Drifting on a Dream

2007-07-19T20:55:00.001+01:00

And for this ... I am grateful

Gratefulness in the Now

2007-07-19T20:00:00.001+01:00

'Acceptance' has been my key word throughout the trials of my life. 'Acceptance' has lifted me, held me, carried me, embraced me and - ultimately -granted me permission to move forward.
'Acceptance facilitates us to be in the 'now'.
Here, as we listen to Brother David Steindl-Rast and Roshi Joan Halifax speaking of gratefulness in the 'now', Brother David also touches on 'Acceptance'. Simple words from these two inspirational people - yet such wisdom.

And Then There Was Light!

2007-07-12T00:59:00.000+01:00

When I started this blog I had expected, as a counsellor specialising in loss and bereavement, to devote much of my writings to the subject. Instead, I drifted off into a spontaneous 'wherever the mood takes me' kind of mode. But that was okay, there were no rules, no right or wrongs. Until - that is - I began to sense a lack of satisfaction, direction, or purpose for the blog. I came to realise that the only pleasure I derived from the blog was the contact with some very special people (you all know who you are), but this alone made it more than worthwhile.

Shortly after starting the blog a major incident took place in my life, the effects of which are still ongoing. I know that this influenced my inability to go beneath the surface on any subject. so I just drifted on, aimlessly.

However, yesterday I called in on the lovely Susan's blog, 'Anna's Place'. I left a couple of comments but felt there was so much more that I wanted to say on the subject. Suffice to say that Susan has inspired me to get back on track with this blog, to share my thoughts, experience and knowledge on loss, grief and bereavement.

Thank you, dearest Susan.

'Anna's Place' can be found on www.shareyourgrief.blogspot.com

What's a Girl to do?

2007-07-05T00:28:00.000+01:00

Much of my country
is flooded.

All of my country
is on critical
terrorist alert.

So I shall gorge on posh strawberries...

And what's

left of the
ice-cream

After all, it is Wimbledon

Even though relentless rain did stop play.

So ... I ask ... What's a girl to do?

Ashes and Snow

2007-06-27T18:37:00.000+01:00

For those of you who enjoyed discovering Ashes and Snow when I featured the website on an earlier post, here is a litttle reminder ...
Ashes and Snow is photographer Gregory Colbert's extraordinary project that illuminates his vision of a world in which animals peacefully coexist with humans. It is an ongoing project that weaves together photographic works, a film, art installations and a novel in letters.
Ashes and Snow attempts to lift the natural and artificial barriers between humans and other species, dissolving the distance that exists between them. The project aims to reawaken in us an understanding of our shared animal nature. This insight will affect the way we behave in our environment and help us find the empathy and wisdom to interact peacefully in a world that was once one.
The Nomadic Museum is the permanent home of Ashes and Snow, a traveling exhibition of Colbert's work. Proceeds from the Nomadic Museum fund the charitable activities of Flying Elephants Foundation. You will also find the link for Flying Elephants Foundation on http://www.ashesandsnow.org/ I just love reading about their wonderful work. Enjoy ...

A Seat of Learning

2007-06-21T15:14:00.000+01:00

Many years ago - and it wasn't in my time, and it wasn't in your time - there lived, in a remote part of Wales, a young man. He was a shepherd and spent his days and nights looking after a few sheep that he had inherited from his parents before they died. He was very poor, for the sheep brought him little income. He had barely enough to feed and clothe himself with. But he had his dreams. Dreams of a successful future, in which he saw himself studying at a great seat of learning, and using his knowledge to make a great impression on the world. He dreamed of a world in which all young people would have an opportunity to go to school and study in order to improve the quality of their lives and multiply their opportunities. Just as he himself had longed to do.

And although he very much loved the sheep in his care, the beauty of the countryside, the passing of the seasons, and the joy of waking each new day, he sensed there was more to life than this. And somehow he knew that to achieve what he wanted he would somehow have to make his own fortune.

