I don’t think I’ll regret throwing abandon to the wind this time…
When you pledge goals along the path of life, grass-seeds of disappointment are sown to bloom later in season as goals don’t come to fruition. Much better to throw caution to the wind and live life as a meadow, unplanned and heaving with gorgeous, wild disorder.
An album of music. Magpies. Digestive biscuits, kitchen-counter conversations. Cotton shirts, clean hands, finding a plectrum. Omnibuses, seaside walks and paper-bag trees. Maxed volume knobs, broken broomsticks: every minute of right now can fill happiness into the voids reserved for future goals. Don’t expect. Forget logic. Should past experience lead to serried ranks of geraniums and toadstool lamps, clipped shrubbery of lessons learned? Pull an armchair into that garden and chill. Stay there when it gets dark and appreciate the shadows for the silhouettes they are, beautiful in their natural right.
Shadows take so many forms. The colour black holds its power over humans. Uncertainity, in the future, the mind, the world around us. Bleakness, whether it’s a mental scrapyard of wrong decisions or emptiness as lives change and experience drops away. Or a dark side-road home you chose at 3am. Shadows are something to appreciate: stark outlines of reality. If you live in good stead, the results of your handiwork hold no fear. They hold their own thrall by and a voyeur doesn’t need a B&Q prop to be at ease in the midnight of their mind.
Sundays were designed with the reward of good behaviour in mind…today, I have three hours of time to myself. Computers and my favourite album, coffee, a cat on my lap, words and smoke wreathing the air above my head….Indulgence is sweet and many rewards manifest in these snatched hours. Hard at desk, hard at home, hard at heart.
Mostly, the time’s a gift just to be free to think without immediate pressure. My hands are clear of poster paint, uncrinkled by Fairy or too much vodka last night. A wicked routine for Samhain is evolving and we’re all on our uppers as the year draws to a close. I’m so happy right now and could offer up pumpkins of thanks to the powers that be. Despite the fact my card read insufficent funds this morning and I went out last night. Not checking my bank-balance seems to be part of the life as a meadow philosophy.
I’m so happy to be the mother of two incredible children with innate personalities. They’ve taken my guidance in creating a real gift to the world. They never stop giving.
Work is brilliant. Sights and sounds as inspiration each day is incredibly enervative. Sometimes I worry for my stability as I marvel how lucky I am: it seems to be a mantra, constantly echoing as new friends, music, skills are discovered and if I were the pinching type, I’d be black and blue. Instead, heady euphoria spurs on wacky jaunts and chance, the culmination of a blog which is correctly defining my scatterbrained devotion to our music. Because you can trust if I’m put on the spot, I’ll mouth whatever was last playing on my mp3 player. And this week’s been Luke Kelly!
Personally, some good lessons came to light, this week and the whole year. Where I’m standing, I feel safe with only two chubby little hands to hold mine: they are the warmest and squeeze tightest.
Magpies keep flying past my window. Outside’s a grey uglyscape of East Wall, full of telephone poles and ramshackle sheds but I love it. It’s real and Earthy and it’s where I live, which spurs the muffin-tops to slog harder towards getting the fuck out of here.
The magpies are a welcome sight because they show off, swooping past Jet or Shaz with a cackle. The bloody cats are another story, Shadow’s about to commit matricide.
And and and. I’m happy because everything’s good: I can sit in that armchair and enjoy the dark arcs of my messy garden. No goals were made this year: everything I’d dreamt of already came true. 2007 was a turning point: transition into a second quarter. As a real grown-up, there were such hard times: Granda dying, serious issues of addiction and morality…life happened as usual. Some nights tossed past with grinding teeth, screws and pneumatic drills but I didn’t hear: deaf sleep is good sleep.
Waking up in the armchair with the shadows safely where they belong, no cricked neck or goosepimples…just a yawn and a smile, bare feet dewed by the grass? I love sleeping in meadows…
Tags: Sunday
