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Stars and thoughts
My favourite time of the day is just after dusk. As the sky deepens to blue then ink then black, and one by one, the stars come out.
When the breeze dies down and the background roar of valley life finally quietens. People shut curtains and lights go out and the world settles down to peace. Finally, I breathe out.
I stand outside the house and look up into infinity. Stars, planets, picking out their different colours the longer I look. The air is easier at night. Scents on the breeze tell me of coming warmth, of gathering clouds, of flowers ready to bloom. I relax my eyes and stare upwards, face wrapped in darkness, soul soothed by those tiny diamonds in the sky.
How long have we stood here and looked up? This village, this house, this fleeting life. I feel small but held by these stars. Who looked at this same patch of sky when that light first started its journey? How many lives blinked in and out as each star burns brightly into the darkness. Constancy. Vastness. Something else away from the surface busyness and bustle and fighting and anger in the world. Something calm, and ancient, and beyond us.
In recent years, the sky is streaked with satellites, more and more each year, more than I count on my fingers in the few short minutes I stand. That incessant reminder of human technology in a place that is so much more. Look up, and dissolve into time, but no longer entirely. Now there are constant reminders of that busyness, circling constantly above our heads. I don’t know how I feel about them. Unease, I think. A little novelty, a little resignation.
But beyond the endless man-made pinpoints of light, the planets still shine. Constellations glimmer and move slowly across the sky. The moon rises and sets, no human bases on it yet, although I’m sure it’s not long. I don’t know how I feel about that, either. Disturbed, but unsure why. A kind of grief, lightly, hinting. But for now moon stays calm, rising and setting, waxing and waning. And of course, it will continue.
All these thoughts, I send up to the sky. To the constant stars, to the passage of time. Time deeper than humanity. And so it continues.
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Being human
This week, like everyone else, I watched the astronauts. And there was something weird, something I couldn’t put my finger on for a while. I felt an absence, with every news item I saw about these 4 incredible people in a little rocket box far, far away from earth. Then I realised what it was. It was the absence of dread.
And not only that, it was joy. This weird light feeling, it was joy from the news! Just an absolute antidote to god knows how many years of doom and stress and the constant idiocy of dullards battering our ears and brains. Just lightness! And celebration! Intelligence and achievement and a cute fluffy moon floating around in the background along with a jar of Nutella. I forgot that news could be good. Along with millions, it opened my eyes to hope again.
And wow, being a human. Awe! Joy! Adventures! All these things we can feel and create and make for others. Imagination and problem solving, peace and collaboration and things in common. All things that are dampened by constant negativity of news cycles. We end up feeling that everything is bad, all the time. Because everything we hear is bad, all the time. Imagine if the news was based on hope? Imagine going to the moon all the time! Imagine the joy of the NASA/Hail Mary crossover. Amaze amaze amaze!
Watching these amazing people, not just in the little space rocket box thing but at the controls, in NASA, people loving what they do and working hard at it, for the love of it. I felt this weird lightness, an inspiration and a realisation. I work hard at what I do and guess what, I’m not bad at it. This week I sat and actually believed I was pretty cool, actually. Research, finding stuff out no-one has found out before? Being endlessly curious, just like humans are supposed to be. Expanding into that curiosity and letting it fill every little cell in your body. We can do so much. We collaborate and cooperate and build together. And we feel joy and sadness and regret and grief and awe and something inexplicable about being conscious and not even knowing what that really is. All on this little planet, all together.
What if this was the news. Well I think it will be my news. What have we found out this week? How were we amazed? What took our breath away? What made us cry, what made us draw a breath in wonder, what made us stop and pause and be in absolute wonder of the joy of being human?
Let’s make this the normal. It’s time.
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Unsettlement
Do you ever feel that something is shifting? Like you are on one side of a veil, about to step through, but to what, you don’t know. A subtle shift in the wind, a smell hinting on the breeze, a sudden illumination that suddenly highlights a whole different path. Like a diver tiptoeing to the edge of the high board. Toes curled over the edge, arms stretched above. That perfect moment of stillness. The held breath, the clear exhale. That infinitesimal pause, the pinpoint before, and then…
The pause amplifies. It wraps around me in its stillness, the infinite and the instant, endless depth and the deep black potential, waiting for an atom to shift the balance. What I saw as stagnation is instead a building, a deer gathering energy before taut muscles spring forward in a leap. The tightening of an elastic band before a snap. Feeling the pause, feeling the ache, the yearning for movement that is almost painful. I want to know what is on the other side. I want clarity, explanation, boxes, linearity. Instead, I teeter on the liminal.
I look back at cycles repeating themselves over and over and finally realise I need to let go. I feel the constant strive for something that fits in that neat box, for something tactile, solid, defined. The endless wish for that definition to fit in. But the realisation is I’m not made for linearity. I didn’t trust my tangentiality, but I think that’s what is on the other side. A linear road leading me to this veil. Through that doorway, the final freedom to bend and change and whisper on the winds. The expectation of completement, of one track progression, all the things I’ve bent and fit myself into over 4 decades. You do this, then this, then this, then this. Tick, tick, tick.
tick.
tick.
