Friday, 26 October 2012

XXXVI. Mandarin Tree

Many years ago when my boys were tiny, toddlers perhaps, I took up gardening because I wanted them to learn about seeds and soil and roots and leaves and water first hand. I took some Lilly pilly berries from one tree I had, went through the process of growing teensy seedlings from those berries, with their seeds of life hidden inside, and as they grew larger, I transplanted them along the side fence to grow a hedge. Let them grow a little wild eventually, as I got busy with life outside the house. Overhanging the path so we could hardly walk that way. But I always loved the fact that I'd grown them from seed. 

There was three fruit trees in the garden too. Lemon, mandarin and orange. Those were there when we bought the home. Sweet little fruit bearing trees. The mandarin was prolific producing enough fruit year after year to feed us, and half the neighbourhood. Amazing tasting fruit, juicy and sweet. Tasting just like sunlight. Again, they grew big, overtaking our small lawn, but they were generous with their gifts. 

I admit I was not the most successful at keeping the garden manicured. The weeds they had their way. But I got no help from the other residing in the home, only criticism for the chaos I had created. 

One day, my husband declared that he was taking over looking after the gardens and a tree lopping friend of his arrived with his chainsaw and his truck. 

I knew what was coming, and I could have fought for my trees, but I didn't. I played the victim well and let those men tidy my yard with their noisy arrogant chainsaws. When I say tidy, I mean completely remove all the Lilly pillies that had taken years to grow to maturity, and the lemon, the orange and the majestic mandarin with its boundless generosity. Years of growing, rains, soils, children's pickings, all torn down in one afternoon while I hid anguished inside the house, too useless to defend those which I had helped nurtured. It was as though I needed that loss to power my growing rage against my partner. I think that was probably the last day that place ever felt like home to me. It was a betrayal. But the part of me that longed to leave rubbed her hands in glee at this further proof of how wronged I was, whilst another grieved the loss of my green leaved gifts. And I see that it's overly sensitive and naive to be so sentimental about such things, that to many people, this would barely cause the raising of an eyebrow, let alone feel like a betrayal, but I suppose I am a tree lover. I feel their life and acknowledge that my life is connected to theirs by the air that lies between us. There was a certain symbolic nature to it all that cut me to the core. 

Months later, after I'd left, he came to me and told me he'd had a dream that we were all gathered around the mandarin tree. My eldest still a young child was picking the fruit and peeling it, squirting juice into his fathers eye. He'd woken up close to tears.

And so he should. 

Thursday, 25 October 2012

XXXV. Mantra

I need a mantra.

On November 15 I will be in the North to experience a total solar eclipse. Or at least the shadow of the eclipse.

 "A solar eclipse occurs when the moon passes between the earth and sun close enough to block some or all of the sun’s direct light. A total solar eclipse occurs when the moon passes in front of the sun and blocks it completely, forming a shadow on the earth. For this to occur the sun, earth and moon come in a straight line in their orbits and it will seem like the moon has covered the sun."

And after this early morning eclipse, I am running in my first half marathon, signaled by this celestial starting gun. When I first heard about this race, many months ago, I was compelled to do it. I had this overwhelming feeling in my bones that I needed to travel North, to bear witness to this event, this alignment of Earth, sun and moon, and then to participate in this collective run. I made travel plans almost immediately. I have to say it is one of the more spontaneous things I've done in my life, particularly, as it was based purely on an instinct. Almost an inner knowing. An attraction equally to the astronomical, astrological and spiritual sides to the eclipse, as well as the challenge. It is a mythological undertaking, and apparently, my star sign has a tendency to mythologise life.

Since then, I've looked upon this event as a line in the sands of my life, the heralding in of a new beginning. Then I will run and run for 21 long Kilometres and let past hurts slide from my body, find my resolve to carry on in the heat and through the distance, and ultimately through the days of joy and hardships to come, and finish, exhausted but clean, and proud of myself for attempting this odd pilgrimage. It is my reptilian shedding of a skin that no longer fits. I'm committed to this process, ready for it. Trained my body and my mind. I look forward to it with hope in my heart.

I think I am lucky, to have been able to act on this impulse, to have had the resources, the support, to get me North. To be accompanied by my mother, and my children, throughout the journey.

