Saturday, 26 October 2013

Passages of time

There's a tree in the park opposite me in Cardiff, Roath Park. A huge tree takes up most of the view from the bay window in the living  room. How strange, I told someone yesterday that this was starting to feel like home. Perhaps it is.  I notice how much the tree has changed, last week the leaves were still hanging on to green. This week they're copper tinged.

So much can happen in a week;  a dream coming close to fruition, missing someone I didn't really think I would, like the slow resignation to the changing of the seasons, realising the is a time for everything. I am the paradox of duty and desire .

So strange, you (I) can meet someone and get caught up in their slip stream. I want to see the world from their eyes, I want to feel the same temperature on my skin that they are feeling. I want to taste the world with their tongue. Then I pause and the thought of real intimacy after decades of faking it rather well or maybe even not being that clever, and thinking it was the real deal when it was something else  and I feel vulnerable.

We all have tricks, I suppose, to preclude  others getting really close, like sexual positions which don't allow your lover to look in your eyes, to allow yourself to go on autopilot in a relationship, playing out roles. Or zoning  out during a conversation, because you don't really want to be present for another person's pain.  Or perhaps their joy.

We live like fractals. Atomised experiences, then we meet someone whose mind overwhelms, and it's the puppies in the light syndrome. Can't bear it, don't know what to do with it.

But when you want to believe that this friendship, which is already more important and necessary than a love affair can make it. He asked, before we even met, "do you think we will make it?"

Dreams shatter on boulders of expectation everyday. How do I know. And why here and why now.
Light is falling, gentle tendrils of golden  layers descend on my glowing tree.  Sometimes I look at the tree and think, "where will I be in the winter, will my heart still feel a smile exhilarated?"

Will night's cold clutches extinguish the light that shines when two lives intersection and there is potential for what if...sometimes I feel too faded to take a chance to risk again.

People say time and again, you are so inspiring, look how much you do, look how far you have come. But the edge of the abyss is still just a breath away.

I melodramatise. I am happy. I am curious. We'll die another day.

Thursday, 24 October 2013

Gone Fishin'

Well not literally obviously I would not know one end of a fishing rod from another.
I wonder who you are. Hundreds and hundreds of people look at my scratchings here every day. Even days and weeks when I abandon you and have a life offline.

I read Edward Snowden's girlfriend's blog. I wonder if she will recover from the pain and the trauma. Really truly loving someone is so fraught with risk. If governments were to risk assess falling in love I am sure it would carry a health warning. But who would trade it, for a moment, that feeling of drowning in another person, of feeling safe and loved and connected. Even if it lasts an hour or a few or an evening or a lifetime. I have met some extraordinary people this week, around doing proper actual work and not just talking about it, with really marginalised kids, Timebanking, ethical investing (not corporate rapists like G4S or Triodos, phoney ethical bank), a pretty mind blowing social entrepreneur, who doesn't realise how amazing and inspiring he is, a change agent who scrum manages huge companies and a polymath.

I'll tell you more. Maybe one day. I know I should write more, not dear diary entries, but proper writing and I hope to get enough of my life back to actually be able to HAVE a life again sometime very soon. Whoever you are, you hundreds and hundreds of you. It's nice to know you are there, maybe you remind me I am here too. Sometimes I log into the terror that is Facebook and the picture of my Dad who died three years ago comes up. It's so chilling and it it still makes my eyes smart.

There are days I wonder if what we leave behind makes any difference.
And there are weeks like this one that remind that all we have is love, really.