Standing on that high board, I open my eyes. Ready to dive.
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Wind in the Chimney
The hollow howl buffeting down the stone chimney tells me the winds have arrived. Ripping the last leaves from thin branches, whipping shadows through the dark windows where moonlight flashes briefly from behind scudding clouds. I love the sound, that almost boom, the dull echo as the air rattles down through the fireplace, squeezing through the grates, whistling and wheezing. That wild energy finding its way into the old house, as always.
There is a background roar down the valley, too. In the inky darkness, that deep, primal rumble as the gale winds career from valley side to valley side, funnelled around slalom corners formed by the hillsides and hitting our house head on. Wild nights. I need this.
I find it easy to slip into that world of deadlines, of work, of the relentless rejection of the academic treadmill. Old habits die hard and patterns repeat, but I can hold myself now, with the help of those around me who remind me that real life isn’t hours on the screen or judgement by unseen peers. It’s this gale, it’s the rain battering the window, its that wild energy finding its way through every crack and hole in old stone. It’s been a hard week for sure, and I feel myself sinking, sleeping, hiding away. But in darkness is always softness, in these four walls is sanctuary, in the out breath is healing and peace and centring. As the gale rages outside, I remember to let that wild wind find its way to me, too.
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Pride, feelings and following bees
It’s been a hectic week. Now, here at the end of it, listening to the light patter of rain on the conservatory roof, I’m processing it all. That’s not to say it’s been a bad week. In fact, it’s been really enjoyable, just busy, and long, and a little overwhelming.I was always taught that pride comes before a fall. It’s weird how deeply those sayings can stick with us through life, negating any sense of achievement, instilling in us the belief that feeling good about things we’ve done is wrong, and we’d better be prepared for the ‘something bad’ that will inevitably follow. As part of this long journey of relearning, it’s affirming to feel pride in the things I’ve done. But at the same time, it’s also challenging, with a tinge of sadness and grief, too. But I’ve achieved some things this week so I’m tentatively expanding into that feeling of accomplishment, and starting to learn to let go of the underlying feeling of dread that it will all go wrong soon. It’s not bad to feel proud, and slowly, I allow myself a little smile of happiness, a little warmth kindled inside my soul.
The dry weather and flowering teasels have brought all sorts of wildlife into the garden for a drink of nectar. Voles rustle in the undergrowth, whilst huge butterflies and a rambling assortment of bees buzz happily between those spiky teasel heads, putting their long tongues into the flowers and getting confused when another bee wants to drink from the same place. I love them. I’ve spent hours just sitting in the sun, watching, feeling my heart soar and sharing the space with the beating thrum of life at the summer peak.
It’s a joy that is limitless. Watching a new butterfly flit into the garden, seeing a frog pop its head up from the depths of the pond, getting buzzed by bats at dusk. It’s hard to explain but my soul truly lifts in those moments. The feeling is intoxicating, the feeling of life, of some energy beating through the land, of the full tide of living, breathing, just existing swelling all around. I’m re-learning that it’s ok to lose myself in that overwhelming, full colour, neurodivergent soup of feeling and thoughts and swirling experience. There’s no ‘should‘ or ‘don’t‘ or ‘”stop saying wow!“‘. Some part of me is crumbling and softening, a little, and I am wide-eyed and wonderous at it all. I flung open the conservatory doors earlier and breathed in the petrichor of the grey morning, in a moment that was almost euphoric. Time and colour and smell and joy, just bursting in that one breath, rising from my feet to the top of my head and out, out into the universe. The prickles on my skin where raindrops patter on the rooftop, almost tickling, shivering through my veins. The shine of a leaf that brings glitter to my soul. Following bees around the garden, stopping where they stop, watching them feed and buzz and bumble and fuzz. A line of ants, triggering memories of sunny holidays, following them to a crack in the ground, intently focused.
It’s an overwhelming process, this letting go. I’ve heard of it as unmasking and I get that description, but I feel it’s something bigger, the understanding. That little jolt where it all makes sense, and the enormity of the road ahead. But in this there is joy, and peace, and the freedom now to follow the endless curiosity that didn’t have a voice before. There is pride, and a fierceness, and wonder at the depth of it all.
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Breathing Out
Solstice has come and gone, with that heady rush and energy that build and builds in the days beforehand. The stillness, the dusk and light and dusk and light of that peak pause, where breath is held, eyes wide, hands stretched out into the infinite space that seems to surround us at midsummer. A light that never turns to night. A feeling of endless possibility. Sometimes it feels too much, even. But wonderful, wonderful.
Now, a few weeks later, that tightness is loosening. That breath held cooped up in lungs that felt too small at the time is exhaled. We soften, slow a little, and relax into the colours of summer proper. The leaves lose their shine and become more matte, more muted. Grass and crops turn yellow gold. The insects living alongside us buzz busily into the dusk.
