Transition

Tags

compassion, imagery, lies, loss, metaphor, passing, reality, Saturday, telephone, the other side, transition, truth, unassuming

Transition

Soft as soft and unassuming seemed the day you stole away. And I wondered: are transitions merely ghosts, spectres, unreal reality? The hoover softly purring on the carpet like a cat with much to do, pondering sleepily if those things can be left for another day. It was just another Saturday. The day after Friday, and the one before Sunday – or so it seemed at the time. So Saturday morning chores filled the moments and as I vacuumed vacantly, the sun shining through lace-adorned windows, my thoughts popped in and out like uninvited guests mimicking the movement of my arm as if stroking an imaginary pet.

And yet, when the telephone rang, I knew before I answered it what I would hear. I wasn’t surprised, not in the least. I had been preparing for this call for longer than I can remember. I cast my mind back and pictured us on a sandy beach with you just out of reach and felt the pang of loss. That holiday was our first and last: the grandmother, the mother, and the child – three generations together, linked by our own expression of what it meant to be family. The path we had trodden to get to the other side now blocked by the greedy, irascible sea, at first calm, luring us closer, now raging higher, threatened to prevent us from going any further. There was no alternative but to climb the steep incline or be drowned, and so mercifully we were spared. But even as we climbed,
the threat of loss hovered on that occasion, just as it did when the telephone rang.

“I think you should come straight away”, the voice was calm and caring.
“Is she …?” The words fell away. Why was I asking? I already knew the answer.
“No”, the voice said. But I knew this was an acceptable twist of the truth. We both knew – better to travel in hope. Silently, I thanked the voice realising that compassion is not a liar.

So, softly you left on a Saturday.

~ Marie Williams – April 2018

Florence: Part 2

Tags

daughter, death, emotion, fears, forgiveness, healing, Holy Land. Garden tomb, inspiration, Jerusalem, journal, journey, joy, mother, Redeemer, tranquility

I was overwhelmed by the response I received from writing about Florence. There was such an outpouring of love and compassion on a scale which I had not expected. All of those amazing, wonderful voices that spoke to my post, I want to say a very deep and heartfelt thanks from the bottom of my heart. Thank you so much. I would love it if Florence could have shared in the love and compassion too but sadly she is no longer here. But that does not mean that because she is not here to hear all those wonderful sentiments, she cannot share the love. Florence was my mother. And because I am her daughter a piece of her, a very valuable and precious part of her lives on in me, and so because she did not have a voice while she was a victim of domestic violence, I hope by sharing with you a very poignant time in her life, her voice will speak once again.

Image: Source unknown

Florence, my mother, your once tortured soul I hope rests in peace and I hope that you don’t mind sharing that wonderful day you had in the Holy Land shortly before you left us. I found your journal in amongst your things, and I read about the amazing time you had. You didn’t have many amazing days for longer than I care to say, sadly for you, but I know you treasured life and all it had to give despite facing many dark days. This light-filled day was a blessing to me when I read it and so many were saddened by your experience, that I would like them to know that you experienced joy and you were able to record it so that I would one day find it and share it with others who care for you.

Florence in her own words:

“The tour of the Holy Land is a most exciting and moving experience. The Bible is made alive. It surpassed all my expectations.

During my grown-up years it was always my desire to visit the Holy Land – Christ’s birthplace. Oh I wish I had been there when He walked among men.

Now that I have gone there, I was really overwhelmed by the vastness of the land and the awesomeness of it. I have seen a lot, and I am certain that there was much more to be seen. But the place that had the greatest impact on me was the Garden Tomb where Jesus was supposed to have been laid after His death. I entered the tomb and saw the imprint of His body and as I emerged I glanced upon the wall and saw the words: “He is not here. He is risen” and then I suddenly realised that my Redeemer lives and for a moment I was transfixed.

