Shoes

There is nothing better than your favourite pair of shoes.

The ones you've had for years and you always go back to.

The ones that always make you feel like a million dollars:
you feel like you can do anything with them - you feel like a better version of yourself.

Taking them off makes you feel like you're losing a part of yourself - like you're amputating a bit of your soul.

I hope I never have to give up my shoes - they complete me. I love them now; I'll love them forever.

Time bomb

It is like running a race knowing that although the finish line lies ahead, there are still a few laps to go.

It is like someone loosely bound my feet together, and it was okay at first, but now they are tightening up the bonds, and walking is an awkward shuffle.

It is like asthma - restricted tight and painful - without respite or the option to pause, think, and take a slow deep breath.

It is like being on the wildest, craziest most unpredictable ride in the world - I want to get off but I desperately want to stay on so I can know what it's like and see it through to the end.

Soon the last big loop will be over and breathing will return to normal, and I'll be able to run again - wherever I like!  And you can come with me. Hold my hand. I'll point to the past and explain that looks can be deceiving. I'll allow you a little peek into the magic window of time. And. My friend. I'll fill the cup for you and  let you sip.   And close your eyes. And smile. And dream.

Unborn tomorrow and dead yesterday

And the beauty of the NOW.

It was tricky today. The nowness of now - shifting from a sparkling brisk sunny break to the dark cave of gloom and despair. How dare I be invited there? How could it feel like such a trap yet seem so genuinely necessary.

It can't go on like this in any case.  There are too many nuances - too much gloom. There is too little understanding. Time to open the doors, unshutter the windows, and let the light creep through the cracks and invade. Take over and render us blind to anything but the joys of now.

And if we can't see them for what they are staring us in the face, then we must create them and shape them as we wish them to be.

Personal Policy

I'm putting the finishing touches on a work policy today, and the thought occurred to me that I should have one too.

It would make everything that much easier, don't you think?: 'Please refer to my Personal Policy.'

But how should I write it?  Vague and open to interpretation (and misinterpretation) or specific to more detail than you might be comfortable with?

It might limit the crazy moments that make life so much fun - or it might make life that much more of a ride.

Who would read the fine print? Who would take the time to understand the nuances of the language, and the waivers and loopholes woven into the fabric of the text?

We all have unwritten policies in place by the time we reach a certain point in our lives, but how many of us think through those endless clauses and sub clauses of the unconscious?

I think it's time to do some internal admin.

Running

These posts are bringing me great comfort at the moment. It won't last - how can it? I'll run out of things to ponder eventually - and my interests are far from those that reflect expertise in anything but living.

And loving 

And running. I love to run. 

A friend once asked if I imagine I run away from things or towards things when I need to motivate myself.  It's always towards things for me: a fabulous friend, a brilliant shop, or a rare treat.  

I'm running on empty at the moment and rather run down. Tomorrow will test our distance ability. I can't run away now....

The secret Well

Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn 

 My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn: 

 And Lip to Lip it murmur'd---"While you live"

"Drink!---for once dead you never shall return."

I wonder if there is a secret Well of Life here in London?  If only it were as easy as getting an earthen bowl to hold all that divine elixir.

Who would hesitate to drink?  

I wonder - would I know I was even thirsty unless I was offered a sip?  

Perhaps I think I'm drinking but I'm not.  

Or have I drunk too much and can't see straight?  

Is there more to ignite my senses and my soul?  

Or have my lips formed a secret pact behind my back...

But but but but

It just makes no sense at all.

It really doesn't!

Should I scratch my head in confusion?  Assume the worst? Or worse than that (close ears. Don't think.)?

Fusty fiddly petty prudish biased blustering gone gone gone.

I think that's pretty much it. Why not sit down and have a drink?

Nothing more appropriate. Time to reconsider motives.

Time to motivate and get moving. Time to laugh and forget about the whole goddamn thing. That's what they all do.  But really - there's nowhere to go and no escape from the prison of our thoughts.

Three stops. Three strikes. And a final run. All the way home.

Verbal Reasoning

Radio
Of the lambs

You are bright enough to figure it out.

You are articulate. You. Are a communicator.

Walk with me.

I'm going to show you a few little secrets I think you should know. Dark places. Side alleys. Hidden entries. It's not important where we look, nor really what we see.

It's the quiet recesses of the soul - those shadowy corners of the psyche, where the unknown sits by a baited trap - it craves a voice.

It might be yours. It could be all that's in your heart: your gut. It could be that your darkest thoughts and secret hopes are one and the same. You know this would likely come as a shock.

Could we have a psychic feeding frenzy tonight? If we are bold enough to think it. Bold enough to come to terms with the discrepancies of our inner desires, then we may embrace our own humanity and reach out to satisfy our dark desires without the fear of Conformity. Caution. Consequences. Inhibitory factors designed to choke us up.

Wrap them up. Hide them in the dingiest back street. And speak.  Every quiet word. You are safe. You are protected and wrapped tightly in the gaze of my eyes.

Public Enemy

These notes are published.   But they are mine!  Who are you out there - why do you read this and what do you want?

Quiet night time contemplations are quite personal. I edit and rethink each one more than may be necessary, but it is for my pleasure, sanity, and philosophical contentment.

Every sentence sorts my soul. Every sigh stirs my heart. And every impulsive thought brings me hope that each moment I have left on this earth will bring more excitement joy and happiness than the last.

Physics first: the past is a foreign country.
Take me there.
Let me relearn the language.
Let me pick the locks.
Let me understand the real nuances of the tongue.
And let me lie here
Looking.
Looking
Looking.            ........        for any sign

Loop

Home movies often lack finesse, but when they're yours they take on a world of meaning, allowing you to step back in time and experience it all again.

Can a mental movie suffice in the absence of a concrete image?

If we play and replay our visual, auditory and sensory memories on a loop will they retain a connection to the original memory - and does that matter?

Perhaps the unconscious plays editor to our memories better than we would with the best software. We can choose to accentuate those moments that may not be possible to capture in film: the adrenaline, the giddy effects of alcohol, or a moment of synchronicity when there is a sensation that everything has fallen into place.

Rewind. Repeat.

Contemplation

It's fantastic - this new view from the bridge.

I found that once beloved book - a fine surprise - but can I pick up where I left off all those years ago?  Will I read it in the same way after so much time has passed?

Now - to begin from the beginning - again - or pick up where I left off? There is a challenge in revisiting a cherished book after so long. The characters are familiar but we need to get to know them again before we move forward with the hazy details of the plot.  Or should we trust that the qualities retained in our fragile memories are sufficient to allow our brain to fill in the blanks?

I always wondered how it ended.

Chemistry Revision

It all makes sense now:

The elements can be stable or unstable.

The catalyst can be a variable.

The outcome can have multiple products.

Bonds are likely to be formed.



If only I can learn how to balance equations.

Limbo

Sometimes I think of my office as a pod of neutrality floating in a sea of black suits and striped ties.

Upon entry the outside world melts away, time slows down, and I wait.

Thoughts are mired in sticky tarry residue. My eyes tire. Sleep is a fine opponent.

He sits aloof, awake in the corner waiting for the right time to strike.

But inevitably the door swings open, letting in a surge of questions, problems, doubts, dreams, and the occasional poem too.

Sleep - distressed, defeated, and deflated - slips away unnoticed.

Hibernation

My office is a cave.

And I am the bear.

These past dark months it felt wrong to venture out. Comfort and contemplation were within the peaceful walls.

But now - there's a wriggly feeling: Time to use up those winter stores and get ready for the spring.

The air out there smells sweet.