I am gardening in your kitchen
In the sink, now filled with soil, I have set some leeks
I'm growing spuds underneath your lino
I dug it with your cutlery
and used your pans and bowls as pots - with plates smashed up for crocks
I tore the door off the fridge - sorry -
the shelves I've used for trays of seedlings
and for drying my garlic
Your cooker is in the yard
so I could string my beans up the wall
where it stood before
Your kitchen is now blissful
growing all we need to eat - no need to thank me
Come harvest time you can cook us up a treat
Showing posts with label confusion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label confusion. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Ups and downs
I've been about the town seeing whats about and its not nice. Not all of it - mostly its nice - well, mostly - some of it I like and some of it makes me sing.
I shouldnt sing, I sing badly. I love to sing I love to sin - I sin and sign and sing badly. My lip reading is shit too - I don't do it, ever, and when I do, I do it badly - never.
Did you know me when I sang - no, you didnt. Well I didnt sing, well I could - I could sing - I've told you that - I could sing loudly, badly, when I'm singing. When you heard me sing you didnt hear me sing - don't tell me you did - don't, not even if you did.
I shout Shout and shout - its better to sing Sing and sing - badly and not at all. Impossibly never and ever always after I didnt do it and I'm so glad, mostly, that you didnt hear me SHOUTING!!
You know when its inside me - no you don't how could you, you havent seen or heard me - I just do and then I don't and then its all over the place screaming Ag A Fukin DOOO
Shouting Lager Lager Lager 0 thats the only song I ever loved - other than all of the others I loved but mostly I loved to scream BOLLOCKS and then to sing gentle songs to babies who did not know - like you do not know - what it is that is inside until it comes outside and then you might wish it didnt as much as I do do cos when I hear it coming - starting to sing then I know that more is going to come until it stops and all that pours out is bad song, bad times, bad songs.
Px
I shouldnt sing, I sing badly. I love to sing I love to sin - I sin and sign and sing badly. My lip reading is shit too - I don't do it, ever, and when I do, I do it badly - never.
Did you know me when I sang - no, you didnt. Well I didnt sing, well I could - I could sing - I've told you that - I could sing loudly, badly, when I'm singing. When you heard me sing you didnt hear me sing - don't tell me you did - don't, not even if you did.
I shout Shout and shout - its better to sing Sing and sing - badly and not at all. Impossibly never and ever always after I didnt do it and I'm so glad, mostly, that you didnt hear me SHOUTING!!
You know when its inside me - no you don't how could you, you havent seen or heard me - I just do and then I don't and then its all over the place screaming Ag A Fukin DOOO
Shouting Lager Lager Lager 0 thats the only song I ever loved - other than all of the others I loved but mostly I loved to scream BOLLOCKS and then to sing gentle songs to babies who did not know - like you do not know - what it is that is inside until it comes outside and then you might wish it didnt as much as I do do cos when I hear it coming - starting to sing then I know that more is going to come until it stops and all that pours out is bad song, bad times, bad songs.
Px
Friday, March 27, 2009
Neural connections
Hi some thought and experiences generated by a friends very vivid memory and by their saying "no, I think he is describing a journey" when I struggled to describe thought/visualisation.
The experience I have - that I just touch on - as my thoughts become more visual (also auditory, tactile and whatever the fancy word is smelling - NLP, cant keep it in my head ) is actually like that in a trip, more LSD than a day at the sea. Its also like what I think is called wakeful dreaming - a state just before sleep or just before waking when my conscious mind is able to influence the very vivid thoughts that are present in my dream state. Influence... well slightly and to a greater extent than I could with practise .... too much will and I snap out of it, too little and I slip back fully into sleep.
Anyway - they said, about the image, something about where we have images within us ( I suppose others might think from without us ) that are brought together to form something so vivid and beautiful.
A perception I have from wakeful dreaming and other experiences is that we have a phenomenal supply of images. Laid down as we experience new and repeated experiences - praps linked to the creation or maintenance of neural connections.
In some way the images may form some sort of library stock - being brought together to help generate perceptions of what might be - in the future or in terms of how we think about alternatives options.
