Tuesday, 21 July 2015

Ma petite noyer est noyé...






I know I mention, time and again, my attempts to be mindful. Whether it's confidently proclaiming I'll not be acting on my neediness, stymying those impulses to connect, or, just not worrying about what I should be doing or what other people (those strangers in the street!) might be thinking about me - ignoring some unknown transgressions unwittingly committed, disregarding the imaginary thoughts we fear loved ones might harbour about us, while they're busy worrying about their own invisible adversaries. 
Again and again I speculate on little issues and offer grand sticking plasters, trials and tokenistic balms to tribulations...

The reason I'm writing this is that I fear I'll be judged, wholly, on the basis of that which I only share partially. This here place is by no means inclusive of all the things which occupy that which is "me". You know that, reader, of course, you know things occur apart from and outside of this here

I re-read what I write and some of it, most of it actually, miraculously, holds true. Where I expect to cringe at my output, awkwardness, awkwardness! I'm actually not stirred by much negativity.

However, something which happens frequently, is this dilution and distillation. 
I lose something and I find other things. There's an initial desire to make sense of something, to write things down, collect thoughts and descriptions together to "share" here, and, in the course of that actual process, what I initially thought I was sharing, what I thought I was going to say (sometimes some grand sense-making plan), becomes something else.

If anything reads inadequately, incomplete (isn't it all), thought strands and loose-ends untied, it has to be because I lose steam, for whatever reasons, I get tired or I loose track or I find myself on another track entirely. This is ok, yes, sure, we know, reader. But, I'm writing this because I worry someone might be reading, might have figured something out and come to realise a little almost-conclusion I've arrived at is not in fact a destination but another mental/behavioural/emotional cul-de-sac...

If you've figured me out, reader, please, come forth into the darkness, shed some of your light upon me...










So, right now, I wanted to write something for S.
She's in Swansea today, for a funeral, I hope she's ok and that, despite circumstances, she has a good day with her family. Funerals can be quite the affirmation of life after all.








I wanted to say sorry. I wonder what you must think of me sometimes, so lust-filled and needy. Searching somehow, even accidentally, for someone to share with, romantically and sexually, someone to be a bit human with.

I hope she doesn't ever think she's "not enough" of a friend to me, that I'm let down by what our living together brings us and that I'm always on the lookout for an escape - not so.

I love her very much.

I remember that first day we spent together, outside of uni, how exciting it was, how good it felt, how giddy I was, that I could say anything, share my insides and not need to fear rejection, that I was acceptable and accepted.

Over the years we've changed but that ease is still largely there.

Occasionally I personally have to admit, sometimes I fear being judged a fool and so, I do withdraw. I know you're occasionally reticent too and I'm not sure if it's because it's your character, less excessive than I for sure, whether you've nothing in particular you feel the urge to share, or, if you're like me and don't want to bore/burden/be judged (not that you would be!)...

I'm losing track again...

Oh, yes, neediness and seeking companions to it;




Last Friday evening we went to see Reservoir Dogs down the bay, overlooking the water, in the open air.

Sitting next to you, our numb-bums on the hard seats, mercifully blanketed by the fleece you had the foresight to bring along, watching the inflatable screen, huddled tightly in a throw-tent, chuckling and spectating, I felt so very fortunate.
I thought of myself as a teen, how I had longed for someone to experience such things with, what I wouldn't have done for an opportunity like that! It was pretty magical and I felt good.
Good to fall asleep in your bed again, too, watching late-night images flicker on the little laptop screen.

Seeing the couples embracing, though, snuggling and kissing, I have to admit to the physical pangs felt, the longing to be touched. 
I come from a mixed bag of a family in terms of affection and its displays. 

But, I never felt more loved and safe, more accepted than those sweet times my grandmother would plait my hair, trace lines that sparked images along my back, squeeze my shoulders or massage my little hands and tell me how beautiful they were, praise the things they could create. 

As someone who has felt, for the majority of my life, that I take up too much space, those tender times that I felt delicate and precious really stand out, and, sometimes, I can't help but long for those sensations.

I guess what I'm saying is, it's not that I'm relegating or seeking out any one person in particular, just that, sometimes, when I (quite often) feel lost or afraid, in need of connection and affirmation, I crave a certain kind of contact. I am an animal after all and all these nerve-endings, all these little hairs and dents, pores and protrusions, need attention.