In the summer months he would spend much of his time in the high pastures of the Welsh hills where it was quiet and solitary. Often he would sleep in the ruins of an abandoned chapel, curling up beside the stone walls, sheltering under what remained of the roof, and protected from the weather by the leaves of a great oak tree that had, many years before, seeded itself in the floor of the old church, and now spread its huge branches and leaf canopy above and beyond the confines of the ruined walls.

One night , as he slept here, the boy had a dream. And the dream planted a seed. The boy dreamed that a strange figure, dressed from head to foot in white and green, had come to him and said, "Why do you remain here? If you wish to live your dream, wake up! Do not wait for the world to give you what you seek. Take action! What you want, you must seek. Go to London. On London Bridge your fortune waits. That's where you'll find it. Go seek."

And the acorn in his mind began to grow, and he sold his sheep, saying goodbye solemnly to each one, and began to plan the long walk to London. He took with him sheep's cheese to taste, and pure Welsh spring water to drink, and with the freshness of the upland smells in his clothes and in his hair, he set off. He crossed wide valleys and roaring rivers, he skirted sprawling cities and hiked high hills, he traced the tracks of traders, always heading south and east, until finally he arrived at the great metropolis of London Town.

Now in those days, London Bridge was rather different than it is today. It had many, many arches, and on each side of the bridge, all the way across the river, were shops and houses. The bridge was crowded, bustling with all kinds of life. There were merchants standing in the doorways of their shops shouting their wares. There were horses and carts bringing people and animals to and from the market, the rich passing by in their carriages, and the poor passing by on foot, peering into shop windows at things they couldn't afford. All the world was there, in all its richness. The sights, smells, and sounds of bustling city life.

The young shepherd arrived one day at noon. He had never seen so much activity, or heard so much noise, or felt such excitement in his life. But he was on a mission to find his fortune, so he walked along the length of the bridge to find his destiny. And then he walked back to find where he might have missed it. And returned again. And back again. Time and again, all afternoon and evening, searching for what he could not find. He searched long into the night, long after everybody had gone home, until, exhausted, he finally slumped down in a shop doorway and slept.

He dreamed of his sheep that now he very much missed...

Until he got woken rudely at six o'clock in the morning by a sharp kick in the ribs. "Oi! Get up you little rascal," roared the merchant whose doorway he had slept in. "Whatch'er up ter? I been watchin' ya'll yes'day art' noon'n'evenin'. Watch'er up ter? Walkin' up 'n down. Nosin' in at all the shops. Lookin' at cracks in the pavin' stones. Wondrin' what might fall off the back o' carts. I've a good mind ter turn y'over t' law. Wha's yer game, son?"

"I came here to seek my fortune," stammered the shepherd. "I had a dream."

The merchant rolled his eyes. A small crowd had gathered. "You'll have to do better 'an that, sunshine. Tell us about this dream o' yours, then."

The shepherd explained about the stranger in the white and green robe. "He told me I'd find my fortune here on London Bridge. So I came here all the way from Wales, sold all my sheep see, to find it."

The merchant roared with laughter. "Pay no attention to dreams. Dreams are for fools, children, old women, and the likes. Take my advice, get a proper job, and get on with your life. Work and destiny; that's what matters. Now, move on."

"But my dream ... "

"Listen," cut in the merchant. "Dreams are a waste of space. They're just the devils work. I had a dream m'self last night ... but I'd as soon cut my own throat as take any notice of it. Let me see now. There I was, on a high Welsh hillside, and there was an old ruin church, made of stone and with no roof, and in the middle of that ruin there grew an enormous tree. An oak tree. And there I see, buried deep under the soil, between the roots of that vast oak, a chest of treasure, hidden in haste long ago by a one-eyed pirate. Hah! It's just a dream, a childish fantasy. That's all. Nothing more."

But the young shepherd had already gone, heading back north and west to the Welsh hills. Heading back to the land of his fathers, towards the sweet smelling pastures of the uplands he had left behind so many weeks ago. And it wasn't long before he started digging.