Thought - in "words" - may be a short cut to the whole image (remember, including sound, touch, smell etc.). Its easier to use this sort of short cut most of the time - it does not take as much computing time and, like words themselves, thoughts can be taken to equate to symbols. Like symbols they can be arranged in linear orders to form greater meaning and sentences.... communication. Something it took me longer than most to do as a child - I never understood the point of words when "reality", (at least) 4 dimensional, and in glorious technicolour, was so much more useful... but then I spent more time looking at trees and clouds than communication.
I wonder whether we "learn" (acquire perhaps) the tendency to replace raw image with worded thought and then become less able to access that raw information - except perhaps in dream or, perhaps, in other states of mind.
An experience of taking LSD is that it stops the filtering of information for relevance. For eg. normally we don't notice the carpet beneath our feet. With acid you see the carpet (with hallucinations too to entertain and baffle) but at the same time every thought/knowledge/etc that has ever been associated with carpet is accessed in true colour, sight, smell and sound.
I wonder (I do a fair bit of that) whether, in meditation, there is something in the way that we allow thought and experience to enter and play around in the mind that tends too to allow access to the more vivid, deeper, true (non-symbolic), store of mind.
Praps in conditions like altzimers where there is damage to the neural connections access to information stored as symbols/thoughts is restricted - as the words or thoughts fail to come the context ceases to have meaning. I think its a common experience for people to "find" a thought or memory at some other time - I wonder whether the brain continues to try to process unfinished searches for information and finds that the images that it wants for one process are still accessible attached to another memory and associates them together - sometimes the associations are very accurate and others are more bizarre.
It makes sense then to keep laying down images - to notice life in a mindful way. Praps this is the way we see/perceive new events - they make an impression, create new connections or support existing ones. If, as it seems so many of us tend to do, we do few things mindfully then praps we are not making new neural connections - we feed what we see into the existing script and do not notice anything new... like the fact that its a new day, song, smile, touch etc.
So, being, seeing, touching, mindfully - its a way of feeding our raw data, the splendid soup.
That was a long one. And, needles to say, a fairly manic one.
On identifying triggers for depressive states - its far easier to do for manic states. The examples people give some times seem too broad; as if they were not really accessing, or getting the need to, the tipping points - the little things that make all the difference.
Take care, Px
The experience I have - that I just touch on - as my thoughts become more visual (also auditory, tactile and whatever the fancy word is smelling - NLP, cant keep it in my head ) is actually like that in a trip, more LSD than a day at the sea. Its also like what I think is called wakeful dreaming - a state just before sleep or just before waking when my conscious mind is able to influence the very vivid thoughts that are present in my dream state. Influence... well slightly and to a greater extent than I could with practise .... too much will and I snap out of it, too little and I slip back fully into sleep.
Anyway - they said, about the image, something about where we have images within us ( I suppose others might think from without us ) that are brought together to form something so vivid and beautiful.
A perception I have from wakeful dreaming and other experiences is that we have a phenomenal supply of images. Laid down as we experience new and repeated experiences - praps linked to the creation or maintenance of neural connections.
In some way the images may form some sort of library stock - being brought together to help generate perceptions of what might be - in the future or in terms of how we think about alternatives options.
Thought - in "words" - may be a short cut to the whole image (remember, including sound, touch, smell etc.). Its easier to use this sort of short cut most of the time - it does not take as much computing time and, like words themselves, thoughts can be taken to equate to symbols. Like symbols they can be arranged in linear orders to form greater meaning and sentences.... communication. Something it took me longer than most to do as a child - I never understood the point of words when "reality", (at least) 4 dimensional, and in glorious technicolour, was so much more useful... but then I spent more time looking at trees and clouds than communication.
I wonder whether we "learn" (acquire perhaps) the tendency to replace raw image with worded thought and then become less able to access that raw information - except perhaps in dream or, perhaps, in other states of mind.
An experience of taking LSD is that it stops the filtering of information for relevance. For eg. normally we don't notice the carpet beneath our feet. With acid you see the carpet (with hallucinations too to entertain and baffle) but at the same time every thought/knowledge/etc that has ever been associated with carpet is accessed in true colour, sight, smell and sound.
