What does absence tell you?

Writing is one of those words that has the capacity to trip people up. It can generate questions.

What do you mean you are writing?   as if writing doesn't count.

What are your writing?  - as if you have nothing to write about.

Who said you can write? - as if you need permission, or that you are not "qualified" to write

It seems curious to me in a culture that teaches  writing early and makes the skill of writing the focus of most academic study a necessity, that is essential in the work place, that technology encourages, texting, tweeting, emailing, etc etc that the notion of writing should generate all this so called " interest"

I like to write. I don't really know if I am any good at it. Sometimes I get a good feeling from it, whether it is because I've expressed myself and it is out, or because I have a slightly norty appreciation of how I used the words to achieve something, I don't always know. Sometimes I get lovely feedback and sometimes I don't sometimes I accept the feedback and sometimes I don't. I like doing it so I will continue to do it.

But sometimes I can't do it. It isn't  always that the words won't come, quite often it is that the words may come in such a rush of hurt and anger that they will slay me and any bystander readers in the process. Not for a blog.. too much responsibility for this blog anyway.

I looked at the side bar on my blog recently and noticed the postings in particular years and I, knowing my inner life at the time, knew why there are more posts in some years than others. It wasn't to do with the outer busy ness of life , it was to do with inner business.

I've learned it is the absence of something that often requires investigation, even if at first - crucially - you don't notice the absence.

Years ago, after my Parents died in fairly quick and traumatic succession I became a dog owner. I was lucky to inherit my parents animals.. Brisket was an adult and a "certain of himself dog" when I had him. One day I had been mooching around in the house and something, I don't know what it was, made me laugh out loud. My laugh when it arises is very loud. I laughed and Brisket jumped up from his bed where he had been lying apparently asleep and came towards me in that enthusiastic way  a Labrador will do, wagging his tail so hard his whole body was convulsed. He came to join in the enthusiasm, he came to enthuse with me. The laughter was maintained for a while.

Afterwards I realised that I had been silent for days. I'd not had the tv on, or the radio, not been out apart from walking him which we had done in a mutual silence. As I came to think of it I realised I had shopped, bought petrol, completely silently for days and days.. I'd been lost somewhere. I wasn't deep in thought I don't think and I wish I could claim I was meditating. Maybe in a way I was ( cept I wasn't) I had been on automatic.

My body had been doing things and my mind was somewhere else.  I wasn't miserable, I wasn't happy.

I  wasn't.

Looking back it is easy for me to diagnose what it was, it was space and it was grief. I had been emptied out in the preceding couple of years. The laugh whatever caused it half broke the spell. The dog coming up to me, shattered it. My throat was sore from unaccustomed use required water and that was that, onwards. I had reconnected.



Not being able to speak manifests in not being able to write too.

There is another question once you have defied expectation for a bit and written and not been damned..

Why aren't you writing?

Here are some of my reasons:

Nothing to write about -- meaning there isn't stuff I want to share

Too much to write about -- meaning the stuff I have I am not sure if I want to share, or how to share it, very similar to above..

Other things are occupying me -- meaning absence in someway has set in, I can't write and I might not be able to tell you why, but it probably isn't what other people would put in the "nice" column.

I lose my voice when I am chewed up, when I am full up, when I am busying thinking, puzzling something out. I go in. My inner landscape is rich and uses all my processing power.

I am an introvert.. hardly a revelation that line after everything else I have just said?

I haven't been writing as much here this year as I did last year. And you can look at the sidebar and see when I was writing and when I was not writing. You can draw your own conclusions as I draw mine. They might be the same. Only I have the context though to know how I arrived at My conclusion.

I have been writing elsewhere. For a while now I have been writing on another blog, starting something new, making some space and time. Starting back in November for 30 days with a personal project for me which is growing into something else

If you are interested it is here

I will continue to write here and the divide will be arbitrary. I will decide. :-) it's my blog

Why do I write?

Because it is my right.

Bats

Twilight is such a great time to go out walking with the dog, stuff is happening in the hedgerows, you hear scuffling noises and the snap of twigs. 

The moon is up.  There was a tease of a crescent and a handful of bright stars scattered around.

Gradually as the walking continues more stars announce themselves and sometimes as I gaze upwards they appear to pop into existence in front of my eyes. Such an amazing experience when that happens

Not for nothing is twilight considered a magical time. The shadows are still present but barely - whisps.

Tonight as we walked along a tree line we could hear the brook, that has woken up with the recent rains, trickling along. Something buzzed above my head. Looking up I saw a bat, fast flying about above my head. Turning faster than a bird, with the lightness that reminds of a butterfly but more substantial. 

