Our body-temples are divinely designed to restore themselves, but we must rest in order to do so. For rest is not a reward…it is our birthright. And rest helps us to indulge in soft sacred spaces where we are reminded that we are intrinsically worthy of love, concern, care, and pleasure. – Sensual Faith, Lyvonne Briggs
The weekend passed in a haze of pain. Being in pain is tiring. I’ve been keeping moving, not wanting to sit for too long and stiffen up.
My visual journaling practice has been helping to shift my energy. It’s been spreading positive vibes at a time when I could be feeling less positive. My mobility is compromised and I’m feeling it.
I’m not feeling sorry for myself but I have been annoyed with myself. I’m trying to offer more compassion and understanding towards myself and looking at this time of injury as I chance to reflect and learn.
What would I do differently? What do I need to listen to / heed to more? I was following no one else’s instruction than my own when I said I as going out Saturday. Through sheer pig-headedness I continued on my way, even thought I saw the path was dangerous. I didn’t want to be seen as having difficulty in walking. I didn’t want others to judge me as incapable or old even.
I didn’t want to give up on my plans, on myself, not wanting to be beaten I carried on even when my gut was saying turn around and go back home.
But I got beaten anyway and in a much worse way. I’m learning and listening now because I don’t have a choice.
I’m learning how everything is so precarious and one false move everything can change. I didn’t think I was taking things, my life and body for granted. But maybe I was/ still am.
Things have to change. I’m lucky that I have the time and space to bring about this change. Slowly does it indeed. I’m got nothing to prove to myself or anyone else. And I must remember this. No one is watching me as everyone else is focusing on their own shit.
It’s me who’s putting on the pressure, the expectations, the rules and regulations. It’s me who has to let go and surrender.
The sign says: The garden is CLOSED. So that the grass can recover.
Ashe.
This week has been a blessing.
This week was back to school week but things could have been worse. A cold weather front has hit the UK. Yes it’s cold up North but it could have been worse. At least we’ve had the light. And it’s remained dry even if each morning the windscreen has been frozen.
I’m grateful because I’ve had the privilege of spending quality time with Miss Ella and supporting her on her journey to her GCSE mock examinations. She’s capable, she just needs to believe in herself more. And that’s where I can come in, for sure.
I’m grateful because I managed to get into the sea twice this week. And there’s still time for more. The sea produced some big waves which were beautiful and dangerous. There was a lot of jumping waves and giggling like the little girl I didn’t get to be when growing up.
I’m grateful to be able to control where I direct my time and energy. At the moment that is all towards myself, first thing, and then I’m ready for what the rest of the day throws at me.
I’m grateful to nature ( until I find a better way of referring to her/ me/ us) as I take my cues and guidance from her and continue to hibernate and rest and dream. LUSH.
Magical wake up view.
I’m choosing to end 2024 with gratitude. I’m choosing to give thanks for 2024 and to recognise the abundance.
Checking through my visual journals of the year and there is evidence of joy and creativity and love but there is also difficulty, scarcity and rage.
But here on the precipice of 2025, I’m choosing to focus on the present and the gifts that 2024 has given me.
In this moment, on New Year’s Eve, I am grateful to have returned to one of my favourite places in the world to bring in the New Year; Glencoe, the Scottish Highlands.
Anyone following my blog from last year will know this is where I spent the New Year last/ this year, 2023 into 2024. My friend of old and I were booked into The Kinghouse Hotel here for their New Year’s celebration package. It was a luxurious affair and reminded me of a holiday camp as we were bombarded with activities, food and drink and entertainment for 4 days. And it snowed.
This year there is no such luxury but that doesn’t take away from my joy and gratitude for being here now. I’m in Glencoe, for the first time, with Kiwi my campervan. This trip up in the wind and rain and dark is fulfilling a dream of mine. To park up for many nights in the shadow of my favourite mountain Etive.
I’ve just been sitting in my van, watching the clouds roll over the peaks. I’ve totally slowed down and have finally started to appreciate the hibernation mode which started in November, with fits and starts as I kept getting disturbed.
I’m grateful that I have the privilege of being able to hibernate, to escape from the world of work and commitments to rest and dream. I’m tightening my belt, living frugally in certain ways, so I can have the next few months off work. Off the clock, off the colonial clock. Because I think, no I know, that 2024 burnt me out. Not just from the amount of work but also from the kind of work of was. I spent hours and energy supporting other people’s dreams in a system which doesn’t recognise our humanity never-mind our dreams. Daily I was going to battle, constantly having to repeat myself as well as explain and justify our existence and right to life/ work/ dreams/ success. It was tiring and demoralising and traumatic. It is only now that I can allow the sheer weight of it to fall away as I’ve been carrying it for a long time. And I’m tired.
