My time of hibernation is coming to an end and there is a whole heap of resistance. It’s not as if I’ve got loads of work lined up. It’s the thought that my time will not be mine alone, to do with what I want come April and beyond.
I took a major risk taking/ making the time away to rest and dream. But for me there was no other choice. I think I was a bit burnt out around the edges and I needed to pull back and heal. And I have done that but there is no end point for healing. No rubber stamping a certificate.
I continue with my morning routine and hope to continue beyond the hibernation period. And this will be where the true test lies. To continue to love on myself daily before I have to meet the world will make the difference between continuing on the healing journey or coming to a full stop. As there can be no healing and growth and self-love if I don’t protect the time to {BE}.
A few days in the Emerald Isle, staying in Dublin. Walking my little legs off and soaking up the culture and Guinness ( with a dash of blackcurrant).
Here is St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Probably the first building to get my heart a pumping. And I’m thinking gothic. I’m going back to my GCSE studies and Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. And it just really thrilled me. It touched my romantic horror capabilities. The terrible beauty of this world.
It’s a striking Cathedral, made from limestone and is constructed in a gothic style. I recognised its mystery and gloom and yet a feeling of light too. An 800 year old building probably constructed in an ancient well used by St. Patrick himself.
It’s such a beautiful construction as well as having a moody kind of vibe of pointy arches and buttresses and heavy weathered stone. I was just as in my element as I walked the streets of Dublin. And just as the limestone, is greying and dark, but still a hint of lightness, so was the city itself: full of heart with an underbelly of poverty and suffering. A terrible beauty.
“You know life is hard,” my mother once told me with resignation in her voice. She continued, “For years, I’ve been struggling. I’m just plain tired now.” I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or herself , but once again I hardly listened. I was grown, I knew everything. I was a fool. Here one day, gone the next, I never got the chance to agree with my mother; that yes, life is hard. Too damn hard sometimes and there are people, put on this earth, who take it as a personal mission/ vendetta to make it even harder for some people. But hey I’m not here to complain.
This year, I made myself the promise to practice certain things, certain ways of being.
One, to quit the complaining as it only drains my energy.
Two, to stop saying to myself and others that time is flying, that time is going so fast, what’s that all about? (But come on, admit it, time is flying. We’re past mid March already!) Yes stop this stating that time is flying malarky as it’s energy sapping.
And three, to get my arse out of bed each morning, go to my creative corner and practice my visual journalling because this shifts/ boosts/ aligns my energy.
Some days I win, some days I lose but I know just like life, like everything really, it’s a practice. It’s about turning up each day for me and not having an agenda, or any idea what I’m going to create or know down which path my attention will flow. I just know that when I practice my visual journaling, intentionally showing up at my desk each morning, I feel better. Simple.
Yes there are all those insightful and wise deductions I could make about this practice and the effects of it on my creativity, life, work, relationship with self and others. But on the most simplest of levels, it makes me feel better. It sets me up to be present for the rest of my day.
Since November 2023, I’ve been practicing this little old practice of getting into my creative corner and creating/ being. Usually in altered books, or homemade junk journals or hand sewn books. Moving my hands to smear paint across a page, adding text and images, and stickers and sometimes even crafting found poems from cut-outs, makes me happy. I can say that now because I’ve had months of this practice under my belt. And I feel better because of it.
The one word that best describes me is ‘practice’ and I get to be me, daily, each morning with my visual journal practice which makes sure I’m myself from each moment to the next for the rest of the day. And for this I am grateful because my mother might not have found the secret and passed it on but I feel as if I’ve stumbled upon what makes this life less difficult, less hard, less soul destroying. Practice.
Keep checking back for the rest of the week as I’ll be sharing a spread each day from my visual journaling practice. And eventually all will be revealed in a new portfolio page around this practice. Thanks for reading. And see you again soon 🙂
I had the pleasure of driving up the the Sill today for the opening of an exhibition to mark the 10th anniversary of Northumberland National Park and Kielder being designated an International Dark Sky Park.