******

The Shepherd never did go to a seat of learning, but he did something else instead. He used his fortune - the pirate's treasure - profitably, and in time became a wealthy merchant, the richest in those parts. And with his profits he built schools, he attracted the best teachers, he offered scholarships for the poor. And it wasn't long before that particular part of his native land had as rich and diverse a culture as any other place in the kingdom.

Today you can still find his statue at the centre of the town where he built his first seat of learning for the poor and underprivileged.

Follow your dream

And seek it out

Your fortune may be closer than you think

Notice all that is around you

Do not dismiss an acorn

However small

For the acorn is the father to the oak.

Primary sources: Hugh Lupton, Paolo Coelho, Sufi tradition

Something Beautiful Remains

2007-06-13T00:26:00.000+01:00

The tide recedes but leaves behind
Bright seashells in the sand
The sun goes down, but gentle warmth
Still lingers on the land
The music stops, and yet it echoes
On in sweet refrains
For every joy that passes
Something beautiful remains

Nine years ago today, my remarkable husband died. But something beautiful remains.
A few days ago, my best friend's husband died. But something beautiful remains.

Thoughts in Flight

2007-06-11T18:24:00.000+01:00

What lies behind us and before us are small compared to what lies within.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Metamorphosis

2007-06-11T18:10:00.000+01:00

"There is nothing in a caterpillar

that tells you

it's going to become a butterfly "

Buckminster Fuller

Just an Ordinary Day

2007-06-04T13:56:00.000+01:00

Why is it that the ordinary days are really the special days?

Today, with my delightful grandaughter, I sat on nature's velvet green carpet of grass.

We made a very, very, long daisy chain.

Later, I played a Pooh Bear game with my imaginative little grandson.

As I said ... just an ordinary day.

So True

2007-06-02T13:48:00.000+01:00

A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart

And can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words

Head Over Heels in Nostalgia

2007-05-18T00:13:00.000+01:00

If time can be captured in an hour glass

I will fill it with beautiful memories

And flip it over and over again

A Bit of Self Indulgence

2007-05-12T16:07:00.000+01:00

When I started this blog it had been my loose intention to jot down current thoughts or feelings. Initially a bit nervous, I held back, as is touched on in my very first post. I became aware that most of my jottings were the sharing of other peoples words (poetry, stories etc) - albeit representative of my own sentiments. Just at the stage when I would have begun to give more of 'myself' my life was impacted on in an incredible way (ref Twenty Twenty Vision post). Such is the legal and covert nature of this incident that I am not allowed - as yet - to speak of it even to my closest friends. And yet it is consuming my whole being. So when it comes to being restricted to jottings of a lighthearted or non-personal theme I feel stifled, frustrated and - at worst - insincere. I am a very open character and ache to share my shock and outrage, my deep sorrow and my sheer disbelief at what has happened.

Now I am disappointed in myself for mentioning something again of which I cannot elaborate. It's not fair on any would-be reader. But I needed to come on here and be who I really am and be where I'm really at just now. And if that means writing about something that I cannot write about, then so be it!
I know I'm being really selfcentred today but you know - I don't care - I need this even though I hate 'me me' pieces where the 'I' key gets a battering.
Anyway, it's cathartic and it worked. I feel a lot better - though foolish - now. : -)

When Your Hut's On Fire

2007-05-09T16:15:00.000+01:00

The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhibited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him. Everyday he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming. Exhausted he eventually managed to build a little hut from driftwood to protect him from the elements and to store his few possessions.

One day, after searching for food during a tropical thunderstorm, he arrived back to find his little hut in flames,with smoke rolling up to the sky. He felt the worst had happened and everything was lost. He was stunned with disbelief, grief and anger. He cried out "God! How could you do this to me?" He drifted off into a restless sleep.

As dawn broke, he awakened to the sight of a ship approaching the island. It had come to rescue him. "How did you know I was here?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal." they replied.

The moral of the story:

It's easy to get discouraged when things are going bad but we shouldn't lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of our pain and suffering. Remember that the next time your little hut seems to be burning to the ground - it may just be a smoke signal that summons the grace of God.

