i begin; i am

Today I am finally giving myself the time to immerse myself in the first week of Liz Lameroux's Inner Excavate-along,  a free read along project in line with her gorgeous book Inner Excavation, where each week holds a new chapter on exploring yourself through photography, poetry and mixed media. Liz has  prepared many juicy extras online, I can't believe how hard this lady works, and is excavating her own dig site along side us, therefore this feels like a really personal and authentic exploration. 

Of course I was always going to start with the poetry prompt (she types winking).

i am {a poem list}

clunking typewriter keys

kirsch soaked cherries

a determined flicker

an unlikely heroin

careful plaits

a hidden Charleston

black and white film

ebb and flow 

a tortoise shell

embroidered pride 

camomile infusions

solitude

folded edge pages

a cluttered sky 

patched scars

creases and wrinkles 

whispering frontiers

an island home

scribbles in margins

mending tape

patchwork 

isolated coastlines

shadow and reflection

academic embers

a pair of binoculars

forged words

niece wisdom

Five pieces of niece wisdom gathered at a family party recently:

1. Tables are great for hiding under to eat stolen strawberries. 

I need to sit under tables more often, what a change of perspective! Also strawberries definitely taste better when you are not sitting at the table properly. Whilst joining my niece Summer under the said table, I was taken back to a wish I had when I was little, to build secret houses under tables. I wanted to use blankets and table clothes and fill my new space with a multitude of cushions and cuddly toys. For some reason I never did. I can’t say that I was ever stopped from doing so but neither did anyone want to help me build a table house. I may well have to make my own den under our dining room table and have a poetry reading for one in there. This may sound just a little crazy but don’t we all secretly want to make cosy hide aways to cocoon ourselves in? I dare you to join me.

2. You can never have too many strawberries and they must be devoured immediately. 

Summer is, as you can tell, strawberry mad and eats them with such delight, such passion. She is fully in the moment with those juicy berries, not thinking about later on when the strawberries have gone, or what her mum will say when she has indeed eaten the whole lot whilst leaving her sandwiches. When joy presents itself, dive in my friends!

3. Some pieces fit straight away when you are doing a puzzle, others you have to keep turning and some pieces you may have to swap completely. Trying to bang the wrong piece into the hole doesn’t work.

I watched Casey for ages as she figured out the puzzle by herself at the grand old age of two. I like the idea of learning to see situations as puzzles to work out instead of as crises or feeling an utter loss of control in a situation. Patience and perseverance and a willingness to change things - oh yes, more of this please.

4. Trust takes time. 

Casey has taken some time to warm up to me. Whilst Summer flings her arms around me with abandon, Casey peaks nervously from behind her mother’s legs. She just isn’t quite sure what to make of me. She used to, in fact, cry each time she saw me. Often this made me feel sad as I love that little girl to pieces. But I knew I couldn’t give in, for I take auntiehood most seriously. And it finally paid off at the party, when she actively chose to spend time with me, handing me puzzle pieces and pointing to her board. This week, as soon as she saw me she brought a book over and placed herself in my lap, looking at me expectantly. My heart melted.

5. When the Summer of 69 plays you must get up and dance. 

Summer grabbed my hands and pulled me forwards as soon as the first notes had aired, her body already in beat with the guitar. Self conscious she was not! Self conscious I was, bearing in mind that until this point there had been nobody on the dance floor and that I am a complete introvert when it comes to these kinds of things. But you know what, what does it actually matter what others may be thinking, when the cheesy rock is  fabulous and you have a little girl turning herself into a rock chick :) I need to work on that sense of humour a little and learn to shrug my shoulders.

Bittersweet poetry

Another poetry offering for you today my lovely friends. When I read this poem for the first time, I knew I needed to share it with you, especially with the stationary addicts out there. It is such a truthful exploration of the awesome beauty and potential that crisp, new stationary has, and how this simply can't last - that special magic burns away a little, use by use. Things change. Of course the crayons in this poem could be a metaphor for many things, the poem has taken me onto paths that I am navigating step by step. Isn't it better to enjoy those 'crayons' for what they are instead of admiring from a far? Doesn't the feel of creating have much more depth? Isn't it possible to appreciate the new and the journey? That delicious  initial potential makes my heart beat faster, why don't I feel that way more often - what makes me so afraid?  However, taken literally, I love this poem for speaking to my stationary loving soul.

