Day 6: Connect & Tags – The Art of Pylonics

Connect – to link, to join, unite, I thought about these and more.

We connect visibly and invisibly.

Sometimes we are aware of it.

Sometimes we are totally unconnected to the realisation that we cannot not be connected.

For if there is no connection, there is no flow.

If there is no flow, there is no movement.

If there is no movement, there is no expansion.

If there is no expansion, there is no thing.

Baggage Check Musings

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Baggage Check.”

I ran the idea through the channels. Nope. Not a jot.

I reran it.

We all have complicated histories. Hmmm? Yes and No.

Depends upon your perspective.

When was the last time your past experiences informed a major decision you’ve made?

Gee can’t remember.

If every moment is different and in that moment I am different too, then why would I apply what I did then to now? Unless it was something simple like (thinking, give me time …).

Whilst looking for ideas I came across this lovely quote.

“Everyone comes with baggage. Find someone who loves you enough to help you unpack.” Unknown.

No fun in having a suitcase if it’s empty is it?

No point in having one at all unless you’re intending filling it?

Mix Tape – I Wonder …

I like the idea. Wish it were that simple. But it would be just a shade of an overview. Of course, it would be really helpful if I could remember half of the songs I have loved over the decades. Never did have a good memory for names; I guess they didn’t have that much of an impact on me.

What I like in this moment may be completely the opposite in the next. Ask me the same question tomorrow and the answer would probably be quite different.

Every now and then I have a nostalgia trip. I wonder what might have been. I allow myself to indulge in memories. I taste the joy, the fun, the freedom. I know that is only part of the picture but it’s a fun ride for a while.

I go through phases where I awake in the morning with a song running through my head. It will stay all day and sometimes for days on end. Quite often there is some deep meaning within the words. When the penny finally drops, the song goes away.

Other times, someone may mention a word or a phrase. Take this morning, as I walked through my hallway, I noticed a tiny pin prick of a hole in the heavy curtains covering the doorway. The word lodged ‘hole’. Doomed, I was doomed to the repetitive song of ‘there’s a hole in my bucket’! Lasted up until lunch time. I’d forgotten about that until now. Hope I haven’t triggered its repeat cycle again.

As I write this the only song that comes to mind is, You’ll Never Walk Alone by Gerry and The Pacemakers. I have no affinity with the football club that has adopted it but I can see why they did. I find it deeply moving and the strength of inner power it generates never ceases to amaze me.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mix Tape.”

My Zone

I’m in the zone a lot, well ‘my zone’ that is. Everything I do I seem to lose myself in it. I have little or no sense of time these days. In fact, if you put me in a situation where I have to meet a deadline, I can feel the wings stiffening up.

I developed the ability to lose myself, (though I didn’t call it that, I called it being present), because there were so many chores I had to do that I loathed that I simply had to find a way to carry them out and appreciate them.

So I began being present in the moment, just noticing how I was doing the task, what it felt like, how it smelled (beautiful laundry brought in from hanging outside on a warm day) for instance.

When I chop vegetables it has become almost therapeutic. My focus is entirely on the task, meticulously working through the vegetables, noticing their textures, colours and smells as I enjoy the moment.

I didn’t plan it this way, but all these things have become a form of relaxation and strangely enough, I no longer experience them as a chore.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Zone.”

Times I Linger

Lingering is something I used to do a lot of when I was younger. Looking back, some part of me must have felt that I would never experience anything as good again and the way my childhood panned out that was more often the case.Hanging on until the very last moment and being dragged away from something was torture.

At some point in time along the way I did a complete turn-around. I momentarily linger in a way that is a fully drinking in of whatever it is I am experiencing. I am so deeply entrenched in the moment that I am not consciously connected to any beginning or end. Thing is you see, I like change. Though occasionally I can loathe it.

But generally I enjoy the beginning of the next thing, there is always something new just around the corner. I have no wish to linger on anything for too long. Some part of me knows when to move on.

I stop, drink in the view. It touches me so deeply on all levels that if I choose, I can remember it again at a later date. But I probably won’t, I will be too deeply involved in my next moment in a similar way that takes me to that wondrous place on an inner level where time has no meaning.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Linger.”

Writing 101 DAY 19 – Don’t Stop the Rockin’ – A Little Bit of Me

Today is a free writing day. Write at least four-hundred words, and once you start typing, don’t stop. No self-editing, no trash-talking, and no second guessing: just go. Bonus points if you tackle an idea you’ve been playing with but think is too silly to post about.

