Dishing the dirt on diaries

Went through some of my old box of diaries in the garage and was quite depressed by the groaning complaining tone of many of them.  Adolescence can be so totally self-centred that even reading one’s own personal perspective makes you want to smack your younger self!  At this particular age, you are generally the hero of the movie and every other person in your life is an extra.  Not of great importance and usually ignored, resented or actively disliked by the perpetually embarrassed adolescent.  One friend pointed out that her 13-year-old daughter told her, across the dining table, that she couldn’t stand the sound of her mother’s breathing!  But along with the growing recognition of one’s self-preoccupation over the years the diaries have occasional gems.  I found this interaction with my teenage eldest son, captured as we wrote in the diary to each other as we sat side by side at a summer school talk in Greece.  It was fascinating to see his handwriting and mine on the page as we discussed stuff.

Me: What makes for a good speaker?

Son: Authenticity, systematic but also give an interactive presentation.  They should be confident, and knowledgeable and speak loudly with excitement. 

I have a vague memory of the speaker we were listening to as we wrote was quietly speaking in a monotone as he read head down from his notes.

Me: What is the reaction of an audience to a good speaker?

Son: They don’t try and correct the translation.

It was a Greek Summer school and any English talks were translated into Greek.  Unfortunately, some of those in the audience who could understand both languages would often complain about poor translations.  Such interruptions could entail ten minutes of excited arguments about the correct words to be used.  The visiting Speaker would stand confused as shouting and arguments in Greek seemed to follow everything they said. 

Me: But what should the audience get from the experience?

Son: It shouldn’t show until they check the sources used themselves and reach their own level of understanding, I guess.

Me: Is spirituality equivalent to following the Will of God for the age in which you live? 

Son: Nope! I think spirituality is the quality of human consciousness and soul on a level that equates with the harmony animals have with nature.

Me: Thanks, I think I understand you, but deep stuff!

My Son just drew this in response.

Here are an assortment of entries from all the years of writing that resonate still.  They remind me of so much I’d forgotten but also allow time for reflection. We live in such a reactive mode these days that it is rare to have time to really look back and learn the many lessons life has schooled us in.

• Some plants can only be distinguished by the differing parasites that infest them. Some mindsets can only be distinguished by the differing prejudices they exhibit.
• Strange, but I can see for the first time quite clearly why there is a need for an integrity of nature in those with whom we live. There is an honesty and dignity with which they carry themselves despite what they encounter. You know with certainty that even if you fell out with them and never associated with them again they would never backbite about you. It is because their code of behaviour is not dependent upon the fragile bond of human fellowship, but draws its strength from a higher source.
• A joy, intense and wonderful lifts my heart, and makes me smile at it all. How glorious is life, how intense, how abiding! Love should be like sunlight, blinding all, with its glory, curing all with its bounties.

Kicking the Breeze

Sitting with my son

Kicking the breeze

Time to be silent

Time to chat

The luxury of hours and days

Rather than minutes and seconds

The delight of real hugs

Not blowing kisses at skype screens

Awakening to a loved one

Padding around the flat

Filling memory banks

With rich anecdotes

Of music making

Word crafting

Thought inducing moments

Make me realise

Such conversations are a process

As ancient as the hills

As noble as Socrates

As profound as morning light

Bringing illumination

to the hurting heart

Letter to a Son

Del (my cousin) flies back tomorrow and it has been a whirlwind of meals/hotel and outings.  The upside is a whole range of experiences that I would otherwise have missed.  The hotel on Gozo was lovely, not far from the Azure window and has an amazing Turkish spa.  Marble tiles with basins of hot and cold water and ornate bowls with which to pour the stuff over you.   The tiles on the huge table and benches/walls are heated.  So whether you lie prone or sit leaning against the walls you are embraced by the wet warmth.  

Power showers are everywhere/plunge pools/swimming pools with massive waterfalls that blast your shoulder muscles into submission.  In the entrance of the spa are jugs of scented oil with which to anoint hair and skin.  Next to the Hamman is a darkened room with sun lounges/cushions laid out among the candles and low meditative music plays you lie tranquil surrounded by the novelty of no distractions.  Your mind settles like a pool without occupants.  A glass stillness reflecting your reflections.  Del and I lay in total silence for an hour, well, Del slept actually.  

