satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
Good morning, people. I'm up early to participate in a Zoom conference call, but I may have gotten the time wrong. No one else is on yet. Anyway, I'm up, washed, and have had my lemon and water, and half the darned vitamins and whatnot that I have every morning, plus my anti-d.
I'm sitting on my floor cushion, in front of my bedroom French window, looking out at the grey bricks that make up the back court yard, the grey fence, the pale grey sky, and the scone top of some trees rising above next door's roof line.
This flu recovery thing is loooong. Every time I get a bit tired, or frazzled, back come the symptoms. Back comes the debilitation. Yesterday, I did a lot of running around, and so last night I felt lousy, and rather washed out today.

So, how am I travelling through life?
Health: marginal.
Finances: meh.
Mental health: I'll be glad when this year is over, quite frankly. I've had a low-grade low happening most of this year, and this winter was bad.
Writing: nup.
Family: yeah, they're all okay.
Friendships: mostly online, which isn't healthy.
Reading: problems concentrating.
Addictions: full blown chocolate fiesta, facebook is a real problem at the moment.
Witchie stuff: all but non-existent, or mostly in my head.
Yoga: back too it, but I'm weak.
House: pigsty.
Garden: mess.

So, this morning, after the zoom meeting, walk, and writing. Monitoring myself for idle fb bullshit. Let's see if I can't get interested in life again.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
Oh, so it wasn't a cold, but the real, actual flu. Certainly it's hung on like the flu, and I've been exhausted enough to enter the lethargy Olympics, and take gold in the ooze-under-the-bar jump.
I'm a little better now. Coughing less, but today's hot north wind, and dry air has set off hayfever, because I'm snorking again. Sigh.
Anyway, I'm here, because doing this makes me feel like I'm contributing to the world, doing something, and not just lying on the couch, reading werewolf stories. I found a huge book at the op shop a few weeks ago: 'Werewolves and Shapeshifters'.
And as I write this, I look across the loungeroom floor, and there is my tiny white dog. He might be the wolf part of a baby werewolf forever stuck with the change because someone burnt his bunny rug. Or wolfie rug. I'm sure if I had my writers' hat on, instead of my invalid hat, I'd make something of that. I'll put it in the ideas folder, and none of you thousands of readers pinch it, okay?
My mind leapt straight to the shapeshifters in Mercedes Lackey's 'Children of the Night', and the Japanese vampires that exist merely on perfume. They must have had a hard time in some eras, if born into a peasant village, where everyone smelled of turnips. Or even a Japanese fishing village. They long for peonies, and get only fish-head odour.
Don't steal that idea either, readers.
Not much else has been going on of late, except an excess of flu in the house. PB, and TP both have it, the house is awash in eucalyptus oil, and tissues, and bottles of cough mixture. Hey, Japanese perfume vampires, do you like eucalyptus, tea tree, lavender, and clove?
We have mounds of camellias in bloom, but none of them have any scent. Not sure if it's an Aussie thing, or just our yard. They all look a bit wilty today in the warmth. Most of our camellias no sooner bloom than drop to the ground. What's the point, truly? If these strong winds keep up, our lawn will be covered with blooms tomorrow. And our compost bin is full, and awaiting complete decomposition before we can empty it and start again. I guess I'll just chuck the fallen flowers onto the garden and hope they decompose and add something to the soil.
The perfume vampires would be disappointed here at the moment. The daphne is past its yearly prime, the camellias have no scent, the rosemary flowers are all but spent, and nothing else has much perfume yet. I wish I had jasmine planted. No roses out yet, but I'm wondering which of the many bushes here will win the race to have the first blossom. Most years, it's the big yellow standing rose bush, but last year, the apricot one beat it out by a week.
Spring Equinox today, and all I've had the energy to do is a tarot spread for myself, and refresh my altar. That's enough. Some years I forget to do even that.
Well, enough rambling. Back to the werewolves. And as I look up again, there walks Tilly TinyPony, our hugely fluffy black and white longhaired cat. Imagine waking up and you're a werecat, covered in masses of fur, and it's 30 degrees outside, and you find you have a tummy of dreadlocks, and very little brain, and you think you keep seeing the fence wavering and dancing in front of your eyes.....
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
With the advent of a head cold, I cancelled nearly everything in my diary this week. So this is what it's like to make space. No wonder the writing well has felt dry for so long. I am usually so busy that I don't make space to rest, think, dream, and let my mind make connections.
Lo, and the writer is confined to the house. And lo, images and ideas start to intertwine, and hello, it's poetry.
Yes, Satya, all it takes is not running around doing stuff to 'feed your writing and mind'.
Der.
A new poem yesterday, and one this morning. Dunno if they're any good. Shrug. They can be bonsai'd into shape. Right now, what's important is that poetry edged its way out into the early Spring sunlight, and I'm very happy to see it.
Don't make too much of it, don't make too much of it, don't shine 25 spotlights on it. Let it be. Shhhh.