So I want to have some short defining words to offer the moment the eclipse occurs. Something to tattoo on my soul when the suns rays burst forth once again from behind the beguiling moon. A promise, an offering, a hope, a kindness. A small naive gesture, but if a butterfly flaps its wings.......

Monday, 22 October 2012

XXXIV. Yin and Yang

The yin and the yang. How I love this symbol. Admittedly I do not have a comprehensive understanding of its cultural and spiritual context, but instead draw my own meaning from it, steal its beauty for my own inspiration.

I have been reading, doing my time in the self help literature (as well as reading To Kill a Mocking Bird) and I understand that I must be at peace within myself, accepting of who I am, courageous, expressive, assertive and kind to my heart to get along peachily in life. I think there are peaches in my heart now, always has been really, just lacked the skills to properly handle my situation and the people in it. I feel an overarching joy in life, amidst the busy times, the pressures, the pace, the battles.

Within me I am as whole as I can be right now. I am not looking for completion, I'm looking for a soul outside myself to press, butterfly kiss lightly, upon. I still can't help but feel I am a yin who seeks to find balance with my yang. 

A beloved, not just a lover, those are easy to find, but one who fits with me in the best of ways. Touching, with equal opposing pressure, considerable care taken to remain poised gracefully in balance while moving through life independently. Neither one overpowering without consent or agreement, pressing together, moulding perpetually, shifting and interlocking. Masculine, feminine, light, dark, water, fire. 

One day I will embrace a beloved, and we will be beautiful, like yin, and like yang. 

Friday, 12 October 2012

XXXIII. Breaking and Entering

My house was broken into this week. During the day, while I was out working, trying to earn a quid.

The door was kicked in, breaking the architrave - its a basic house, and someone/s entered my house, the one I have spent the last 4 months making into a home, went through my drawers, cupboards, jewellery box looking for some fast cash and small valuables. They found very little. Took an Ipod with its carefully assembled collection of songs, and some jewellery, my lovely freshwater pearl earrings, which I have worn far far more than any other pair of earrings I own. My most loved earrings. Things of small economic value, but great sentimental value.

I was relieved. Relieved they hadn't taken more, or vandalised my home. Relieved, because its taken an extraordinary amount of courage and determination to make a new place for myself. And I was starting to love it here. I just don't know if I could have handled that been taken away from me. My placemaking efforts. The way I arranged my collection of ginger jars upon the antique court cabinet. The new doonah covers I bought my children.

I know where they traversed in my house. They left a trail of open cupboards and drawers, some discarded jewellery and items on the floor. Were in my eldest sons room. Touched the photograph of him signing his senior leadership agreement. He gives a genuine smile in that photo. Unguarded, natural, so beautiful, his natural kindness shining through. Sometimes that expression gets lost in his posturing, his little bit of arrogance, an attitude that painfully reminds me of his father. But not in that photo, tipped over by my intruder and later fingerprinted by the police. For a few days it was as though I could feel their signature in the house. As though they left behind a disturbance in the very air I breathe. Their bodily cells marking out the territory in which they walked. I didn't know I was so particular about my home. That having an uninvited guest would feel like such an invasion. I'm not particularly attached to the concept of ownership. But respect is important to me. Still, if I can withstand contuinual disrespect from the one who was supposed to love me, a little bit from a stranger is really nothing.

I've told my friends, colleagues of my break and enter. Expressed concerns about my vulnerability as a woman living alone. It did make me feel that way, vulnerable. And glad to have made the decision to have returned to my martial arts training. No one will bring me down without a fight. My best fight. The fight of my life. What I didn't expect was the lack of empathy for the person who kicked in my door.

Bastards, scumbugs, friggin arseholes, were all names thrown about. I don't particularly feel anger. I feel sorry for someone who feels that kicking in someone's door, a barely living above the poverty line someone, is an acceptable life choice. There are some many beautiful things to do with your time in life, how sad to choose to do this. I want to intervene. To give them an indication of a better path. To trace back to the point in their lives where it went wrong, and fix it. I am sure that once, that this person, was once a beautiful, innocent child. What have we done?

Naive I am, to be sure.

So as I type I have timber boards across my front door, as it is broke, reminiscent of some crumbled war zone home and I try to discern what is it that I should learn from this experience.