I wonder (I do a fair bit of that) whether, in meditation, there is something in the way that we allow thought and experience to enter and play around in the mind that tends too to allow access to the more vivid, deeper, true (non-symbolic), store of mind.
Praps in conditions like altzimers where there is damage to the neural connections access to information stored as symbols/thoughts is restricted - as the words or thoughts fail to come the context ceases to have meaning. I think its a common experience for people to "find" a thought or memory at some other time - I wonder whether the brain continues to try to process unfinished searches for information and finds that the images that it wants for one process are still accessible attached to another memory and associates them together - sometimes the associations are very accurate and others are more bizarre.
It makes sense then to keep laying down images - to notice life in a mindful way. Praps this is the way we see/perceive new events - they make an impression, create new connections or support existing ones. If, as it seems so many of us tend to do, we do few things mindfully then praps we are not making new neural connections - we feed what we see into the existing script and do not notice anything new... like the fact that its a new day, song, smile, touch etc.
So, being, seeing, touching, mindfully - its a way of feeding our raw data, the splendid soup.
That was a long one. And, needles to say, a fairly manic one.
On identifying triggers for depressive states - its far easier to do for manic states. The examples people give some times seem too broad; as if they were not really accessing, or getting the need to, the tipping points - the little things that make all the difference.
Take care, Px
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
On the ramblings of a fool
"Evening all" said the fool thinking that his voice carried around all of the world.
There are times when things change - the weather ... and probably some other things too.
My kids are supposed to be trying to get to sleep - that is not what they are actually doing though. What they really want to do is to chatter and giggle - I don't blame them for that but I do want them to have had enough sleep so that their brains work well enough tomorrow.
Enough ramblings of a fool.
A week or two my Great Aunt Phyl died - I went to the service for her cremation and it was as enjoyable as these things can be. Several of her nearest and dearest gave accounts of her life and how they had enjoyed being with her.
I had only met Great Auntie Phyl a few times. I sent her a letter once, she replied telling me that she was Phyl and to ditch the fancy title. I loved her for that - she lived up to the image that I have had of her. The accounts of her life matched the fleeting glimpses of that life that I had seen - Phyl was an excellent person - an atheist, socialist with a big heart and love flowing over for her family and friends.
Definitely not the sort of person who would ever want to be on a pedestal - but certainly an inspiration and a life to watch and be pleased that people like that crop up and brighten the day.
So good on you Phyl - you are only in the memory now of the people who's lives you have touched but a good person's influence lives on through those people and everyone they come across.
Be the fish. Px
There are times when things change - the weather ... and probably some other things too.
My kids are supposed to be trying to get to sleep - that is not what they are actually doing though. What they really want to do is to chatter and giggle - I don't blame them for that but I do want them to have had enough sleep so that their brains work well enough tomorrow.
Enough ramblings of a fool.
A week or two my Great Aunt Phyl died - I went to the service for her cremation and it was as enjoyable as these things can be. Several of her nearest and dearest gave accounts of her life and how they had enjoyed being with her.
I had only met Great Auntie Phyl a few times. I sent her a letter once, she replied telling me that she was Phyl and to ditch the fancy title. I loved her for that - she lived up to the image that I have had of her. The accounts of her life matched the fleeting glimpses of that life that I had seen - Phyl was an excellent person - an atheist, socialist with a big heart and love flowing over for her family and friends.
Definitely not the sort of person who would ever want to be on a pedestal - but certainly an inspiration and a life to watch and be pleased that people like that crop up and brighten the day.
So good on you Phyl - you are only in the memory now of the people who's lives you have touched but a good person's influence lives on through those people and everyone they come across.
Be the fish. Px
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Healing and learning through the mistakes of others
When I was young, just 12, my sister, Sheila, who was 14 years older than me, killed herself। I was told various versions of events at the time।
It goes like this - she had given birth to my niece early in 7 December and my mum had been down to stay with them to help out. A few days before Christmas my mum came back home and, on Christmas Day, after several desperate 'phone calls, Sheila took an overdose and a few days later she died.