Writing. A writer. Just testing out the feel of the words. I always wanted to write. No, I actually ‘fancied’ being a writer. When I was much younger I used to write things down. I was always making up poems or songs. Then one day I experienced a much larger bout of criticism from my mother. I stopped writing. One day after much frustration I decided I did want to write down the things that were flying through my head. So I got a piece of chalk and in my old toy cupboard was a small wooden piano. On the back of the piano I unscrewed the three legs and on the area left available to me I wrote in chalk all the words from my head. Now I did have to keep rubbing it out to make room for the next inflow of words. This was safe. I could write all I wanted and she would never know what I had written. Thing was, neither did I. I would love to have had a book of all the things I used to write about.

Later on in life I began following correspondence courses in writing and using it as a way to deal with childhood stuff. But again I came up against criticism. What I wrote wasn’t really marketable. Too off the wall. I fancied being a journalist at one point and began teaching myself shorthand. But when I was told I needed to embellish the story I went right off the idea. I wanted to relate fact not fiction. It seemed wrong to be leading people to believe something was different to how it ‘actually’ was.

Years later I came back to writing verse. I had been ill and was in a recovery group working through the same stuff, childhood. As each person left the group I would have a verse in my head that was poignant for them. So I would write it on a card and give it to them as a leaving gift.

When I have written things about my life, thoughts, etc, I have found it quite liberating. It seems to disengage a part of my mind that needs to be in control. As that gets out of the way, it leaves room for all sorts of philosophical stuff to ooze out. It also can connect me to another realm, a place where everything just is, a state of beingness. So if that’s the case, I ask myself why the hell is it still so difficult to sit down begin. Begin. Anagram of Being. There must be something in this.

Writing 101 Day 8 – Death to Adverbs and What a Joy in Doing So

As I perch on a dry mossy boulder, my feet buried in the softness of the field grass’s new spring growth, I indulge in the sun’s increasing warmth as it climbs towards its daily peak. As the gentle breeze brushes the longer grasses of last year’s growth, they tickle my ankles, making me giggle and fidget on my boulder. The breeze pauses a moment, as if taking in a gentle breath. In the silence I can hear the distant cry of the buzzard, its sound sends a ripple of shivers along my spine and outwards, through my skin, making my skin feel as though it is moving and shrinking in a pleasing vibrant way.

I can just detect a hint of a smell wafting up from the west towards me, the aroma of the salt of the sea on the breeze, tickling the inside of my nose, tempting me to leave my soft mossy perch for a wander down to the shore.

I contemplate this moment of thought and decide, I want to continue indulging in nature’s endless array of experiences from this perspective, just for now.

Maybe later, there is so much to absorb just being here, now, in this precious moment.

Writing 101 DAY 3 – Commit To a Writing Practice

Today’s prompt: Write about the three most important songs in your life — what do they mean to you?

At the mere mention of ‘song’, it conjures up bird song and the dawn chorus. I simply adore waking to the sound of the birds, so vibrant with energy and enthusiasm for another day. I think it must be absolutely wonderful to be able to live life with such simplicity. There are numerous particular birds whose song is music to my ears. I love the sound of the skylark, its wings fluttering away as it soars high in the sky, so far up you can barely see it. It conjures up warm sunny summer days, the gentleness of the breeze as it caresses my exposed skin which just indulges in its own freedom. Freedom from those many layers of clothing that stifled the life out of it during the long winter months. The skylark for me symbolises freedom, liberation and self-expansion, a time with space to stretch and expand into the warmth of the sunshine around me.

My other song is the song of the wind. I love the sound of the wind as it plays tunes through obstacles. I live in a windy place and it is amazing just listening to the different sounds. You get used to the type of wind by the noise it makes. During the winter it can sound angry and ferocious as it hits the windows and the sound of the glass tinkling as it flexes with the force upon it. Any exposed edge will make a tune, a hum or a howl, a fluttering or a whine. In the summer months I lie in the long grass with the insects and just feel the gentleness of the breeze as it moves over me. Sometimes it feels like it has come along to play, teasing me as it creeps up on me and then quickly disappears. I can feel it but I cannot touch it. I listen for every change in tone as it moves through the grasses, gently whispering, telling me stories of ancient tales.

My third song is the song of the sea. How I have cherished the times I have spent sat in the lee of the wind drinking in the sounds of the water moving over the stones. For me it was a place of sanctuary, a retreat, a place of calm serenity. The movement of water over the rocks and pebbles felt like it was washing my troubles and as each wave retreated, the pitch of the sound made me tingle with energy all over. This was a place to contemplate but not to think. The sounds interrupted any though but seemed to encourage gentle contemplation.