Turning I saw others. I stopped transfixed and became aware that about 5 of them were wheeling around about my head, I could hear small dull clicks which I assume was their echo location. Their range was about 100 yards but the centre of this range seemed for the moment, to be me, wherever I was. This place near the trees is replete with midges no doubt a superb snacking site. 

Primo stopped and then headed away, up the muddy lane, patrolling his territory, at his steady tail up trot. Above him all the way was his very own bat. It looked amazing and like something from a fairy story, well beyond the capability of my camera. 

He returned and noticed I was still stationary and puzzled he looked up. He jumped back in surprise as he became aware of them and his ears lifted as he absorbed what he had been hearing. 

The bats continued to swirl around us and then whether bored by us, or concerned to follow the midges, they went along the tree line and out of sight.

graciousness and gratitude -- how do you score?

These two people are hard to find in the world. Which two? 
The one who is first to do a kindness, and
The one who is grateful and thankful for any kindness done.
Anguttara Nikāya 2.118

I think Graciousness is undervalued in life. I think Graciousness at work, at home and at play could make everything more sustainable, and more fun. If you can remain gracious, if you can respond graciously, you keep an open mind. You look at something you might reject easily for longer and in doing so have the open mind that perhaps you might have missed something. Because you are gracious you can hold on to what has been offered and explore it for usefulness and then from a position of exploration rather than arrogant prejudice decide how much to keep and how much to reject. Being Gracious does not subject you to accepting things or situations you don't want, like or believe in It gives you space to decide how or if to make best use of them

You accept the intention of the other - who or what ever other that might be - in giving you a gift that perhaps in the end you don't want but still honour that it was given to you anyway. Which in turn sets up more opportunity for unexpected gifts to decide about.

Gratitude runs on from this. If you are able to be gracious in the moment, perhaps you can have gratitide for the unexpected and unplanned things that come your way, look back and see how this has affected you life. And so sustain the ability to remain open to new information, new objections, new intentions, new situations, new people.

I am ranting a little in writing this here.. But I am not forcing you to read it. That would be ungracious.

I like Mr Jagger in his sentiment and ( slightly misused words) You won't always get what you thought you wanted, but you might just get what you need.



I need to hang on to this thought though, as fiercely in debate I can forget it. I am not a Buddhist either, but loved the quote.

To learn is to love

Yesterday someone mentioned that a book had been written ( it was a sensible book apparently so a bit of me had sunk already) that broke down which musical instrument a child should learn based on their personality. 

According to this book a violin player should be endowed with lots of patience as a child because it is much harder to make a note, play a tune then it is on an instrument that is plucked, bashed or blown.

Fortunately neither my parents, my music teacher or I was aware of this " must have"  skill when I was eight. 

Patience is not a natural virtue for me.  It is a learned one. Probably in part, one  I learned whilst learning to play the violin and learning to play with animals. Both are wild at heart, can snap suddenly,  you learn quickly if you have respect for one another things will go much better. 

That last paragraph is my overnight consideration of events.

However in the moment on being told this my reaction was to say "bugger"  Mostly jokingly, because had I known this I might have played one of the "easier" instruments ;-) and now be making a living at music  (I would not btw for other reasons to do with NOT ENOUGH talent)

I played the violin because I fell in love with it. I saw an orchestra playing at my school when I was 7 came home and announced I wanted to learn to play 

Persistence,  annoying patience in action, meant I did get to learn. I've put it down a few times in my life, for years at a time but as an Identity it is one that never goes away

 I still love it and  I am still learning it.  I always will be. 

Assimilation - resistance is futile

Blue Boy is staying. ( touch wood so far)  I have plugged myself into the Cat Lady Network and the Vet has checked for a chip. His details have been advertised in the local paper. This has resulted in one call. As I answered the phone I was filled with conflicting thoughts. This cat has been loved. It has no fear and no aggression and a certainty that if he asks nicely he will receive. He is sweet. In short he is lovable and I, knowing my place, am doing that.

The person on the phone started to describe him. I held my breath,  in one indisputable way the cat she described and mine are different. It was with relief that I breathed in and said  "no that's not my cat." I noticed that. I said not my cat. I hadn't realised til I said it that I had made a decision. She was crestfallen. I then heard her story, about a lost companion who was/is also loved and hope that she has better news soon.

Had he belonged to her I would have given him up. ( But - as the vet said to me as we discussed this eventuality - with my arms folded and pursed lips.  He knows me so well!)

As I talked to the Hound I referred to him as Blue Boy. He emerged from the kitchen where he spends a lot of time keeping an eye on his bowl. We  have agreed a longer formal name which is not for sharing, it might make his blue blood and pink tongue blush.