Ten year again to the day 09 December 2013, this area, the largest in the UK, was recognised as an area of exceptional dark skies and should be protected.
I’m going to explore this further as well as this new word created to describe the pain and grief we feel around the loss of our dark skies: Noctalgia.
Sky grief.
The exhibition commissioned to mark the occasion as well as share the message that we all can be doing something to reduce our light pollution, we created by Beth Maddocks.
It involved a play with light and shadow, and paper and movement and sound. Exploring the nocturnal creatures and flora who depend upon the darkness to survive and who are being forced out as humans move in with their harsh electric lights.
I was inspired by the speeches and films and the exhibition and I’ve become curious.
Where is this year going? It is moving fast. The time that is. I’m still knee deep in my SLOW practice and I’m loving it.
I know it’s getting to the point of going back out; of shifting my energies as I’m feeling a stirring. In my gut mostly. And an excitement fluttering in my chest. For what I do not know. But I’m happy to sit in/ with the feeling for now. Appreciating the joy it brings.
I know I’ve got certain privileges. To be able to turn my back on the world, on work commitments for the first three months of 2023 is a privilege. But I also want to make clear, that I worked my arse off at the back end of 2022 to be able to do this. I’m living frugally in order to reap the benefits of rest and self-care.
I’m so grateful for the time and space to rest and breathe deeply. As well as the capacity to dream and envision a future. I have much faith and trust in what the future will bring. I know I will have to fashion some happenings myself, work out some details and projects. But at the same time, I know that the Universe has a plan also. She’s got my back and I trust she will deliver what is best for me. It might not seem so at the time, and there may be challenges ahead. But I trust her, and I’m allowing my tender heart to mend.
I’ve mentioned before how I’m intentionally leaning into my healing journey. With social episodes each month released with The Earth Sea Love Podcast.
I’m just editing the next two instalments to drop next week and I created a quote for myself which I will share here to end.
My tender heart has been broken many times but, at the same time, I know my healing lives and breathes in the openness of my tender heart.
A 6.30am alarm wakes me. On a Sunday. And the gadget, a smart watch, ringing the alarm is somewhere on a desk somewhere hidden in a dark cold hotel room.
I stumble out of bed blind and unsteady, hand and arms outstretched in front of me, combing the black air, trying to touch something soild. Trying to stop the incessant noise.
I was brought up to fear the dark. It didn’t take my small imagination much to conjure up monsters under the bed and ghosts on landings. Lying perfectly still in my bunk bed pretending to be dead already, the dark dug deep into my psyche so that I grew up fearing my own reflection.
When I’m not watching my weight (come on, when am I not watching my weight?) I enjoy an extra cold pint of Guinness with a shot of blackcurrant to cut through the bitterness. A drink of pure iron. Thick like treacle, it works well as a lining on my stomach before multiple rounds of alcoholic concoctions follow. Who knows? Who cares? But as long as my core swims deep with the dark stuff I’m ready for anything.
On our living room wall in our maisonette flat in Bradford where I grew up, we had a velvet scroll depicting two islands. The land was made up of bright green stitched thread. The towns and villages were named in golden thread. Bright red blazed across the top, ‘The Islands of Trinidad and Tobago.’ I’m not sure if we were ever told but our dad came from those islands. It was a silent fact. I liked to touch the thread, when I got the chance. The stitching was tight and taut. My eyes, though, were pulled into the expansive black crushed velvet Caribbean Sea wondering how he survived the swim over to the U.K.
I thought these smart gadgets were supposed to make your life easier. Why wasn’t it flashing neon green, or red even, at the same time as sounding an alarm, giving me some clue as to it’s whereabouts? I felt I could have done better with my eyes shut. But I’ve been living that way for far too long. Now with eyes wide open to the dark, I’ve become wise to the tricks of history. I’m woke.
Living Wild Studios 