I read this on various other blogs (with no original author's name) and as I always like to credit someone I will just have to add a general 'thank you'.

From a Remarkable Daddy

2007-05-05T13:07:00.000+01:00

My eldest son, the remarkable father of my two grandchildren, sent me this...
www.because-movie.com
And, courtesy of 'Walk the Talk', I'd like to share his philosophy with the world.

Driftwood Ashore

2007-04-23T13:45:00.000+01:00

There are times in life when the mind stands still.

Hello

2007-04-18T12:20:00.000+01:00

Just to say 'Hello' to anyone passing through.
Hope to get back to normality soon.

Easter Blessings

2007-04-07T17:36:00.000+01:00

Easter Blessing for you.

Twenty-Twenty Vision

2007-04-01T12:44:00.000+01:00

Throughout my life's journey I have looked into the eyes of many souls. I have seen love given and I have seen my own love reflected - lovingly - in return. I have melted when looking into the eyes of a child and have treasured the pools of innocence and the essence of pure simplicity. With compassion I have looked into the eyes of those overwhelmed with sorrow, grief or profound despair; I have learned the power of endurance when looking into the eyes of those suffering unbearable, physical pain; I have acknowledged the silent voice of acceptance in the brave eyes of the dying, when hope and all else is lost. But I have smiled back into the eyes of those who have known immense joy and I have also responded to the infectious sparkle in the eyes of those sharing great laughter.
On occasion, I have glimpsed the eyes of a liar or a rogue and I have not escaped the flat expression of the insincere (the contact from such eyes is always transient).
Now, in the autumn of my years, given my (now) simple lifestyle and the people I know and love, I thought I had encountered all that I was ever likely to ... I was so wrong ... For I have now looked into the face of sinister evil and I feel a sickness which I never knew could exist. Previously I have felt a churning pit in my stomach on hearing of the evil done to others not known to me personally; my heartfelt concern has gone out to them. But until now, I could have had no idea of the impact that evil thrashers upon us.
I have been looking at this face of evil for exactly twelve years and only now do I know why our eyes never really engaged; only now do I recognise what my instinct implored me to follow; only now has the evil 'lurking within' been exposed bringing a clarity to what was an elusive sense of doubt. They say - don't they - that the eyes are the windows of the soul; our eyes could not engage; for evil is bereft of soul.
And why is it, that when evil presents in the guise of woman, we (or is it just me) find it even more abhorrent? I cannot yet find words to elaborate on what I am feeling ... feeling ... an horrendous feeling. One thing I can say for sure is - as much as I wish I was not going through this experience - I do know that 'good' always soars its way through any evil damage and the victims are, eventually, richer and more worthwhile souls with a unique sense of who and what really matters in life. And I thank the Lord that the spirit of love and goodness continues to surround and envelop us.

Time to Share

2007-02-23T15:10:00.000Z

Just popped in to say that I've been sharing 'unexpected' precious time with my adorable grandchildren!

I'll be back in here soon - meanwhile - some other things just have to be shared ... so if (like me) you find the above image so beautiful, take a peek at www.ashesandsnow.org

Because I Need a Smile on My Face

2007-02-09T14:07:00.000Z

And so does my Blog

So Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow...

There ... that's better.

Still Hurting

2007-01-29T16:33:00.000Z

It's all too sad.

Watching another's sorrow

is - for me - more painful

than bearing one's own sadness.

The Rainy Day

2007-01-29T16:20:00.000Z

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary...

Extract from The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Beyond Tears

2007-01-24T14:36:00.000Z

Over the past few weeks I have encountered cause to look at the world through eyes filled with tears.
One of the most important people in my life is hurting - deeply, and I can not make it better for him.
Given just cause, the depth of sorrow is an emotion with which I am no stranger. Over two years ago, in the darkness of compounded loss, grief and despair, I wrote a piece which began ...

'We do not see clearly through eyes filled with tears...'