So to be in the Highlands, on my own terms, in my own space, not having to see or talk or be with anyone else, is my happy place. And I’m grateful for it.
There is a severe weather warning up here. Edinburgh has cancelled its New Year celebrations because of this weather. High winds, rain, a lot of rain and maybe snow. For the last few nights, I’ve felt the wind and rain lash against Kiwi, we’ve been rocking and rolling but we’re safe and warm and I’m grateful for that.
I’m like in a little cocoon. I have everything I need to wait out the storm, two duvets and thermal clothing, water and food all help for which I am truly grateful. Because I’m living off grid as well as learning to live with less. And with that does come a lot of gratitude.
I recognise it in the food I prepare and eat here. Little plates of goodness which are simple but nourishing and enough.
So as I plan to wave goodbye to 2024 and welcome in 2025, I’m cocooned within a circle of gratitude for what is now in the present moment. I’m warm and safe and have a feast for my eyes and tastes and soul to keep me satisfied. I’m very grateful to be able to continue to live out my dreams on my own terms. Thank you x
A small stone is a few words or lines that tried to describe a moment observed; a fragment that tried to capture a moment.
A small stone creates an intimacy with whatever is being observed. It creates a close relationship with whatever is true in the world rather than being distant and disconnected.
A small stone forces us to slow down and connect with the world around us. I used to have this as a daily practice as I tried to tune into my experiences within the world. As I tried to become aware of the beauty within each moment.
As I dive deeper into hibernation mode this winter, I’m resurrecting the practice of a small stone a day because I’ve been feeling out of sorts. I’ve been feeling disconnected from my surroundings, from nature, from this beautiful world around me.
I want to pay attention more, I want to be once more aware. More awake. A small stone a day is a practice that will support my journey of being on this world and wanting to be more sympathetic to others, be less judgemental and more open.
So I’m giving myself December to get back into the practice is a small stone a day. You are more than welcome to join me.
I share my new poetry collection Darkling, come 7 November, 6-7.30 pm (GMT). I’m excited about speaking these words aloud in company. There’s something magical happens when we give voice to our creations. Allow the words, language to reverberate through our bodies. We come to the words almost anew, a fresh and feel all the emotions and meanings as they enfold again and for the first time.
I know it’s going to be an emotional session to share as this book was a long time in the making. I’ve changed so much in its creation. But I’m ready.
I share a poem with you today from Darkling. And please join me in its launch next week.
found poem: we arrived here with stars in our hair and needles between our toes*
after drea brown
be autumn/ be siskin/ be slick
twilight licks our dark skin
deep within the forest
straining through spruce/ larch and pine
(trial & error I learnt their names/ names
are never easy on black bodies)
living within the unknown (out)side
where history is wet/ with memory/ & muchness
within the shadows/ within the wake
we search/ for a tenderness in the brokenness
breathing in/ in-between spaces
tongue locked/ tongue packed/ tongue tied
we be/ but not be/
unfurling like tight fisted ferns
brown bruised/ violence against ourselves
into the woods/ in flight/ in creep creek/
in restless/ motherless moan
shapeshifting/ combing the black air/
what would happen/ if we linger
in the midst/
/////////slow////////down////////slow//////motion///////
refusing to be absent for ourselves/////////slow///////breathing//////
together/ listening to each other/ listening
to this haunting presence/refusing to play dead/
stay dead/
*the title is inspired by something within Paul Taylor, ‘Black Aesthetics’, Philosophy Compass 5/1 2010.
<https://sites.hampshire.edu/blackaesthetics/files/2017/03/taylorpaul-blackaesthetics.pdf>
I’m not sure how much I’ve shared here. I’m not sure if I wanted to speak it into existence out of fear of jinxing it. Maybe.
Last year, my last publisher Andy Croft got in contact with me asking for my poetry collection. Smokestack Books is planning to close its publishing doors and Andy wanted to go out having published my next collection.
We have a history as Andy published Laventille (2015) and stood by me throughout the whole ‘shit-hit-the-fan’ experience when my life and profession and writing were ruined ( or there was an attempt to ruin me as I’m still here to tell the tale).
So I said yes, maybe naively. As since then I’ve been on a rollercoaster of feelings as I attempted to bring the collection into existence.
Darkling was the result.
At some point I will share some of the poems within the collection. Some of the poems started within this blog. But even though I just got asked last year to complete this collection, I feel, no I know, this collection has been nine years in the making. Ever since Sheree Mack was cancelled in May 2015, I’ve been making my way back to Sheree Mack, someone I didn’t even know existed until she was forced to start again from nothing to building a much stronger and truer foundation.
Darkling is Smokestack Books swan song. Darkling is my rebirth song.
There will be a reading planned of the collection with special guests as support. Check out the details here. Thursday 7 November, 6-7.30pm (GMT).
Living Wild Studios 