My family, steeped in an odd mixture of spirituality, liberalism and communism, did what I guess few would expect. They tried to act normally - they did not have a funeral of any sort, somehow that seemed, to them, to be the way to react. I suspect they were simply faced with so much pain that they could not face a funeral.
Death, then, and in the event of other deaths, is too much for them. They are not hard and niether are they cowards. But I feel that they are sorely misguided - I think we should go out with a bang, a celebration of the life lived, the hope and light brought into the world.
Very little has even been spoken about the sadness of Sheila's death and although her life has not been a taboo subject it was not something that, as I child, I felt I could discuss. We did not do discussions. In fact, looking back, I think the effects of the change that her death brought were greater than I realised to be apparent at the time.
I was pretty much left alone as a teenager - I was be no means a tearaway, perhaps that is because I had nothing to rebel against. No one seemed to be particularly interested in where I was, so being out late or coming home drunk at 13 and throughout my teenage years was not an issue - barely even noticed.
This year, my niece and I both found that we needed to talk to each other about Sheila - me as the brother who had had so little to do with her (she had moved away when I was much younger) and her, Sheila's daughter. She felt left, abandoned - how else could she feel. I think she feels less of that now - but its not for me to speak for her.
Both of us feeling there were parts of the picture missing I wrote off for a copy of the inquest into Sheila's death. And, in the meantime, I wondered about whether she had really intended, wanted, to die. Had it been a cry for help that had gone wrong - the desperate low of a person with post natal depression and, like me, I suspect, probably prone to depression (and slight manic highs) at times.
I did some research into the drug that I remembered she had overdosed on and found to my amazement that it had been withdrawn from use because of a dangerously high rate of fatal, accidental, overdoses. This tended to fix in my mind that it had been a cry for help that had gone tragically wrong.
Then the report arrived. Most of what I had been told checked out - more or less. What struck me was the use of English - so dry, so clinical, so dispassionate, about the death of such a young woman who had only just had a baby. What burned a different image into my mind was when I read the account of how she had been found - the pills had been her second attempt, with alcohol, following her first attempt, to slash her wrists with a chisel... she had not managed to cut herself deeply enough.
Sheila was always in my mind as full of laughter and fun and that is the person that has been described to me as I grew up. Her photographs - tiny, only 4 foot 10 inches tall - all curls and smiles and floppy hippy hat.
And, you'll know if you have read any of the other things that I have written here, that I understand depression from the inside. I learnt as a child that the pain that the deliberate, death of a child causes within a family - and so much greater that pain when one knows how acute Sheila's pain was when death was the best and to her, the only, rational, option.
I resented at times that that knowledge held me back when my depression made me feel that death was the best and most rational option for changing my situation. Knowing, and caring, about the outcome of suicide on others made me know that I would not even have it as an option to allow me to escape my personal pain. Trapped in a life, hated.
I have no questions with suicide. It is so, so, horrendous that when genuinely sought I know that it is, for that individual, what they believe to be the only remaining option for them. The healing comes through guiding that person - taking their hand, allowing them to see the love and the value of life - not letting them take the choice they believe they need to make without showing them that there is, all around them, value, hope and a reason for life. If they still cannot see that then I understand if they make the choice - but it must be a choice.... and with choice it is hard to choose the worst option.
So, no, the mistake is not the sad suicide of my sister. The mistake is my family's failure to understand the value of deep and true grief and the value of deep and true joy. Death and life are inextricable; yes the party is over and theres a load of crap to clear up, but didn't we have a damn good time?!
Perhaps for my family the very circumstances of Sheila's death - the ultimate tragic death, a death so clearly only caused by sadness - prevented them from seeing the need to have a funeral. The need to draw a line - to say thanks, thanks - just thank you for having been alive - that is all we need of you, you gave us everything you had to give, thank you.
Death brings confusion; death and life are all one. Always, always, go with the confusion - dive into life, swim in the waves of passion, sing with the very joy of being and when death comes, allow it to heal and feed the seeds of new life.