Dear Wasp

I am terrified of wasps. TERRIFIED. A childhood of summer holidays in Bavaria, where there are wasps a plenty, has left me with too many memories of the excruciatingly painful stings. However, I am a nature lover and hate to kill anything living, and so I told myself in no uncertain terms that I needed to grow up and rescue the wasp that had found itself inside my house last week. Anyone watching me would have been most amused as I talked to it gently, wafting my arms carefully in the direction of the open windows. And I did it! It flew off quite merrily without aggression. And I wasn’t stung. Over the next few days three more wasps visited me in this way ( unless it was one the one wasp, which had become rather fond of me) , this is quite unusual for where I live. I concluded that wasp must be a messenger and began to trust in the research. Oh yes, I needed to hear these lessons:

Order

Wasps stand for order and organisation. Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I am an organisation freak, my husband often shakes his head in wonder and disbelief in equal measures! When I let go too much of this part of me, things do tend to go in the shape of the pear and I find myself feeling lost and off centre. On the opposite end of the scale, when I have that sense of order, it is like I have the space to spread out, to explore. So dear wasps, thank you for telling me that in finding order there is also the opportunity for growth.

Assertiveness

I had never really thought that the aggressive nature of wasps could have anything positive to teach me. But you know what, it has. When the aggression is in a protective capacity i.e. when it is to protect your territory, what you love and what you have worked hard for, then assertiveness is ok. I don’t mean meanness or violence by any means but I take it as a call to stand up for myself, to protect what I cherish and create. There have been a few times recently when I have been in the line of confrontation or unwillingly the centre of attention. Oh how I try to avoid confrontation.Oh how I avoid standing in the spotlight. In some of these situations I shied away, feeling an utter loss of personal power and to be blunt, I felt  rather upset. I find it incredibly difficult to understand how some people are incapable of respect when a difference in opinion occurs. However after the wasps, I gave myself a good talking to for I am an adult, I am able to stand up for what I believe in, in my many roles. And it works, even though it is totally nerve wrecking and a never ending process! 

Finding solutions

Having read all about how wasps make their nests using natural fibre and their own saliva , I am rather in awe of these creatures. Their house isn't a random mess either, it is all geometrically correct so that everyone has their place. Awesome. And so I ask myself, how good am I at constructing what I need physically? I am actually at my most mindful when I am making things, the words disappear and that wordless focus is replenishing and deep. Every time I garden I feel this way. Guaranteed. The nourishing dishes I am cooking these days make me feel the same. I feel this is a summer of making, with both feet planted firmly in my life.

(By the way I found a lot of wasp totem information on www.wildspeak.com)

My first ever video post

I have left this totally unedited, so I do apologise for the many erms and my dodgy camera finding skills at times. It is all in the practice I am sure. I feared that if I started editing, then the critical voices, which  live so abundantly in my head, would take over and I would be left with nothing. Also, on a braver note, I wanted to show the whole me, right here, right now :)

P.S. The book I mention is called Poetry Speaks Who I am. The  poem is Good Girl by Molly Peacock.

Time to catch up...

I’m plunging back into blogging after having been a little quiet in the websphere recently. There has been much going on behind the scenes, many blog posts worth I’m sure, but today I want to start by sharing a bit about how I have been working on nourishment recently (this is  a longer post so make sure you have a cup of something delicious ready as you settle down).

I’ve been taking a good hard look at my life, particularly my physical and emotional health. There was a turning point recently when I realised that I needed to take care of myself much more so than ever before and that this involved some serious changes to my lifestyle. To begin with I looked in great detail at the food I consume and how this serves me. A good friend recommended that I look seriously at eating more raw to help heal my body and give me some of the energy I have been seriously lacking. And so I ventured into my local organic supermarket for the first time and fell in love with the possibilities housed there. Opening up my mind to this way of eating meant I bought a spiraliser (what fun) and a blender to create green smoothies. I discovered the benefits of raw pollen, agave nectar and acai berry powder. I found the most amazing raw snack bars too. 

Through this natural goodness I have even lost some of that craving for sugars. Without realising I have found a fresh approach to creating meals and I am recognising inklings of enthusiasm when I am in the kitchen. I have so much to learn but I am honestly enjoying being a beginner on this food journey.

Connected to this quest of energy I have also been going to bed incredibly early. At first this seemed like a waste of hours to me but that is where my mindset changed also. I cannot continue measuring my days by how much I think I should achieve in them. And so each night I lie there, with the curtains still open so I can watch the sky from bed, listening to audio books ( usually cheesy murder mysteries) until I fall asleep. Add to this the purchase of a memory foam pillow, which is making a huge difference to my ability to sleep, and you have a much more peaceful bedtime routine. I am also listening much more to that need to rest in my everyday. There are days when I can hardly move because I have overdone things or because my body is simply exhausted. I used to carry on regardless, continuing to put the pressure on myself and soak in the pressures from others to continue. Slowly but surely this is changing. I will stop, I will say no. I will just lie down and allow my body to be. It isn’t always easy but I am becoming firmer.