Then we began to wander through the Garden and the visit was terminated by Holy Communion and prayer. I never experienced such peace in my life. All the tiredness had left me and I felt so relaxed I had to tell my experience to my room-mate when I returned that evening to the hotel. I am so glad I was able to make the journey to Jerusalem because what I saw and heard will linger with me for the rest of my life. We returned home on the 24th February 1996 and our lives have never been the same since that week that was spent in the Holy Land. We stayed at the King’s Hotel in Jerusalem”.

I am pleased to have given my mother a voice. So many of us are unable to use that most precious of gifts for whatever reason. It is such a powerful instrument and with power comes responsibility. The responsibility to use our voices wisely.

~ MEW 2016

Sex, Ties and Which Road Do I Take?

Tags

abuse, awareness, bread, commodity, connection, emotion, healing, hurt, journey, love, morality, Oscar Wilde quote, retail, sex, shock, therapy

Warning: this contains controversial subject matter.

“Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.”
― Oscar Wilde

What is it about sex? Why does it catch everyone’s attention in a way that other subjects do not? Let’s face it if you open a newspaper and there is some scandalous snippet about a well-known politician, do your eyes not immediately wander over to what you might perceive to be something juicy, something to gossip about on the telephone, by the water cooler: “Who would have thought it? Yes, and he’s married with three children!” Sex elicits shock, surprise, disbelief, smugness. It questions morality. It excites. It turns you off. It turns you on. It can bring on a headache. Some can take it, others prefer to leave it. Some will only do it if you put a ring on it. Or so Beyoncé would have us believe.

So what is this three letter word all about? Why is it so pivotal? Is it because we cannot exist without it? We can’t exist without the air we breathe, but does talk of “air”, (incidentally another three letter word) impact the human race in quite the same way as sex does? An article on air and an article on sex? Which do you read first? Air or sex? Sin -an old-fashioned word with religious connotations. Sin too is pivotal to the human condition. Who doesn’t sin each day, intentionally or not. Sin excites, shocks and questions morality, but not in the same way as sex does.

We cannot live without sex. It is central to our lives. And if this is the case, why is it not revered? The association with dirt cannot be denied. When I was growing up, my mother could not say the word “sex”. So I was introduced to menstruation, by being given a little pamphlet about it with the warning: “Don’t fool around boys”. That was the extent of my sex education from the woman who gave birth to me. You would have thought that I would have been given more detailed information from someone who had been there, done it, got the “T” shirt – right? So the shy, confused eleven year-old, was left to negotiate her own sexual journey armed with a pamphlet and an ambiguous statement. What exactly did “don’t fool around boys mean”? Don’t appear to be an idiot in the presence of boys? What would a boy consider to be foolish behaviour?

Sex, sadly is also a commodity. This some would say, beautiful expression of connection between two people can be bought, sold, bartered, negotiated, and disposed of. Sex has been reduced to a retail concern, with economic connotations. Just as you can “pop” to Tesco for your bread, milk and potatoes, you can pop out to buy sex too. Both sustain you. But when was the last time you got excited about spending a night in with your loaf of bread? Isn’t sex more satisfying? Especially with a loved one with whom you’ve forged emotional ties.

So what is sex? A beautiful expression of connection or a physical urge which needs to be satisfied? It would appear to be both. A sexual paradox?

And then, there’s abuse. Using sex to ruin a child’s life. Wrong! Forcing yourself on an individual who does not want to be part of your desire to satisfy your own physical urge. Wrong! How can it be acceptable to be irresponsible about sexual gratification if it involves stealing a child’s right to explore their own sexuality in their own time, at their own pace, when they want to? Yet this is what child molesters, paedophiles, and those inclined to this criminal behaviour would want to impose on those of us who find this reprehensible. This is not sex. This is depravity. Make no bones about that. Once you have stolen someone’s innocence, you might as well have killed them. Yes, I know this is unpalatable for many. But it is the reality. I have to shock you. Because I have no other way of stressing the hurt, the pain, the distress, the emotional turmoil, the mental turmoil, the taking of a valuable life. Who knows what that child, young person would have achieved had they not found it necessary to heal that trauma in later life? Hiding away from the world, instead of boldly shining their light.