Much love, P
It goes like this - she had given birth to my niece early in 7 December and my mum had been down to stay with them to help out. A few days before Christmas my mum came back home and, on Christmas Day, after several desperate 'phone calls, Sheila took an overdose and a few days later she died.
My family, steeped in an odd mixture of spirituality, liberalism and communism, did what I guess few would expect. They tried to act normally - they did not have a funeral of any sort, somehow that seemed, to them, to be the way to react. I suspect they were simply faced with so much pain that they could not face a funeral.
Death, then, and in the event of other deaths, is too much for them. They are not hard and niether are they cowards. But I feel that they are sorely misguided - I think we should go out with a bang, a celebration of the life lived, the hope and light brought into the world.
Very little has even been spoken about the sadness of Sheila's death and although her life has not been a taboo subject it was not something that, as I child, I felt I could discuss. We did not do discussions. In fact, looking back, I think the effects of the change that her death brought were greater than I realised to be apparent at the time.
I was pretty much left alone as a teenager - I was be no means a tearaway, perhaps that is because I had nothing to rebel against. No one seemed to be particularly interested in where I was, so being out late or coming home drunk at 13 and throughout my teenage years was not an issue - barely even noticed.
This year, my niece and I both found that we needed to talk to each other about Sheila - me as the brother who had had so little to do with her (she had moved away when I was much younger) and her, Sheila's daughter. She felt left, abandoned - how else could she feel. I think she feels less of that now - but its not for me to speak for her.
Both of us feeling there were parts of the picture missing I wrote off for a copy of the inquest into Sheila's death. And, in the meantime, I wondered about whether she had really intended, wanted, to die. Had it been a cry for help that had gone wrong - the desperate low of a person with post natal depression and, like me, I suspect, probably prone to depression (and slight manic highs) at times.
I did some research into the drug that I remembered she had overdosed on and found to my amazement that it had been withdrawn from use because of a dangerously high rate of fatal, accidental, overdoses. This tended to fix in my mind that it had been a cry for help that had gone tragically wrong.
Then the report arrived. Most of what I had been told checked out - more or less. What struck me was the use of English - so dry, so clinical, so dispassionate, about the death of such a young woman who had only just had a baby. What burned a different image into my mind was when I read the account of how she had been found - the pills had been her second attempt, with alcohol, following her first attempt, to slash her wrists with a chisel... she had not managed to cut herself deeply enough.
Sheila was always in my mind as full of laughter and fun and that is the person that has been described to me as I grew up. Her photographs - tiny, only 4 foot 10 inches tall - all curls and smiles and floppy hippy hat.
And, you'll know if you have read any of the other things that I have written here, that I understand depression from the inside. I learnt as a child that the pain that the deliberate, death of a child causes within a family - and so much greater that pain when one knows how acute Sheila's pain was when death was the best and to her, the only, rational, option.
I resented at times that that knowledge held me back when my depression made me feel that death was the best and most rational option for changing my situation. Knowing, and caring, about the outcome of suicide on others made me know that I would not even have it as an option to allow me to escape my personal pain. Trapped in a life, hated.
I have no questions with suicide. It is so, so, horrendous that when genuinely sought I know that it is, for that individual, what they believe to be the only remaining option for them. The healing comes through guiding that person - taking their hand, allowing them to see the love and the value of life - not letting them take the choice they believe they need to make without showing them that there is, all around them, value, hope and a reason for life. If they still cannot see that then I understand if they make the choice - but it must be a choice.... and with choice it is hard to choose the worst option.
So, no, the mistake is not the sad suicide of my sister. The mistake is my family's failure to understand the value of deep and true grief and the value of deep and true joy. Death and life are inextricable; yes the party is over and theres a load of crap to clear up, but didn't we have a damn good time?!
Perhaps for my family the very circumstances of Sheila's death - the ultimate tragic death, a death so clearly only caused by sadness - prevented them from seeing the need to have a funeral. The need to draw a line - to say thanks, thanks - just thank you for having been alive - that is all we need of you, you gave us everything you had to give, thank you.