No matter what is thrown at me, the optimism in my heart, my very soul, will prevail. Thus endeth the lesson.


Saturday, 6 October 2012

XXXII. Ceremony

Solitude. Alone, at last. Restoration. The need to return to myself, to align my soul and the vibrating buzzing restless electrons of my cells with the invisible timeless patterns of the universe. Find chaos and embrace her, plant my kisses on her rosy cheeks and slip into ecstasy.

The need, urgent and demanding, overcomes me and I drop my pallid household chores and my bare feet take me to my bed, my body already vibrating toward its release. I lay back and open, my knowing hands work in tandem with my cunt. The source of my womanhood and scarcely expressed potential feminine power. I join all my isolated parts, they have become flung around, loose, lost, disheveled, stretching away from me by the processes of the daily grind. I am one body now as I begin to sweat, become more fluid, wet, a connecting river running through me, carrying richness to every needy part.  I am no longer pointed toes, lipstick lips, muscled arms, exposed throat, suckled breasts, I become unified, there is no longer a need to label or dress my parts and I open to the ultimate lover, the universal spirit. 

My imagination plays its role in this private dance creating elaborate fantasies, always varied, sensual, rarely focussed upon any one person or place, this isn't me wishing to be filled by a treasured lover, or a one on one union, it is a celebration of my body and it's ability to experience euphoric pleasure. A homage to the life force within me, to my sexual self, my wild beauty, defined wholly and solely by me. Orgasm always come to me, without fail, sometimes quickly, other times more commitment is required, but it comes nonetheless, like a volcano of purest white magma, made of fused earth and light, sometimes spreading through me slowly, sometimes like an uncontrolled fire and I contort and bend under its speedy release. Sparkling, blazing diamonds, shining secretly from their natural resting place, still safe, untouched, by the greedy hands of men. 

In these lasting moments, I break through boundaries, barriers are torn down, and I come face to face with the beauty of the intangible. And then I am at peace. Balance within restored. Butterflies would land on my fingers, hummingbirds on my shoulders, flowers would grow around me, stems threading their way through my hair. My ceremony of self love complete, I rise, my heart content, not lurching outward away from me, or shying away from external pressures, and I pick up the basket of washing discarded earlier, and I fold. 

Tuesday, 2 October 2012

XXXI. King Tide

I knew the feeling described in the last post would be fleeting, just as I know it will return again. It is my king tide, my hope rising to its highest peak, cyclic, governed by forces outside my control, set to recede after its flash of powerful elegance.

I'm on holidays right now, with my children and one of my best friends and her family. We have come to this same spot year after year. I'm settled outside my well assembled tent, my children over at my friends camp, as I catch a quiet moment. I love this time of rest, no timetable to stick to, the days filled with spontaneity, swimming, sun, running on the beach. Last night we ran fast as we could along the beach under the moon, in a wild playfulness. 

I couldn't make this trip on my own, and that does make me feel a little vulnerable, dependent on my friend and her family to help me set up camp, put up our protective shelter, their company, cheerfulness. I know they think of me as family, and have proved many a time that they love and care for me, but doubt about how much I can respectfully lean on the kindness of their hearts remains. It highlights to me that I am on my own, no capable loyal man to help me on my way, to collapse into, plant sweet kisses on, to bring to his knees with my touch. To shift and slip back and forth between quiet shared moments of understanding and fiery slices of sexual pleasure. And finally, to argue with over which tent pole goes where. In choosing the path I have, I need to be that little bit stronger, to have that willingness to put myself out there, to try and fail and pick up my own pieces. To get used to certain disappointments that come about by just not being able to do everything on my own. I'm not diminishing the wonderful relationships between my lifelong friends and me, I am blessed here, loved by a handful very close to unconditionally, but it is different to the partnership that can exist between lifelong lovers. And at times I am haunted by the ghostly spectre of a partner I do not have. 

I am responsible for the lives of two precious children, lovely lovely they are, the stakes could not be higher. Falling down is not an option. So when this fear, this floating debris of self doubt and grim solitude winds it's way in, I just need to remember that eventually the king tide will arrive, in all it's glory, and wash it away once again. 

I wax and I wane. As I should.