So I’ve dealt with “sex” and I’ve touched on “ties”. Now you’re wondering what I’m going to say about “which road to take”. It was in fact a play on the words “Sex, Lies and Videotape”, that well known film starring Andie Mcdowell and James Spader. I have nothing more to say than I hope you appreciate my pun.

~ MEW

Florence

Tags

abuse, broken, control, cruelty, domestic vioence, escape, fears, Florence, husband, Italy, pain, physical scars, tears, therapy, wedding vows

Florence not the place in Italy. A real person, an essentially good person but flawed nonetheless. I cannot say what prompted me to write today of Florence although I had been thinking about her for a while and I wanted to share with all the beauty of a soul who suffered more than words can say, and who dwelt each day in turmoil. You see Florence was a victim of domestic violence. And Florence came to believe that that was all she deserved. She did not know how, could not know how, was unable to show the scars, the tears, her fears, instead wearing these garments like a beautiful gown thrown carefully about her person. She paid attention to this outward show: the fashion show of the broken.

Others looked but could not see her pain for she wore those garments well. Tears like a brooch pinned to her heart, covering the sorrow. Fears, a multi-coloured scarf tossed about her neck so those finger-marks a cruel necklace, red and raw were concealed a good deal of the time, even when it was not cold. Florence’s smile beguiled even those of a perspicacious nature. Even they were fooled by that smile, a smile which said all is well, but belied the sadness coiled tightly, so unsightly for the world to see.

Misfortune was the realm in which she lived, a place which foiled her every plan to escape the brutality of domestic violence. Attacks were the nature of the cruel game played out in this particular domain. Florence played the game but the rules were skewed. Skewed in favour of her husband. Her husband who she had taken for better or for worse, but it would have been better had the worse been better, but the worse was worse and featured strongly in this union if you could call it that.

Personally, I would not call it a union, but for Florence her wedding vows were sacred and she had promised and promises were not made to be broken. But her bones could be. Surely she had not promised that?

~ MEW

Time

Tags

birth, concept, death, Ecclesiates 3, expectations, Father Time, healer, human experience, journey, letting go, mother, purpose, season, time

Time in essence ethereal yet so solid it reigns supreme. It has its own place in its own kingdom and rarely a day passes without mention of the time. Time to go; time to get ready. Time to wake up; time to go to sleep. An expression of impatience: “She’s been with us for almost a year now, it’s time she got used to us”. Thoughts voiced aloud by a mother who didn’t understand her small daughter and thought time was all that was needed to bridge the gap between leaving her child and getting to know her years later. Time the great healer: time has no emotions. It doesn’t know that it has been imbued with healing qualities by mankind and that it sometimes falls short of expectations when it doesn’t deliver.

Time was, when the grass was greener, when men were gentlemen, when times were better, and men treated their women like women should be treated. Time was when children were better behaved. Time: this hazy, glowing picture of perfection. a picture portraying ideals which never really existed. More like a mirage, an oasis contrived by the desperate thirst-filled individual painstakingly making his way to the illusion of water.

Time raised to immortality in Ecclesiastes 3: “To everything there is a season, time for every purpose under heaven”. Time is of the essence it has been said. Time waits for no man, that too we’ve heard. Father Time, a respected figure: but why no “Mother Time”: was there only room for you? Could the two not reign side by side?

Time passes, ride on time, time to let things go, haven’t you noticed the time? Time goes so slowly. Time can do so much. So much responsibility has been attributed to this word used almost daily, sometimes casually without much thought and at other times with such reverence that it is a wonder how it encapsulates so much of the human experience from birth to death.