For whatever reason, we humanoids haven't caught-up with our primate cousins when it comes to bonding and community-cohesion. Well, I am such a monkey and I crave this grooming.

For a good part of our initial friendship S didn't really like being touched, she's not an overtly touchy-feely sort of person, but, I know she yearns for it at times, too. Sometimes it can feel unnatural to do so now, though, when in the formative years, it, well, wasn't natural for her...

I'm so weird, so juvenile, never quite got over that adolescent urge to belong to a group even though there wasn't one proximate that I wanted to penetrate. Never away from this desire to please. I'll buy you a gift, reader, I'll cook and clean up for you, I'll remember your calendar and intimately what's worrying you, if only you'd love me.

If only you'd accept me so that I no longer have to focus on the difficult task of accepting myself... Papering over the cracks with beautifully inadequate patterns....

I watched a decent short video not too long ago, after my relationship with Tim ended, from the School of Life (worth subscribing to their Youtube channel), it was about loving and being loved.






I think, often, of how selfish I am and how I should concentrate on the former as opposed to the latter... I like to think though, that my beautiful grandmother knew even then how much I loved her. That you do, too, reader. Oh how much I appreciated her kindness. 
When I got a little older I used to go over to her house and we'd spend days together, in the garden, sipping wine or scrolling through books on art (some of it mentioned in brief, here), some evenings I'd massage her feet and paint her toenails, I remember thinking at the time, how nice it was, that I wasn't "after anything" like my cousins, the other grandkids, that I just liked being with her and could do just one small thing for her...


Perhaps I'm sick, some sort of pervert. Perhaps connecting a childhood sensation of security with an adult seeking of tender excitation and gentle sexiness, is what it truly means to be corrupt? Maybe it's what I was trying to get at a couple of years ago when I wrote about guilt, today, what I wrote two years ago doesn't seem nearly as exacting as I would have liked, I'm trying to come to more conclusions as to what goes on behind or in front of these lit windows, instead of all this imprecise, vague speculation...

What I do know is, I need to keep up the mental exploration, keep on top of the work that needs to be done, while maintaining a fairness towards others and myself. I read this lovely chapter from The Book of Life last week (go on, subscribe!), The Faulty Walnut. Here's a little extracted conclusion, but read it all. It. Is. All. Truth.

Being more vigilant about the flaws in our walnuts gives us a range of important advantages:
- we get better at noticing the potential of flaws in our own judgement – 
and therefore stand a higher chance of not making them.
We can only start to avoid mistakes when we know mistakes are an active possibility.

- when we deal with other people, we can ask ourselves whether they might be acting from a walnut flaw, 
but not know it. This will make us both bolder about disagreeing with them and also kinder and 
more generous in the face of their less than sensible behaviours.

I read it on break in work and felt so strongly the urge to share that I did, on facebook. For some reason I remembered that Noyer is walnut in French and at the time I was listening to Yann Tiersen's La noyée II.

Noyée means to drown, sink, be swamped, be wrecked, flooded, overwhelmed... I couldn't resist a little word-play, so I shared the passage and the thought that my little walnut was wrecked that day, en Fracais; Ma petite noyer est noyé aujourd'hui!

And it still is and always will be, but, intermittently we float along the surface, keeping ourself above water for occasional clear-skied-days.
The video (and audio) version 1 is lovely, too. Oh Amelie, what a Fabuleux Destin you had (lights, love, connections, Mathieu Kassovitz's fabulous nose tracing the lines of your neck, oh), for sure!






I remember the summer I first watched it, 2005, yep, 10 years ago I reckon. 
My goodness, there was this ethereal, seemingly hopeless dreamer, lost in her fantasy world, craving some kind of penetrating connection between the realms of pleasing dreams and jostling reality... 
Such music!
Oh how I could relate, without any of the style or charm, to that lady.

Today, reality is vying for my attention and I mustn't ignore it. Things to do. After work is out of the way I'm going to work on this cardboard collage painting mess (making a little sense of that) which I started, in the Sun, on Sunday. I have nothing in mind save "see where it takes me".






 I do wish, though, that there was another walnut around to crack with. 
A better perspective, some meaningful contact. Con-verse-ation.
Even if only the right back to kiss and a hand to hold firm.
For now, it's me, my nut and I for company.






On va voir...