Anyway, so, head cold. Another one. Melbourne is germ-laden this year. Ugh. PizzaBoy and I are moping around the house, snorking and coughing. So far, TwentiesPerson is well.
Not much else to report, except that I finished reading 'Spoonbenders' and wondered what that big fat book was all about. I thought I'd lost my current journal, until I saw it again 5 days later, sitting on my altar, where I'd carefully put it with my mala, like I've been doing for the past several weeks. Brain fog is real, people.

Also, I'm taken with the idea of choosing tarot and oracle decks to suit the season and the Wheel of the Year, so I've had a brief flick through my decks and chosen a few that might match up. Margaret Peterson Tarot, Winged Enchantment Oracle, Belly Dance Oracle, Flower Reading Cards, Hawaiian Oracle. Some chosen for the colour palette, some because flowers or burgeoning life feature. I'll see if this method of playing suits me.

Brain Dump

Sep. 11th, 2017 12:17 pm
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
Can I just say that I have been the total grown up today? Not only have I done the admin and phone calls for transferring my superannuation to an ethical fund, but I've done a bunch of things for TwentiesBoy's VCAT financial report, and paid a bill.
Not much else to do with myself while I'm down with a virus of some sort. I'm not terribly sick, but very debilitated.
So, I thought tackling these pending issues was good use of my couch time.
And three things off the huge brain dump list of stuff that I did last week.
I took a few hours and wrote down every issue that was whizzing around in my head, and categorised them into 'financial', 'family', 'health', etc.
I then pick 2-3 per week to tackle.
Some are unpleasant, like financial admin. Some will be wonderful, like 'go to Scotland'.
Not all will get done in the next year, and that's okay.
But at least I can feel like I'm making headway.
And I can hope that one day, there will be much less to write in the six-monthly brain dump, because I will have dealt with stuff.
And now, to lie down on the swooning couch, and swoon.
I'm reading 'The Spoonbenders' and rather wondering why, except for Irene, the only interesting character.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
Following the Super-Psychic advice via SnakyPoet, I am duly resting. Resting from attempting to re-educate myself in matters tarot or oracle cards. Resting from conjuring fiction out of whole cloth, because that will come when it wants to, it seems, or when the right prompt comes along. Resting from all the labels I've had on my business cards since the late 90's: writer, tarot consultant, palmist, belly dance teacher. All the stuff that takes me further into the world, and into contact with people.
Instead, today has been a day where I've cleaned the three toilets, and the bathroom, powder room, and en suite until their belly buttons shone. I've finished reading 'Gizelle's Bucket List', which is about a girl and an English bull mastiff, and PizzaBoy and I took a walk through Bellbird Dell. Did necessary texts to Bear, and VampireDancer. Wrote up next week's To Do sheet. Gave my animals pats.
And that's enough. Tonight, I'll continue reading, this time Patti Miller's new memoir writing book. Not to do any of the exercises, but to simply read through it, as I used to do with writing books. Inhale another writer's mind and methods and prompts, and then let it sit in the stew of my head.
I'm not good at resting. Haven't been since....well, forever. Since I felt I had to prove I was 'of use' in the world to LoafAbout, to the ExBastard, to my mother, OldestBrother, and people who were likely not judging me at all(the ones listed sure were).
Now, living in the House of Sloth, I am the crazy-active one, and every oracle, person, and the animals are all saying 'rest'.
Well, sitting on my bed reading with PB, the Pupika, Angel, and Penny is as close as I get. I'll take it, until my mind looses its hold on busy-ness a fraction more, and I can sink further into this thing called 'rest'.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
Wholefood Merchants in Ferntree Gully has a café attached to the 'supermarket', and serves quite nice food, even if the menu changes on a whim, and every single thing I've ever liked there eventually gets supplanted by something containing wheat, quinoa, eggplant, or something I simply loathe.
I like to go there for brunch, to read, to shop, to browse, and sometimes to write. For that, I go in the non-rush times from 9.30-11.30am, and 1.30-4pm.
The café has a large water feature that's treated as a wishing well. It's a low, square pool of water, with a metal sculpture acting as waterfall.
Today, I gave a two year old three ten cent pieces to throw into the 'wish' for me, as she'd already emptied her mother's purse of all silver, and one gold coin ("Go all out, and make it a big wish!").
Whatever the poppet wished for, shortly afterwards, I finished the short story I've been mucking about with, and decided to have another crack at the idea of a water spirit living in the water feature. Two aborted short stories, and this time, a poem.
Well, that came tumbling out of me, and I thought I'd never find an end to it. I returned, yet again, to the idea of a female discovering she has a link to the water spirits.
So, thanks little girl, whatever your wish was. I feared that poetry had left me.
I'm so unsure of myself re poetry that I'll need to give a couple of people a look, and then I'll be brave and send it somewhere.
I have grave doubts about this. Every time I access Star*Line, the journal of the Science Fiction Poetry Association, I find 80% of the poems inaccessible. I just don't get them. And the remaining 20% are so sophisticated that I quail before their cleverness.
This poem I've just first drafted is very simple, and just says it. No obscurity, no high-falutin'. Both concepts are my enemy. Can't be doing with high-falutin' poems.
Anyway, maybe there's a home for it somewhere, once it's been tidied up. It would be nice to have one publication to my belt this year.
As for the short story, I'll also run that by a couple of likely suspects. And then see if the competition I aimed for is still open. I had an uneasy conversation with my muse on this story.
Satya: Here's the criteria: X, Y, two Z's, and a K.
Muse: Hmmm.... While you're in the bath tonight, riff on it to PizzaBoy.
Satya: But that's just silly riffing.
Muse: It's called brainstorming.
Satya: Oh.