A timely post you might ask? Only time will tell …

~ MEW

The Past

Tags

compass, emotion, healing, journey, memory, pain, past, philosophy, poem, poetry, present, self-knowledge, signpost, therapy

How philosophical the past has become. Everyone seems to have a view on it and it appears to be fashionable to voice it forcibly whether the situation calls for it or not. If you’re feeling blue and you don’t know what to do, some kind soul will undoubtedly advise you to “forget the past and focus on the present”. But I say, remember the past. The past: that vast territory which comes without a map, a compass, signposts and requires spatial awareness of the emotional kind. The kind that binds you to a memory, and drags you to that place, even if that is not where you intended to go. And when you get there, the constantly changing vista is never as you remember it: the pain was always more palpable, the joy jarred gently, words were welts on the prominent pathways of your psyche.

But I say remember the past: The past: that vast territory which needs preparation before you set out on it. So I say: equip yourself with sturdy walking shoes, shoes with a firm grip to keep you grounded, mentally make a map meandering mindfully through tough terrain, view the vista with new eyes, make pain a signpost to avoid and see it covered partially with weed. Strengthen your spatial awareness and eke out exits along the way. Present your passport if required and ensure it is stamped and that your visit has been recorded, so that you know that you have been there and that you can go there again. Be mindful of the knowledge that your journey has been a choice and that there are no boundaries concerning the past. It is a place that will always exist. It may not be sunshine, inky moon-lit nights, leisurely lapping sea on sand, it maybe storm-filled days, biting frost and thoughts of time to throw-the-towel-in, but the past is yours and mine. After all, we have all been there. Haven’t we?

~ MEW

False Smiles, False Conversation

Tags

communication, etiquette, life-lesson, manners, poem, poetry, pretense, respect, self-knowledge, twenty four/seven, vampire

I didn’t like him and he didn’t like me.  That much we understood.  But in order to allow life to run smoothly and not to upset the apple-cart, we pretended that we did like each other.  False smiles, false conversation.  Empty words and empty laughter.  He’d been visiting for a while and I thought she could’ve done better for herself.  Where on earth had she found him?  I called him “The Vampire”.  He only appeared at night after 12.00.  What did he do during daylight hours?  He was very busy I was told.  His busy-ness left me cold.  Sounds to me like a tale of old: she wasn’t that important, but during the night when he was less busy, he could accommodate her.  Not good enough I’m afraid.

And so the story unfolds.  I liked him no better and he liked me no better but things came to a head one night when at a quarter to one he decided to visit.  “Hiyoualright?”  As he slinked upstairs and caught me in the light on the landing.  I think it was meant to be “Hi., how are you?”  But it was a quarter to one and I hadn’t set my vampire clock and was not pleased at all.  No answer came from me, caught as I was in my unsociable attire, where do you think you are going at this time of night, outraged sensibility.

Vexation all around and hurt feelings abound.  Hasty exits and another deposit in the bank of “what’s her problem?”.  And when I’ve calmed down, I try to make amends.  Try to bring it back to false smiles, false conversation, empty words and empty laughter.  The conversation does not go well.  “About the other night … I don’t really like you to visit at unsociable hours… this upset me … would prefer it if you didn’t do that”.  Back came the reply: “You’re unsociable”.  “You’ve never made me feel welcome in your home”.  “Whose fault is it that I’ve been coming here for over one year and you have never tried to get to know me better?”  Followed by: “I don’t care what you think.  You called me, I never called you, so get off the ‘phone”.  Could it have got worse?  Clearly it did.  Now, no false smiles, false conversation, empty words and empty laughter.

 

Lesson

Have respect for others.  Respect their lives and how they choose to live.  Do not presume that because you are on a 24/7 schedule, they are too and if they are not, they are unsociable and unwelcoming.  Try to meet somewhere in the middle and never ever try to justify bad behaviour by blaming the other person  for your own bad behaviour.

~MEW

 

 

 

 

The Gift

Tags

awareness, blogging, clouds, communication, compassion, feelings, healing, metaphor, nature, poem, poetry, self-knowledge, therapy, tranquility, trees

Why this feeling of sadness now?  I think I’ll sit with it a while, after all it cannot hurt to understand the feeling if it manifests itself to me.  If I ignore it and send it away will it be hurt and think that it cannot come again to remind me of something I have not yet forgotten?  Breathe deeply, stare at the yellow walls and the sunlight reflecting through the window at the foot of the stairs.  It doesn’t feel any better, but then why should it?  You’ve only been thinking about the feeling for a few seconds.  Is that all the time that you can spare for this feeling when it so urgently wants to be felt?  Don’t you owe it to yourself to sit and engage with it, have a conversation with it, listen to what it has to say?

