat.

It was my electric toothbrush on charge. 

Oh yeah, it does that. I remembered.

Point is, our thoughts are more often than not, irrational. 

This need I had to be extra-ordinary was a lot like walking towards the blue flashing light… flipping scary (because honestly, who thrives with that level of responsibility, being extra-ordinary to those outside of themselves), turning out to be not what I originally thought it to be (a story created by my focus of attention, blown up and morphed into this cosmic, otherworldly creation) and once the cover is blown, it’s totally something ‘normal’ and ‘everyday’ and gets kind of same-same and part of life after while.

Extra-ordinary is ordinary jazzed up with glitter and disco balls. People, for sure, do extra-ordinary things but again, extra-ordinary is what many do in an ordinary day like be a wonderful friend, or love their child, or adopt an animal or human, or choose to smile more than frown in a day, or grieve, or walk or breathe! (being alive is extra-ordinary!) 

Is this ‘preachy’? I’m becoming more and more conscious of how we have an idea about something, like an ‘ah-ha’ moment and think ‘this has to be HEARD!’… we share like we’re the gurus who know-it-all and boom, you’ve just contributed to this ever-expanding self-help culture that can feel over-opinionated, and extremely confusing, on the daily. 

BUT 

Sharing can be extremely helpful and healing too.

Side note: I have a lentil pie in the oven which I’m very excited to eat in about 10 minutes. Overshare? No such thing in this day and age, right?

Food, eating, enjoying it, now that is EXTRA-ORDINARY!

I’m off to eat pie.

Thinking about… Letting go.

I think letting go of something you created is the importance of creating it in the first place. 

That you’re not creating something to keep hold of it, you’re creating something because if you don’t, you’ll go a little loopy. Just me?? Ok then.

There’s this sense that when you put your ‘heart and soul’ into something, you have to have something to show for it. Like nothing is worth doing unless you get something back. That you’re only as worthy as what you can essentially get back for what you share with others.

And us humans have skills! We’re innovative, we’re artist, we like numbers and structure and symmetry and enjoy working within those fields of thought. We want to be seen, like stars in the sky. We want to feel like we’re moving things, like water moves driftwood. We’re attracted to colour and want to show off, like a peacock struts his intricately designed tail. We’re all things natural and Earthly, but there can be a thought pattern that makes you feel you’re not worthy on this planet unless you’re being paid to be part of it. This makes total sense in my head 🙂

My mental and physical sickness comes in waves, and when I feel totally off and my body aches and I can’t think about anything other than how much I’m hating on myself for not being ‘that’ woman who keeps her house and mind and nails tidy and smooth… when I’m on that rock, I have to create. This could be writing, drawing, cooking, singing (alone) or talking to myself like I’m in a film… I truly think my sanity depends on my ‘madness’.

And then once something is created, I have to let it go. Otherwise it all becomes like a smelly pond, and I add more and more until it spills out, wets my feet and I become a damp mess!

And that’s why blogging is so great!

I mean, I’m new to this game and know nothing about how to blog, I picked the simplest layout I could find and tadah! (there’s no way I’ll use this platform to its maximum potential as I just want to write stuff, press publish and be on my way).

It’s the Publish option I love, like I’m writing my own mini novel, every entry. That once I’ve written something, there’s a button that pretty much says ‘and now I’m complete, thank you and goodbye.’ 

I don’t have to keep it sitting in a folder on my laptop (which I have plenty of, full of unread poems and short stories, I feel I’m hoarding words!)

I’ve been thinking about the whole copyright thing, that if I am thinking something, I can guarantee that someone, somewhere is thinking the same thing. I am not original enough or special to think that I am the only one who has thought a certain idea or created something so specific that it only does and can belong to me. To think that ideas belong to you is like thinking that when you breathe, the outbreath is your piece of air, that any residue inhaled by another is stealing.

I mean, I don’t think we own anything but I don’t want to get too deep 600 words in. I will say that I believe the concept of owning something or someone is one of the biggest illusions us humans hold so tightly onto and creates a whole world of pain.