Death brings confusion; death and life are all one. Always, always, go with the confusion - dive into life, swim in the waves of passion, sing with the very joy of being and when death comes, allow it to heal and feed the seeds of new life.
Much love, P
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Healing - On the mysteries of Harry Edwards
It was a mystery to me how I would be related to a well known spiritual healer - Harry Edwards, my grandfather.
There is not a great deal spiritual about me - at least not in the way that I understand that he was.... healing with the spirit of another.
I do though have a feeling for how people can be healed and that there may well be people who are better placed to channel that healing than others - to act as guides. I think that healing is both a state of mind and a state of motion or change.
We can only be healed and change to be how we would like to be once we have better understood our own state of mind and seen for ourselves that we have the power within us to make that change. I cannot change someone else - I cannot heal them - any more than anyone can change someone else through force of will.
There are clearly physical ways to change someone - to sooth or harm - and how we behave may well have an effect. But is the other person's reaction to our behaviour that is the change - they make that change and, as we so often see, how another reacts is not often what we expect, at least not entirely.
I'm thinking about how to channel others into healing themselves. Here there may be a link to Harry Edwards - a desire to heal through a medium that naturally presents itself whatever than may be.
For him his medium aligned with his more spiritual life. For me, I don't know for sure - but if I have an ability to help with healing then it would be through the person themself with me.
I know that it is commonly said that change can only come from within the individual without the influence of others. But is that really so, it rather flies in the face of common experience - we so often have others to guide us, sometimes in a better way, sometimes not. Impossed change, as I have said, rarely works convincingly - but I believe shared, colabative change can work.
We so often start with what we believe to be the certainties in life - the benchmarks against which we judge our current state and assess where we would like to be... or determine where we feel we will never reach. It makes some sense in terms of logic to know where one is starting from on a journey. But, I am taking about changing to a healed state - its all about understanding where to go and sometimes that means ignoring where we are starting from. We may not actually be able to change the facts, our upbringing, financial status, health, but we can change our reaction to them - with help.
A similarity with my views and those of more spiritual people is my own growing realisation of the power of faith in the unknown. Not an unknown God or spirit but an as yet unknown... just that. There is plenty to be gained from going with the confusion.
Some more another day.
There is not a great deal spiritual about me - at least not in the way that I understand that he was.... healing with the spirit of another.
I do though have a feeling for how people can be healed and that there may well be people who are better placed to channel that healing than others - to act as guides. I think that healing is both a state of mind and a state of motion or change.
We can only be healed and change to be how we would like to be once we have better understood our own state of mind and seen for ourselves that we have the power within us to make that change. I cannot change someone else - I cannot heal them - any more than anyone can change someone else through force of will.
There are clearly physical ways to change someone - to sooth or harm - and how we behave may well have an effect. But is the other person's reaction to our behaviour that is the change - they make that change and, as we so often see, how another reacts is not often what we expect, at least not entirely.
I'm thinking about how to channel others into healing themselves. Here there may be a link to Harry Edwards - a desire to heal through a medium that naturally presents itself whatever than may be.
For him his medium aligned with his more spiritual life. For me, I don't know for sure - but if I have an ability to help with healing then it would be through the person themself with me.
I know that it is commonly said that change can only come from within the individual without the influence of others. But is that really so, it rather flies in the face of common experience - we so often have others to guide us, sometimes in a better way, sometimes not. Impossed change, as I have said, rarely works convincingly - but I believe shared, colabative change can work.
We so often start with what we believe to be the certainties in life - the benchmarks against which we judge our current state and assess where we would like to be... or determine where we feel we will never reach. It makes some sense in terms of logic to know where one is starting from on a journey. But, I am taking about changing to a healed state - its all about understanding where to go and sometimes that means ignoring where we are starting from. We may not actually be able to change the facts, our upbringing, financial status, health, but we can change our reaction to them - with help.
A similarity with my views and those of more spiritual people is my own growing realisation of the power of faith in the unknown. Not an unknown God or spirit but an as yet unknown... just that. There is plenty to be gained from going with the confusion.
Some more another day.
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