Satya riffs to PB. PB gently eggs her on. Satya, as usual, takes it to weird places. Much giggling, and self-entertainment. Satya feels sparkly.

Satya: Um, Muse, how about that story....
Muse: You have the idea. The riff?
Satya: But that can't be the story, surely. It's...simplistic, silly. There's no logic.
Muse: Take it or leave it. That's what it is.
Satya: But Margaret Atwood is a judge. We've just finished watching 'The Handmaid's Tale'.... This isn't going to fly with her.
Muse: Want me to take it back?
Satya: No, no. It's just that....I thought our idea would be more....important.
Muse: You don't do straight importance. You go the Pratchett, Adams, and Asprin route. You use humour.
Satya: People don't take it seriously. They think there's no skill to it.
Muse: Must I remind you that those 'writer people' you're thinking of write shitbox clunky humour, and you don't. Now, here's a nice new notebook, and your favourite turquoise Lamy fountain pen. Get on with it.

Tomorrow, I start trying to transcribe my handwriting. Not as easy as it used to be. My handwriting is even worse, and my eyesight...well, I can see I'm in for a 'squint at the page, then type a few words, then squint at the page' session or two.

But that's tomorrow. Right now, I can tell you that all this chipperness is a smoke screen for The Sad, and The Exhaustion. I didn't sleep well last night, so fibro symptoms are rolling through me, namely joint and muscle pain. The Sad is nagging to consider images of hanging and being shot in the head. The Exhaustion wants me to lie down and die.
Yeah, well, not tonight, thanks. Now that I've realised that I'm on to my second World War II book, and I've been listening to another WWII book in the car, I've ceased 2/3, and am applying 'The Utterly Ultimate My Word Collection' by Frank Muir and Denis Norden. That should make me laugh, and I can forget about Nazis.
Full Moon in Aquarius, plus a partial lunar eclipse. No wonder my brain is messed up.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
It's a cold, cold day here in Melbourne. Overcast skies, and the Dandenongs are misted in. No visibility at all and it's the middle of the day. Not as freezing cold as yesterday, but enough to keep me indoors until my 5pm naturopath appointment.
I walked to and from the chiropractor's rooms this morning. That's plenty of outdoor air for today.
I'm now parked on PizzaBoy's bed, as the snoring room is the warmest room in the house. I've whittled the mammoth email backlog by about 10 emails, paid a couple of bills, and have answered some facebook messages.
What a good girl am I.
I've even remembered to give my seeds, thinking about sprouting in the seedling tray, a squirt of water.
I thought this afternoon would be an arting time, but now that I'm fed, watered, warm, and comfy, the afternoon blah is upon me, and I will spend my time reading.
Yesterday I did some artwork with a girlfriend. Her house in Boronia was quite cold, an old weatherboard house. Her art room upstairs was even colder. By the time I'd played with some pastels, and done my 'thing', I could no longer feel my legs from the knees down. We went back downstairs, but even the warmth of her little dog in my lap couldn't thaw me. When I left, I went straight to Forage and ate hot chips and drank hot chocolate, but it was no good. I was chilled. I came home, into pyjamas, and into bed.
And what happens when Satya gets warm again? A nanna nap.
However, my friend and I had spent much time discussing how unkind we are to ourselves, that if we spoke to others the way we spoke to ourselves, we'd have no friends. So I took my afternoon sleepiness as a sign that this was what I needed, and let myself drowse.