A small knot in the pit of your stomach.  A small pressure to the right side of your head, just under your ear.  Tingling in the feet and curiosity around the base of your neck and furrowed forehead.  Lips pursed as if to kiss and greet the feeling that has chosen this moment to visit, when you really weren’t expecting visitors today.  Invite the feeling to stay and find out what it has to say.  Don’t be cold and formal, treat it like a long lost friend.  Connect with it and let it know that it is important, that it is welcome and that although you have other things to do, this feeling has priority right now.  It relaxes and reclines and something shifts within you.

You turn your head and gaze from the foot of the stairs to the open window where the breeze softly caresses your skin, notice too that the trees are waving at you, as the cool air touches their leaves.  That the clouds in the sky floating on by suggest softness, cushioning your  thoughts.  Having gazed a while, seconds, minutes – who knows, you glance away, noticing the feeling has crept away.  You smile and acknowledge the gift your visitor brought today.

~mew

 

 

 

Father

Tags

90th Birthday, abuse, anger, child abuse, communication, compassion, forgiveness, healing, heart, hurt, prose poetry, sadness, self-knowledge, therapy

Father

I know so little about you. I do regret that and I wonder if it is possible to go back while there is still time. But is there still time? And if there is, what would I ask you and would you answer me truthfully, or would you continue to evade my curious, questionning heart,confuse, abuse, lose me in that maze, that maze that you constructed, stiff, stifling, solid walls around you, saying “keep out!”.

Who mothered you? Who fathered you? Who were your friends? Who struck you? Where did your rage come from? At whose hands did you learn to fight, bite, keep tight, never lose sight of the anger, hold it, nurture it, feed it, plead with it to keep you safe, safe from the hurt and the pain which surely must have followed you doggedly in your formative years?

My tears, my fears, the passing years, heaped in a pile in a bundle in the centre of my heart. I keep meaning to have a clear out, but I don’t have the strength to tackle that bundle, so I trundle along in the hope that one day soon, I’ll march in, take hold, unfold all those offending garments, toss them into a place where I can see them for what they are: questions, questions with no answers. No answers.

I have known you for years untold and yet I do not know you. You have been in my heart, never too far apart, lingering languidly upon my lips, in my thoughts, in my prayers and layer after layer of you is impressed upon my being. I need to forgive myself for not getting to know you. I need to forgive you for not letting me get to know you.

~ mew

Stronger

Tags

communication, harmony, healing, hurt, inspiration, journey, love, metaphor, Oprah Winfrey, peace, power, prose poetry, self-knowledge, therapy, tranquility

Yesterday I started to read Oprah Winfrey’s “What I Know for Sure”, and I found it “Bible-like”. It’s a good book to keep close by to refer to on life’s journey. It is full of truth, authenticity, guidance, self-love, love for others and wisdom.

The cover of the book is beige and green and it has an oak tree on it. The oak tree is a symbol for me of faithfulness and strength. Its sturdy trunk is rooted and unshakeable, and a place where I can rest my body if and when I need to. It wont collapse with my weight. It will stand firm and hold me up. Its girth will give me a sense of stability – something like when you are a small child and you run to your mother and put your arms around her. Your arms never quite reach to clasp, but that solidity and warmth, comfort and reassure you.

I am feeling fine today. I meditated for a while. I am getting stronger each day. I feel loved and wanted and special. Not knowing what the future will bring for me does not scare me. I am grateful for my breath, my body and my ability to write. These gifts are precious. They are worth more than gold, but I will not lock them away in a vault of fear, for fear that they will be stolen from me. I will display them and trust that they will stay. I will take these gifts, treasure them and hold fast to them.

~ MEW