In fact, I have observed Del can fall asleep on a canteen table, on three seats in the ferry terminal, prone on a sun-baked wall and even on a bench overlooking the coast.  She even fell asleep ipad crushed between forearms, hands together in supplication.  It is a great gift from God to be able to sleep anywhere!  

I look on amazed and struck by how different we all are.  It is so precious to share time with others as it opens a window to a completely different world.  Most of the time we have to settle for our own small keyhole on things.  I have meaning to write to you for sometime and then didn’t get round to it.  I need to warm up so as to speak.  Get my writing going again.  So forgive my rustiness.  

So satisfying to have those wonderful drawings of yours pour out and thanks for sharing them with me.  I studied them and their names with interest.  When being creative it is hard to know where the pen will go next but it is delightful to see creation unfold.  It is in that inner absorption that makes magic appear and you are fortunate indeed to have a magic wand (pen/pencil) that takes you to such a mysterious place.  Opening that door to an inner place in all of us that we cannot miss out on.

I’d love to see you with your own little art studio room all set up with implements at the ready and walls covered with your creations.  Being able to go to that place whenever the need/desire came.  If I’m honest I’d also love to see you surrounded with lovely people that bask in your ability to love and who also radiate that back.  Being able to have those wonderful nurturing conversations that you engender in all that meet you.  

For me having my own children blew my mind and heart.  It’s like producing a piece of art that is better than anything you can devise.  A part of you and the one you love but better than both of you.  A masterpiece that changes with each day but lodges itself deep within your heart.  With each hug and laugh they embed hooks deep within heart muscle making you melt with joy.  I regret many things I have done.  Wish I’d done so many things differently/wisely/patiently but you three boys have made my life joyous despite all my stumbling.  

Know how much you bring to my life.  How I hug myself in delight at your happiness and am inconsolable when worries cloud your day.  If I had my way I would have wrapped you all in cotton wool protected from all harm but what sort of life is that?  No, I must celebrate your freedom, your independence, your successes and triumphs however hard won.  

Choose good people to have around.  Such fellowship cleanses the rust from off our heart and allows us to lower the barriers that are needed to protect us from others!  There are definitely those that suck us dry emotionally and there are those that we find in their presence our souls grow.  We become people we like more, not less.  Keeping your finger on that pulse that tells us which direction this person brings to us is vital.  You, who are so intuitive, have a great advantage.  I stumble blind in this world, not able to distinguish the good from the bad.  Only through painful experience does my antenna get the message, ‘run, run, run like the wind!’  Well, I did warn you that my writing was rusty so apologies for all this rambling.  I hope you can make more sense of it than I can.  Know that it is sent with all my love and gratitude.  Thanks again for all your love and for making this world sweeter!

Lots of love

Mother does not always know best!

I was a rather novice mother.  Being the youngest of my family I had zero experience of looking after youngsters.  So when I gave birth to my first son I remember the sheer fear that he was suddenly my responsibility.  I distinctly remember feeding him in the hospital bed and then ringing the nurse to return him to his crib.  When she asked why I did not do it myself I answered that I had never walked and carried a small baby and was afraid I may drop him.  I was serious! 

Being allowed to leave the hospital with this small vulnerable creature was terrifying and seemed completely wrong.  How would he survive with me!  It was a cold day and we had to put him in a one-piece coat for the first time.  A lovely elaborate outfit with zips that undid at the top and bottom if you needed to change him.  I have to say despite my fears our son was an ideal baby.  He slept and when not sleeping fed, in fact he was everything that reassured a rather nervous mother like me.  He smiled at everyone and held out his hands to even passing strangers to be picked up.  He just seemed really normal and exceptionally friendly.

That day for the first time he was crying.  It threw me but I changed his nappy to see if that helped.  It didn’t.  I tried to feed him and that didn’t help either.  By now I was running out of ideas, this had never happened before and his cry was louder and more pained.  I carried him, tried to put him to sleep by pushing him in the buggy outside.  Even that did not work and I was about to just let him cry, after all perhaps he was becoming spoiled?  If I just left him in the bedroom for a while alone, to cry himself out, he would learn that crying for attention was no way to behave!

Then, I noticed that the zip at his neck was embedded in his flesh.  While pulling up the zip I had caught a piece of his flesh in it.  The poor thing, how long had he suffered?  Once I released him he quickly returned to his usual happy and friendly nature and didn’t seem to bare any grudges for my blatant incompetence.  That night when he slept I cried beside his cot, furious at my carelessness and devastated at causing him pain.