So my ideal heaven would be lying of a large warm boulder on a rocky seashore, indulging in the sensation of the warm whispering summer breeze whilst listening to the songs of the skylark the sea.

Writing 101 DAY 2 – A Room with A View

Today’s Prompt: If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?

It is really interesting to observe my reactions to a simple phrase – today’s title. My mind works rather like a tree’s visual form. The trunk, just me and then, with merely a gentle prod, my thoughts shoot out along every branch and twig faster than the speed of light. It is no wonder that I have had difficulty even beginning to write!

The thoughts have memories attached, all those places I have enjoyed, flashing through my mind at lightning speed. Along with the memories visually whizzing by there is even more going on. Attached to them are the emotions, feelings and sensations. Ah, it’s all too much mind retorts.

Then a thought strikes me. Yes, this is how I see my world! I am the room and believe it or not, I am the view. As I ponder this, I am watching me view my world. My perspective of this world. It is mine, for only I can perceive it this way. It is all happening at once, this is why my mind cannot handle the concept. I wonder, is this why I have built in filters? So I don’t go on overload!

I notice the emotions that arise as I feel my reactions, there is the gentleness of my breath as I notice the multitude of thoughts begin to quieten. The stiffness in my shoulders eases and there is a gentle lowering of the skeletal structure of the shoulder area, rather like a balloon slowly losing air. I am feeling calmer, stiller and am suddenly, not violently suddenly, but gently suddenly, becoming aware that I feel more at one with myself again. My mind is still engaging in this task but the tension has gone, this experience is one of feeling good. I stop to think momentarily, yikes, there’s that tree again!

Now, where was I?

Yes, I am the room and I am the view. Words almost fail me but this time from a state of ease and sheer pleasure as I indulge in the experience.

Writing 101- Day One – Unlock the Mind

To get started, let’s loosen up. Let’s unlock the mind. Today, take twenty minutes to free write. And don’t think about what you’ll write. Just write.

Keep typing (or scribbling, if you prefer to handwrite for this exercise) until your twenty minutes are up. It doesn’t matter if what you write is incomplete, or nonsense, or not worthy of the “Publish” button.

And for your first twist? Publish this stream-of-consciousness post on your blog.

I cannot remember a time when I did not have some urge to write but by the time I had reached for a piece of paper and in more recent years a dictaphone, or mobile phone’s voice recorder, most of the poignancy of the thought had dissolved into the ethers. I may then spend the next 20 minutes or so trying desperately to retrieve it even though I know from years of repeating this habit that it most certainly does not work. I may stand a chance of accessing a diluted version of the thoughts if I just accept that this is the way it is and totally let go of ever remembering any of it. It is as if I then become aware of the thought as if it were a cloud, slowly dissolving but I have caught it and the essence of what was in it, just before it finally disappeared forever.

Now there have been times when I have written things down. Somehow whatever was going through my mind in some way gained momentum, as if it was determined to be remembered. There was a time in my life when I was moved to support different people and short poignant verses would appear. Written on a nice card and given as a gift was quite transformational for them and lifted my spirits in the bargain.

Like most people, I was forced to write reams and reams at school, was expected to write essays about subjects I really did not resonate with and fictional stories where the focus was on the grammar. I can remember leaving it late in the day to do the work of a fictional piece and I chose to write a ghost story of all things. As I began to write, the story began to unfold by itself and for a while I was lost in it. That was until I scared myself rigid! Despite the fact that I knew I had made it all up, the horror thoughts just would not go away and it took me ages to get to sleep that night. I had to leave finishing the piece of work until break time at school, in daylight! I rushed the end of it just to get it finished. After that I had an even greater reluctance to write anything.

Years late I tried again. I purchase a correspondence course and wrote some dodgy short stories. I was then given an assignment to report on an actual occurrence, a news item. The critique was such that it again put me off writing. I had not embellished, sensationalised the news report, not made it appealing. For me that just seemed cruel and dishonest and I decided in that moment that a career as a journalist was no longer a desired destination – I would have to think of something else.

Time moved on and still the desire to write was there, tapping me on the shoulder, nagging me at the edge of my consciousness. Along came another course, this one had a different take on writing. It looked appealing and attainable. It was a daily course that encouraged me to write anything, just anything for a full five minutes without stopping. The point was to just get something down on paper (or screen). It worked, whilst I did the course, which for me was positive progress. And now this, 20 minutes, wow, that’ll stretch me and it has. Now let’s see if I can make it to Day 2!