Locket by Liz Lameroux

I’ve also been seeking nourishment for my heart and my spirit. After quite a bit of soul searching I am realising that I need to surround myself more with positive thinkers, and therefore I need to put some distance between myself and the more negative minded, stressed people in my life for a while. For I am sensitive to people’s energies, and take an awful lot upon myself in order to make them feel better and sometimes that energy just seeps in and influences the way I behave. This doesn’t mean ending friendships or believing that life is always hunky dory but it does mean not letting so much in. Searching out the positive wayfarers of my world is infectious and life affirming. I am stocking up on the good stuff.

In line with this I have been poeming until my heart’s content. I’ve  put together a whole stack of poetry books to lose myself in and I start each day with a poem, be it from my books or from the wonderful Writer’s Almanac, which sends a poem out daily by email.  Poetry speaks to me in such an intimate way; I had quite forgotten how understood, how empowered I feel when I read. And of course I have now caught the poem writing bug again and am even considering writing a collection of poems.

And to top off the feel good factor I have been spending time with those gorgeous nieces of mine again. My lovely Summer girl is life itself, with her bursting imagination and endless energy. She makes me really open my eyes to the world. And the younger one, Casey, is finally warming up to me, after crying for months when she sees me! Now there are plenty of cheeky grins and sly glances to take me in when she thinks I am not looking. She reminds me that the relationships that matter, take time and that patience is a practice worth the world.

I leave you with my Smudge cat, my feline teacher ( testing out the memory foam cushion).

Messages from a 5 year old me

I'm not quite sure that this poem is the finished article, but I wish to share it anyway, as a poem note (thank you Liz for introducing this idea to me) because I feel really attached to that 5 year old me in this moment. Spending time with my young nieces has bought back the amazing memories of being small. I encountered a lot of negative experiences in my childhood, meaning I often forget that there were quite lovely thoughts and moments too, which I must hold on to. 

Messages from a five year old. A poem note.

When I was five...

I discovered a  forsythia den, 

A glowing fortress.

Her twisty arms wove a maze of patterns.

Streaky light danced on my face,

Making me giggle,

As I crouched on the rich, earthy ground.

I yearned for white frilly socks of softest cotton,

That the other girls wore.

Their dainty edges were butterfly wings, 

Fluttering with every jump of the skipping rope.

Instead I wore blue socks.

The adventuring type.

I pointed my nose as far as it would reach

To peak over the post office counter.

Stacks upon stacks of sweets a glorious wall.

With every breath an ancient musty smell

Of rustling letters and sprawling ink encircled me,

The soft thud of stamping an accompanying lullaby.

I smiled with a shrug at the English language,

Imagining myself an alien

But in many hues of pink rather than green,

Landing far away from Germany.

Baffled.

Curious.

I conversed with gatherings of dolls,

Discussing my days as I held court.

My imaginary crown gave me voice.

Animal hearts began to beat

As soon as the light switch clicked.

With abandon I joined their secret invitations.

I lost myself in Grimm’s tales.

A story collector of great importance,

I drank in illustrated pages over and over,

My fingers tracing letter shapes in meditation.

And tapes with turn the page beeps

Unfolded scenes by the dozen in my soul.

I believed that a sweet toy tortoise,

Left on a train many miles away,

Could navigate her way to a healing aunt,

Who appeared one day

With the returned wanderer Mimi;

Somewhat larger and with both eyes in tact.

I was an artist with pens defined by fruity scents

And a bouquet of coloured pencils

Kept in the  strictest rainbow order.

The best rubbers were in the shape of elephants.

The straight line of a ruler unheard of.

Blank surfaces shouted my name.

I loved that dog in the swirling snow,

Who stole my knitted gloves from my pockets

And spun in circles in pursuit of his tail;

Soft ears flapping wildly,  lucid eyes alight.

Together we stuck out our tongues

To capture orbs of ice.

I idolised the gods and goddesses,

Who made life shine with their presence,

Smelling of strong coffee and exercise books.

They gave ME time.

I’d watch them intently

And decide who I would have for parents.

I wished for a best friend

With the shy passion of an introvert.

The thought of it all deliciously foreign.

Along the edge of the playground I stood,

On the lookout for that golden flicker

Of feeling known.

I treasured small objects,

Seeing them in minute detail.

When told to dispose of such rubbish

I gently tucked my findings into new hiding places.

Sometimes I carried a stone with me for days

Just because it was my stone.

I feasted on pasta in the shape of cartoon characters,

In gloriously  red tomato sauce.

Carmel puddings and slices of ham

Glanced back at me with grinning faces.

But necklaces made of sugared beads?

No,I couldn’t destroy their beauty.