I’ve had a break from writing, to concentrate on finishing my PhD, to head my health in a better direction, and to just process the last few years. It’s been beneficial to step back from here for a while, leaving the cobwebs to gather and words to settle and fade. But in all things, as always, the tide ebbs and flows. I feel the pull back here once more. In the slow times over winter, I had time to think. To stop pushing and rushing.
So, I extended my studies by a year to give myself time to breathe. In creating space by stepping back from here, I filled that gap with more busy-ness that now, in this pause-time, I realise wasn’t for me at all. So, once more we begin. I call for endless learning, the embracing of curiosity, and the inspiration of the seasons. It’s ok to wander, to try, to hold close and let go. Seasons fill with energy, then change. It all repeats. Things come and go, and it’s all ok. As summer stretches out, languid and light, I hear its call. Wander on, to that midnight light on the horizon and the stretching of the dawn.
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Soul Flames: Fire Thoughts
I watch the bright flames crackle and dance in the soft early morning gloom and fight the urge to take a photograph. To document somehow this feeling of warmth, this primal fire in an 1800’s house, the otherworldly in the mundane. But for who? To sit with experience just for myself is increasingly hard.
This fire and me, we regard each other. Ancient connection, speaking to a part of me long forgotten, cells and sparks of millennia that I cannot put a name to. It is safety and danger, food and destruction. And mesmerising, always.
New flames settle with me, the fire burning well, and I struggle to write as my eyes are drawn to flame. The space between each flickering tongue. The dark charred wood a case of shadow. As flames die down the fire whispers “feed me”, and I do, entranced, as we are one, the house fading as soul and flame dance together somewhere deep in memory.
A cat slinks in and by fire she is tiny panther, orange reflected infinitely in huge dark eyes, and this panther flops down and melts into the floor, those wide eyes now closed in dreams of last night’s mouse hunt. The fire shifts in the grate and flames lick over a new surface, flaring and settling again. There is ebb and flow even in this.
The flames sing to me, to slow, to let go, to remember truths greater than myself. Orange glow, not harsh blue light. To peel away the layers of this world and let the flames devour them, leaving us as one, small fire, small human, and something bigger than us both.
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A birthday and a re-beginning: looking back at 40
Looking back at 40
A few weeks ago, I was 40. I didn’t think that I would be one for much of a retrospective, but I’ve found myself thinking a lot about my life so far, and in particular the last decade. I know people always say that your thirties is the decade where you begin to discover yourself somehow, and in a way that’s true, but working through depression, burnout and subsequent therapy didn’t really feel like I was discovering anything at the time.
I remember my 30th birthday. Taking a holiday from the cubicle where I worked and heading off to Spain to visit my dad and keeping my birthday quite low-key. I was 6 months into that cubicle job, depressed and not really knowing why. Looking back I was trying to deal with the burnout that had ended my previous retail management career, but of course in the midst of it, it was impossible to see. I just knew that I was miserable, and every day I dreaded heading to the train station to stand on the packed train full of commuters, to spend all day in an airless office, only to repeat it the next day, and the next. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the beginning of a rough 10 years of discovery. Here I am, at the end of those 10 years, definitely older, possibly a little wiser, but very much more at peace with myself. On my 40th birthday, I woke up in a tent in John O’Groats, a very different person to ten years ago. It’s been a ride, but a much-needed one.
This looking back seems to have brought with it some clarity regarding this blog. Up to now, there have been some tentative beginnings, a lot of big thinking, but as I know now, the actual action is something I find a little more difficult. I didn’t really know what I wanted the blog to encompass, or what I wanted to say. I spoke with my therapist about how I’ve started to feel more solid in myself, a little more whole, but also like I’m at a point in my life where I’m really just beginning. I think I want to explore this, to explore who I am. Who I am now, I mean. I want to be able to look back and learn from the experiences I’ve had, the things that made me. All of it, the good and bad, the enjoyable and heart-wrenching. I want to take what I’ve learnt, those bits of me, and carry them with me as I explore this new decade. It’s a rediscovery of sorts, a journey back to self, an unpeeling.
So that’s what I’ll write about. Rediscovery. Doing things and going places, learnings from life, the joy that nature brings me, aligning myself with the seasons. I’ve spent a lot of time not doing things, for various reasons, over my whole life, really. I spent a lot of time becoming somebody who I wasn’t, but I never really knew who I actually was, who I actually am. I think the process of discovery (or re-discovery) will be a lot of fun, and I am rather looking forward to it!
It’s weird, I spent a lot of time looking at Instagram accounts and blogs and regretting closing down my old blog a little. I wondered what other people were writing about, and what people wanted to see. I was full of envy for those blogs and accounts full of beautiful pictures and perfect moments. I started and stopped a hundred times, and I’ll probably start and stop a hundred times more. This feels authentic, though. What can you do, but write about what you know? This blog has to be me, and this time I hope I can strip away all of those things I think I should write about, and just write about the things I want to. Hopefully they are interesting for others, too.
So, this is me. Some words on a page, some thoughts in my mind. Time, tea and tales. All the learnings and unlearnings, the ups and downs, the ebb and flow. A new knowing, solid base, and a step forward. Here we begin.