Thursday, 24 February 2011

ᕱ moving on with a lighter heart ᕱ


grounding feet

palace ghosts


from here to there

tower of embellish

grinding me down

"For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself.
And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well, not even to think.
To be silent, to be alone. 

All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, 
with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge shaped core of darkness, 
something invisible to others.

Although she continued to knit, and sat upright, it was thus that she felt herself; and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.
When life sank down for a moment, the range of experience seemed limitless...
Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by.

Her horizon seemed to her limitless."

from To The Lighthouse-Virginia Woolf
quoted from A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit

I am preparing to leave India for Nepal. Next Wednesday sees me moving on.

Love (apparently)

Here I come.

Looking forward to moving on

I already know the internet connection is going to be terrible,
so, bear with me my friends, I will be back.

Wednesday, 16 February 2011

ҩ loving the bones ҩ


I've joined a writing group. I normally have trouble with things that have group in the title, being a touch insular and having a fear of myself (autophobia-which is apparently cured by the almighty fix of yoga). 
But it is one of my new favourite things. Being in a group AND confronting myself. The panic subsided on meeting my fellow groupies who are now my new bessie mates in Mysore. I am becoming a belonger and whilst I resisted it for some time by sticking to my Essex ways I am settling into happiness and I'm rocking a smile big enough to light a small village in Nepal. 

It's only three weeks until I go to work in Nepal.

My new new fear is the power cuts that are daily occurrences there. According to my sources (i.e I can't remember who told me) the evening news on Nepalese television was read by candlelight in protest at 18 hour power cuts since the Nepalese sold their national electricity to India. A bit like pawning your lunch maybe? I curl into a panic at the thought of a) not being online b) not being able to read and c) not being able to see insects that may be hiding in corners before retiring. I am trying to convince myself that if I can manage to do a whole primary practise every morning and not die in slime on my mat, then I can cope with a little thing like that. But the time is looming for me to leave the sanctuary of my Indian mummy and I'm going to be going it alone in much more challenging circumstances. 

BIG deep breath. And smile again.

handfuls of words

Writing class is an exercise in making time to write, in a very informal setting. We each write a word on a scrap and fold it up and put it in a bowl for the middle of the table. There is usually cake, coffee and snacks too... Then one at a time we choose a word and we all set off writing inspired by that word for 2, 3, 7 or 9 minutes. 
And out the words cascade. 
I had no idea I had so many jumbling around up here. I can't get them out fast enough. They somersault out of my pen like kids set free at home time. 

Then the bit that I was really scared of happens. We Read The Words Out LOUD. I was actually terrified of this bit. After all, the words that we write have no rules therefore no structure so it's a little like laying your mind out on the page and if yours is anything like mine, it's random and hip hop, tangled and a bit sweary. But it's fine here round this table of secrets. No judgement, no criticism, no praise, just listening to the words that someone else wrote is a big pleasure. It's inspiring and comforting and even I can do it. In my best Essex accent! The various international accents are a pleasure to listen to. It's as though I am tuning into a world radio installation of beautiful words, stories and snatches of prose. I really love it. I never want it to end. I wish I could catch the readings in a shell and listen to them later.

a corner

It's similar to yoga practise (which you might have noticed I try not to talk about, attempting to hold something in, maybe something like my Mula Bandha!) The writing is similar in as much as it's a practise of sorts and it is changing the way I look at things once more. This is very good for me. I want to change. I am glad to see things differently. The idea of practising creativity instead of waiting for it to strike like a midnight thunderstorm. This is revelation. I recommend it to anyone wanting creative sparks. Whatever your speciality might be. This, I am sure, would work for anyone. You don't need to be a writer.


So, now I dream of writing and fountain pens and the sound of scribbling. And dare I say it, I am able to concentrate, focus, immerse and absorb my asana practise more than I was before I started this writing practise. Light is illuminating the dark corners here anyway.

knocked over by lilac blossom
lilac flowers softly fall

Sending a big smile from over here to all of you out there. Thanks for reading.