Today, I'm conscious that I feel good when I get some things done, so I've done that, and now I can be kind to myself by being warm, cozy, and reading. I've just borrowed 'The Boy At The Top of The Mountain' by John Boyne, the man who wrote 'The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas'. It's not a fat book, so I suspect that if I start now, I'll be immersed in it until this evening's bedtime.
Must run, book is calling.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
SnakyPoet alerted me to the way my chosen blog skin was playing out for visitors. I've hopefully fixed that now.

I'm sitting in the sun, which is coming in through my bedroom windows. I'm cross-legged on the floor, squinting at the screen against the sunlight, with Penny right in front of my legs. She's more cranky these days, don't know why. Hisses all the time, has started biting visitors when they pet her. I'm going to apply coconut oil to her paws again, and when she licks it off, she will eat it, and hopefully, it might affect her skin. I think she has terribly ichy skin, and it's annoying her.

An anxiety day for me today. Far too much in the world recently. Body had had enough by last night, mind has had enough today. I've done a bit of house tidying, not that you can tell, and I've been on the couch late morning, reading. Reading will continue after this blog update.

Not much else to report. Still very down, although I put a jolly good face on it. Still anxious, so nothing new there. Still got fibro, although a friend has signed me up to a 'detox through cabbage and kale ferments, kill the candida, kill the worms, be prepared to piss and poop and vomit, as this is good' group, and the admins say that if you cease naming your diseases, they won't exist. So I don't have fibro. I have SparklingHealth. Which I am treating with Nimbin oil, chinese herbs, rest, and gentle exercise. Not to mention the occasional Voltaren.
I will not be treating my SparklingHealth with cabbage and kale ferments, which makes one sick as a dog.

Good gods, there's an ant crawling around my windowsill. There must be warmer weather on the way if the ant scouts are out and about. I would have thought they'd still be below ground. Then again, only another six weeks or so, and I can start organising my back yard beehive. The bees will be ready by then, I think.

I live for the warmer weather, for not so many clothes, and because I'm too chicken to inflict enough pain and discomfort on myself, and others, to end it.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
I have a blog update scheduled for tomorrow.
I want tomorrow to be full of nothing.
So I'm updating now.
I'm sad, and have been for most of this year.
I hide it well.
Everyone believes my smile.
There. I updated.
As if anyone gives a fuck.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com.au/

I've not written poetry much at all this year. I've been deep in memoir territory, and I feel dry, used up, a leaf in winter scraping on cold bitumen. So, I toddled over to my favourite poetry inspiration place and I'll try to do something with Brendan's prompt.

Knife through butter
to measure out half a cup
for this new recipe.

A good sliver off the Larsen Ice Shelf
loosing itself into the ocean.

Sugar weighed out into metal bowl,
white and silver.

Snow and ice gleaming,
deep within larimar-blue.

Crumbled almond meal,
the tang of vanilla essence.

Icebergs melting, salt biting deep,
the smell of krill
from a minke's mouth.

Apply heat.