I no longer think this is true; on the contrary, I now believe that deep emotion allows us to tap into a clarity that would otherwise elude us. Allowing ourselves to feel the pain, to embrace the suffering - so painful though that may be - enables us to measure the extent of the injury. Only then, will we be able to fathom sense of what has become of us; only then, will we grow; and only then, can we begin to move forward.
The sorrow will prevail but we will endure.

The Toys

2007-01-21T15:59:00.000Z

My little son, who looked from tearful eyes,

And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise,

Having my law the seventh time disobey'd.

I struck him, and dismiss'd

With hard words and unkiss'd,

His mother, who was patient, being dead.

Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep,

I visited his bed,

But found him slumbering deep,

With darkened eyelids, and their lashes yet

From his late sobbing wet.

And I, with moan,

Kissing away his tears, left others of my own;

For, on a table drawn beside his head,

He had put, within his reach,

A box of counters and a red veined stone,

A piece of glass abraded by the beach

And six or seven shells,

A bottle of bluebells

And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art.

To comfort his sad heart.

So when that night I prayed

To God, I wept, and said:

Ah, when we lie at last with tranced breath

Not vexing Thee in death

And Thou rememberest of what toys

We made our joys

How weakly understood

Thy great commanded good.

Then fatherly not less

Than I, whom Thou has moulded from the clay,

Thou'lt leave Thy wrath, and say,

'I will be sorry for their childishness'.

.................................................................................Coventry Patmore

The Little Black Boy

2007-01-21T15:21:00.000Z

My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O! my soul is white;
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.

My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And, pointing to the East, began to say:

"Look on the rising sun - there God does live,
And gives his light, and gives his heat away;
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday

And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

And when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish; we shall hear His voice,
Saying: 'Come out from the grove, my love, and care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice'."

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me;
And thus I say to little English boy,
When I from black and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,

I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will love me then.

William Blake

BUCCANEERS or PIONEERS?

2006-11-28T18:34:00.000Z

Adventure on the High Seas

On hearing the sad news of the death of Alan Freeman today, I began to reminisce of the days when I, too, worked for Radio Caroline. The original pirate radio station broadcast to the British Isles during the mid sixties, bringing popular music to the nation's ears and revolutionising the music industry and the classical sounds of the BBC. Amongst many others, such names as come to mind are Radio Caroline DJs Tony Blackburn, Dave Lee Travis, Simon Dee and Ray Terrett. I remember there were also quite a few Americans and Canadians involved. Not many people realised that there were two ships; Radio Caroline North was in the Irish Sea about three miles off the Manx coastline.

My role was to pioneer a Radio Caroline programme named 'Wedding Bells'. The programme's purpose was really to generate (much needed) advertising revenue from mainland retailers and businesses. And it did! Following the introduction in 1967 of the Marine Offences Act, I recall that fateful day in March '68 when both ships were seized and forced off the air. Silence. The two ships that housed her southern and northern stations were towed from their moorings by Dutch tugs for an undisclosed destination.

Radio Caroline is probably the most famous of all the offshore 'pirate' radio stations and her story has become something of a broadcasting legend. It was all a great adventure and I'm glad to have played a little part in it.

Prior to the cruel 'sinking' of the pirate radio station, I took up other employment, got my degree in psychology, married the most amazing man, had our babies and went to live abroad. Returning to England in the early seventies, I was working for an established newspaper when I was approached by Eddy Shah (another great pioneer) with the news of him setting up his own local 'Messenger' newspaper. So with the pioneering spirit within, I relished the chance of being part of it! I left the Messenger Group after a few years to accept a position with a major newspaper, just before Eddy Shah made national news headlines himself, when he took on the union. Eddy and his subsequent 'chosen path' has been well documented and I'm delighted for him in his alternative and ongoing successes.

Ever the pioneer, in the early eighties I launched my own glossy magazine, it was way ahead of it's time, quite avant garde, was featured on TV and won an award. As we approached the millennium I had great plans for the magazine but personal tragedy struck, and the desire to spend all precious time with the people who mattered to me was far greater. This led to advanced studies in psychotherapy and the opening of the clinic. I'm still approached with requests to relaunch the mag - and I might add that it's tempting -but (just like Eddy) I am otherwise preoccupied 'writing the novels' and developing the clinic which now also specialises in loss and bereavement.