Death seems to creep into all avenues of our life, and this, what I’m writing right now, is a fleeting thought. I’ll soon press the Publish button and tomorrow, I’ll have something new bubbling up… and now I’m thinking too much about this entry and should I press publish, or delete?!

And now I’m complete, thank you and goodbye. 

Thinking about… death, again! (with a hint of faith)

Yes, I’m thinking about death, again. 

How can I not, were in the middle of a pandemic and the ‘news’ headlines have this crafty way of getting to you, invited or not. I’ve never been so confronted with people dying before. Figures, every day, and these figures grow and numbers become so many I’m not sure what to do with that information. My empathy levels are lessening, and that scares a little bit of crap out of me! My nervous system is crying yet my body feels a little numb and emotionally, I feel like I’m totally coping yet the smallest thing makes me want punch a hole in the wall. I’m coping, yes, but coping is what us humans do, we don’t have to do it well. However, flowing and surrendering, that is another matter.

In my thinking of death, in my thinking of how transitory this living malarkey is and how seriously we take it yet it can go in a flash, the one thing that feels more important than ever is faith.

Faith is such a strange thing as I find it a tough one to put into words. I don’t think faith can be explained, which is why religions have a million and one interpretations. I was brought up a Christian but what does that mean? I believe in Christ? I didn’t, I went to church every Sunday because I didn’t get a choice, not because I loved Jesus. I got bored, I sat and kicked my feet against the pew in-front of me and I got a look from mum that said ‘keep doing that and you’re in serious trouble young lady’. I listened to that look, my brother not so much and would often crawl across the floor, mum not noticing until it was too late to grab a leg and slide him back. Basically, it was just a thing, being a Christian was a thing I was and church was what I did. 

‘It’s in the Bible!!’

That was the answer I got to most of my questions as I grew more aware of the contradictions. I did try and read the Bible but I still didn’t get answers – I was a kid and kids are more literal and Jesus walking on water didn’t make sense to my questions of why do bad things happen and where do we go when we die? Nobody could explain, because honestly, no one knows! Heaven forbid that adults didn’t actually understand the bible either.

It’s like Shakespeare. No-one totally ‘gets it’. We read it at school and most of us were ‘what the hell does this even mean?’ and to appear clever and witty, we’d nod during English and plagiarise something smart we read, offloading it like it was our own. Or was that just me?? I bet Shakespeare didn’t even know… it’s poetry, his way of making sense of something that, in the end, doesn’t really mean anything.

And that is faith, interpretation. 

Now, I believe in Christ but in such a different way to how I thought it should be. Actually, I don’t believe in Christ, I believe Christ when I hear what is spoken to me through prayer, or when I meditate and feel ALL that Love.

I don’t label myself a Christian as I don’t need to. I connect with Jesus and that is that. I don’t have to be in some ruled existence or contract to say if I don’t do or say certain things, I’m a sinner or ‘wrong’. Nope, that is not how Christ works for me. See, interpretation. 

And death is so much a part of faith. My faith is strengthening the more I contemplate death. I’m watching myself and my parents age, I can see they’re not able to do things with as much ease as they once did. I can feel my body change and my dreams float away like little clouds passing, once gone, I can’t see them anymore. I can’t even remember their shape or distance from me. I can’t ‘be’ the me I was 10 years ago, she’s gone, my imagining of her has to die, otherwise the way I live my life gets really warped and frustrations with my ever-ageing body will get deeper and deeper until I end up hating what is inevitable, an ever-changing physicality. And I’ve been there, that warped place, I still go there some days and it’s always as I remember it, pretty dark.

So death, she’s in my thoughts and she’s feeding my faith and some days fear wins and I’m shit scared of losing what I have. Yet, knowing death IS happening, somehow that keeps my faith alive and day by day, faith grows. I like to see faith as a tree and when the sun shines or the moon is bright, fear is the shade below her branches. The shade is forever moving yet the tree, she don’t move an inch.