The other master and mistressess in the household are ok with this.. He doesn't make demands on them, doesn't try to use his maleness to dominate - a wise decision with my two canny females. He has seen and concluded that it would be "a funny sort of game"

He would probably prefer to say " How about a nice game of chess"

He has certainly shrewdly played me as the Master he is.

Unexpected arrival

Last week out walking with the hound late, we were enjoying the stars. The fields are a bit damp at the moment, the frosts haven't hit hard enough long enough, to make night walking pleasurable. So we were looking at the sleeping village in the dark. It's usually just the two of us.

That evening the Universe had done a sterling job with the stars. Lots of twinkling but very little moon. Sparkling  pavements. It was quiet, the sort of "eerily quiet" demonstrated on Dr Who before the Tardis arrives.   (It hasn't so far) It's a beautiful peaceful experience without noisy interruptions

There was a frost that evening, a  harsh one. We were about 5 mins in. Bouncing along Primo was bursting from one smell to another. There is a turning point where we enter another part of the village, a different set of houses and there is patch of grass here that if we pass Primo must at all costs investigate.  A long thorough investigation, the smells there must be particularly fascinating.

As his servant that he leads along I was standing patiently waiting. I could hear a strange snorting sound. It was odd and I couldn't place it for a while as this particular spot is a bit of an echo chamber. Eventually we moved on a few steps and the noise continued. Eventually I located it. There on a wall was a funny looking creature coming towards me.  It looked a bit like a very scruffy owl with 4 legs. It was light on its feet.

It saw me and jumped down onto a lower wall and continued to stare at me snorting,
By this time I had worked out it was a cat. A rather distressed one. Decision time, do I walk on, come back later without hound or approach now with the hound and risk frightening the cat away.

I approached the cat. I got very close and could see and hear it was in a very sorry state. Long haired and horribly matted, so that sitting down or lying down must now be very uncomfortable. Dog on lead in right hand. Again decision time. Do I risk putting my hand out for a savage scratch. How will the dog react. I looked down. Primo's tail was wagging furiously but he had his mouth pursed forward - he was about to wake the village with his hound ROOO ROOO ROO.

Shut up Primo! He looked surprised but he did. I reached out and touched the cat. He turned his face and looked  up at me. Hard to breathe and with eyes running. He let me touch him and just looked at me. His face spoke of sadness, his body of slow starvation, A bone bag with fur. Primo increasingly interested danced at my side.

I pic up the cat and he fell against my body relaxed through weakness. All the way back the cat rests and Primo dances along looking at it.

When I get back into the house I  take a proper look. So does the dog. He is very interested and talkative with it. The cat looks even worse in a good light than he did before. Very compliant and wide eyed.

Since then he has eaten bits as I've given him small amounts, drunk. He has spent the day at a vets whilst they check him out and remove some of his knotted hair. He now looks worse, if thats possible as he is partially shaved. They couldn't get to the rest he was too stressed, but we will return next week for round 2.

The local cat people network has been alerted to see if we can find the owners. In the meantime he is here, takes the odd stroke with dignity, navigates the other cats, and regularly leads me to his dish.

Going to be an interesting few days

Speaking of death

It is a dark time of year. And we have festivals that bring us light along with crimson red poppies against black to remember. It starts with the ghosties and ghoulies. The saints attempt to appear but they don't have the charisma to blot out the darkness, the mists and the mystery.  I like it. I like the winter approaching and the cool and the regular bright twinkly starlight.

This evening speaking to one of my oldest friends, we found ourselves discussing death. He is a half orphan and I am a total orphan.  Strange and unreal terms to use for either of us. And yet it is true.

Even though for both of us the departures were several years ago, there are times when that deep pang comes forward and very present. When you want to cry out

 " I want my Mummy"

 or

  "I want my Daddy"

For those that have been lucky to be loved I don't believe these feelings ever go away completely.

That is not to say its always sad either. Sometimes in the midst of something amazing happening there is a desire to share it very particularly with one or other parent. The thought skips across the brain like a child on the way home from school with a picture. And then you remember...

When the orphaning is new so many people report thinking they see a loved one in the street. Sometimes its a garment or the way the head is held, their gait, sometimes even a smile can take you there. When it is raw when it is new, it cuts you up inside, slays you.  But later there is a strange unreal comfort from this and even amusement.

Looking around at siblings and the children around you, you see the missing ones. It might be in a glance, a turn of phrase, an attitude to life, a laugh, a bark, a dark one liner.  Sometimes "stuff" appears to skip a generation and new people who did not know Our Originals, are manifesting things they could not know about. Where has it come from?  Is it coincidence?

Then there might be that special  shared look of those who are connected to the ones that went before, as together they observe what makes sense to only them and is an invisible bond between all of them through time.

And we know they are not gone.