The cake rises.
The land bares itself.
One more palatable than the other.
****

That felt like grinding dry concrete. But it's a start.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
I lay in bed this morning, and thought: "Oh pooh, I have appointments, and yoga that require me to be in the world, just when I don't want to be."
I had the choice of cancelling everything and staying put in bed, with the justification of 'well, everyone needs rest'. In reality, I feel low, and lethargic, and tired of fighting the cold, all for the sake of 'living a life'.
It's July, so here's the Big Sad, the Big Anxious, and the mid-winter blues. I long to be in Darwin, Mission Beach, Monkey Mia. Anywhere warm, tropical, with lots of sunlight. I want bright green, and white sand, and blue sky and ocean. I want to not be wrapped up to the eye-teeth in layers and layers of clothes until I feel I'm suffocating.
I want all my writing to be done, and not have to go back into it and fix all the dumb-ass mistakes.
Today, I want to be the Four of Swords, someone lying in their tomb.
Yeah, I know it's bad thinking. You know what, I don't have it in me to alter it today.
I'll mope along to yoga, because that's what I do. I'll eat food, because one must, I suppose. I'll read because what else is there? Because these are things that make up my life, and I don't know how to just sit and moulder away to nothing.
I know all the nutrition, and exercise, and change-my-thoughts stuff. I can do all that. No use telling me to 'get out for a walk and have an orange'. I'll likely do both today. They won't change in the inner essence of me that's craving sunlight, and warmth, and....well, preferably the ability to sit and not move, and not think.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
I'm watching THE HANDMAID'S TALE. I always knew it would be a hard watch, just as the book is a very hard read. I read it once as a young woman, and thought 'ugh, I don't like Atwood at any time, and this is one fucked up dystopian read'.
I read it again earlier this year, as an older woman with more perspective, and thought: "Dear Gods, it's here."
I'm up to the second-last episode of season one. What have I just remembered?
That my ex-husband said to me that if I couldn't bear him children, he would have to divorce me, and find someone who could. Only he didn't put it like that. He said 'get rid of'.
I was a vessel to provide the dream family he envisioned. They were the last few things on his 'Stuff To Get' list: house, wife, two children.
I was the wife, I birthed the two children.
What a good handmaid I was.
#triggered
#horrified
#mortified
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
I am making another climb of Mount Readmore, the huge pile of unread books in the house, mostly things I've bought. A recent purchase was eliminated in under an hour today, as I found it to be a most mundane of a mundane chicklit story. I succumbed to the bus stop ads I saw, grabbed a copy, and found it underwhelming. Some chicklit fan will be thrilled at the local op shop to find a brand new book.
I started 'Frogkisser' by Garth Nix at lunchtime today, and I'm intrigued enough to keep reading, bearing in mind that it really has to pull me in by page 50, or it too begins the long op shop trip.
Can't speak highly enough of 'Cold Vein' by....by....someone. A memoir of anorexia, told by a mother. Chilling, scary, awful, brilliant, gripping. Grabbed me in two pages and didn't let go.
Books, books, books for me over the next couple of days, as I gear up for the next section of memoir. I admire those who can plug away at their writing daily. I'm not one of them.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
What a busy writing day it's been. I met with Saraswati at 11.40am(ten minutes after she finishes teaching yoga), and we wrote for two hours. She's writing about 'yoga off the mat', and I'm still deep in A TEAR IN THE AIR land. Through the worst of it now, I think. The Ordeal is done with, and now I start the return journey to the ordinary world.
Then, pick up a new thumb drive, one that can attach to my key ring. I'm fearful that if my computer gets stolen, my months of hard memoir work will be gone. With a thumb drive in my purse, and another on my key ring, I can back up each time I finish a café or friend's house binge writing session.
I'm home now, and have just copied all my poems from The Followers project of several years ago into a file. Over the next week, I'll go through them, rewrite if necessary, and do a coupla paragraphs to talk about the experience of The Followers. Then, send them to snakypoet, I guess, who once again is assuming editor hat. I might even find some title suggestions in amongst the poems, because so far, we are scratching our heads.
I'll be glad to knock off writing for the day, and tend to a few other things. Pets, husband, adult offspring, the state of the house, reading, meal planning. Gosh, even down time for day dreaming. I think I've forgotten how to do that.
It looks like I'll finish A TEAR IN THE AIR this month (and about darned time). I know it's only first draft stage, but I'm going to seek appropriate beta readers for feedback while I attend to other writing projects. THE STORIES SO FAR has languished for a few months. It's now time to turn my attention to it again, and get it out in the world. The dreaded synopsis, and all that jazz, to try some of the smaller presses like Ticonderoga, and such, to see if their keen on my collected published short stories.
Then it will be time to take a look at the ambitious goals I set myself in December at the break-up party of the Secret Keepers Memoir Group. We each listed three projects we'd go crazy on this year.
And that should be enough to be going on with for the rest of this year.