Now that's another story!

The Invitation ... I Want to Know

2006-11-17T14:01:00.000Z

It doesn't interest me
what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to
dream of meeting your heart's longing

It doesn't interest me how old you are
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
For love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
If you have been opened by life's betrayals
Or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain

I want to know if you can sit with pain - mine or your own
Without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it
I want to know if you can be with joy - mine or your own
If you can dance with wildness
And let the ecstacy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
Without cautioning as to be careful, realistic
Or to remember the limitations of being human

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true
I want to know if you can dissapoint another to be true to yourself
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy

I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it is not pretty, everyday
And if you can source your life from its presence
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine
And still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silvery moon, 'Yes!'

It doesn't interest me to know where you live
Or how much money you have
I want to know if you can get up, after a night of grief and despair
Weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done
To feed the children

It doesn't interest me what you know or why you came here
I want to know if you will stand in the fire with me
And not shrink back

It doesn't interest me where, or what, or with whom, you studied
I want to know what sustains you, you from the inside
When all else falls away
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
And if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments

Oriah Mountain Dreamer

What Do You See?

2006-10-28T15:16:00.000+01:00

When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she left nothing of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meagre possessions, they found this poem. It's quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since been distributed far and wide. A nurse-training slide presentation has also been made, based on the old lady's simple, but eloquent, poem. And this little old lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now remembered as the author of this 'anonymous' poem...

CRABBY OLD WOMAN

What do you see, nurse, what do you see
What are you thinking when you look at me
A crabby old woman, not very wise
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a load voice, 'I wish you would try!'
Who seems not to notice the things that you do
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill
Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see
Then open your eyes, nurse. You're not looking at me
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here, so still
As I do at your bidding. As I eat at your will...

I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother
Brothers and sisters who love one another

A young girl of sixteen with wings at her feet
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet

A bride soon at twenty. My heart skips a beat
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep

At twenty-five now, I have young of my own
Who need me to guide a secure happy home

A woman of thirty. My young now grown fast
Bound to eachother with ties that should last

At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone
But my man is beside me to see I don't mourn

At fifty, once more babies play round my feet
Again we know children, my loved one and me

Dark days are upon me. My husband is dead
I look at the future, I shudder with dread

For my young are all rearing young of their own
And I think of the years and the love that I've known

I'm now an old woman and nature is cruel
'Tis jest to make old age look like a fool

The body, it crumbles. Grace and vigour depart
There is now a stone where I once had a heart

But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells
And now and again my battered head swells

I remember the joys. I remember the pain
And I'm loving and living life over again

I think of the years. All too few, gone too fast
And accept the stark truth that nothing can last

So open your eyes, people. Open and see
Not a crabby old woman. Look closer... it's ME!

(Remember this when you next meet an old person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too.)

Let it Rain...

2006-10-27T17:17:00.000+01:00

R a i n d r o p s................ on cobwebs
And wellies with peeptoes
Bright yellow brollies
And showers that sprout rainbows
Splashing in puddles
The laughter it brings
These are a few of my favourite things...

So let it rain, let it rain, let it rain!

Shoes

2006-10-22T23:46:00.000+01:00

I wept because I had no shoes

Then I met a man who had no feet

[Anon]

Rainy Days and Sundays

2006-10-22T23:37:00.000+01:00

Just lazing on a Sunday afternoon

Loss & Bereavement

2006-10-22T15:14:00.000+01:00

Loss has been part of my journey but it has also taught me what is precious.
From time to time I will express some thoughts, writings and experiences here.

Some feel that we should not bury the dead nor press down the earth, so firmly, lest they should want to return. They should have a rest home for the dead.

Scattered Fragments

2006-10-22T14:29:00.000+01:00

And the rivers reach the ocean where miriad thoughts drift across my mind; Elusive, some may escape and fall onto these pages.

Like scattered fragments...

Why do I fear releasing the tether?