Surely some poetry must come out of me soon. Surely.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
The time has come for TwentiesBoy to have a will. He owns property. He has stuff. It's not just a case of rocking up to a solicitor and saying 'his sister gets everything'. Oh no. Of course it's not that easy.
Phone solicitor. Nope, she can't do it. Please talk to VCAT.
Phone VCAT. Not their thing. The Supreme Court is the one who can make an order.
Phone Supreme Court. Phone rings out.
Repeat every few days for a month.
Get through to Supreme Court Wills and Probate. Get referred to a different department three times.
Talk to a man who says I need to: employ a solicitor, who will brief a barrister, who will make application to the Supreme Court for a hearing, where it will all be discussed, and then, if everyone is feeling good that day, and the planets are in alignment, an order will be made. All interested parties will have to attend. That means me, PizzaBoy, LoafAbout, TwentiesGirl, possibly TG's partner, CarMan.
Interested? Why not come along for a fun day out at the Supreme Court? Bring a packed lunch, a picnic rug, and a cricket set.
I can't say that I don't have other things I might be doing with my time. Little things such as writing books.
But hey, for sins in a past life presumably, I get to pay off the karma this lifetime with a hefty dose of admin paperwork.
All fun, all the time.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
Well, so much for the good intentions to be here twice a week. Most of that motivation was to 'build my on-line platform', and you know what, fuck that for a joke. I'd rather be writing actual stuff.
Which hasn't been happening either. I had a great rhythm going there for a bit, and then fell of the bike. Now I have a head cold, which won't kill me - I'll just wish it would.
It's 4.41pm, getting dark already. Winter Solstice, and I've done nothing about that, apart from a brief foray to Lincraft to buy a swatch of black and white cloth for my altar. Instead, I've spent most of this afternoon either reading the 4th Harry Potter book, or dicking about online.
I have three candles burning on the coffee table in front of me. There, that's my big ritual to welcome back the light. Even though we're still in for the coldest months of the year, and I feel cold and dark, and insular.
Rather shitty too, that this head cold has caused me to miss a seminar through the Emerging Writers Festival, and cancel my planned trip to Alice Springs for the Beanie Festival.
Fuck! on both counts.
Part of me wants to just lie down, turn my back to the outside world, and mope. Part of me wants to watch classic movies such as 'All About Eve' until late Spring is here. Part of me hopes to forge ahead with 257 writing projects and burst on the scene like a comet.
A very small part of me might like to attend Medtrek 6, but I dunno, I'm not much of a con-goer these days, and would know only very few people. I'm not much good at sitting around reminiscing about Medtrek 1, and 2, because I didn't attend them.
Oh, I'm a gloomy person today. A curse on all the head-filling gunk of viruses.
Okay, that's it, no more moaning. Stop putting this shit out in the world.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
My life has been far too busy of late. My own doing, of course. No one is forcing me to attend the Mind, Body, Spirit Festival, to go out to lunch, to hostess a group of women here for a storytelling afternoon.
I enjoyed all these things, even if that last did require a certain frantic 'shove the rubble into cupboards and rooms not on display' yesterday morning.
I am having a quiet day today. Walked the dog, did a few yoga stretches, surrendered the yoga mat to Penny the Cranky black cat, and I've been on the brown couch reading UNDER STORY by Inga Simpson, with breaks for toast, chocolate, and now, green tea.
You know, I waited most of my life to find my Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I read the book when I was twenty-something, and craved a group of friends who would be there, no matter what. Long-standing friends with whom I could share everything. I've never had that. No blood sisters, no relatives I am close to, and groups of people have come and gone in my life.
Fandom wasn't a place to find my sisterhood. I was too weird for even them. Parenting groups, nope. The Frankston Orchid Society - they were too weird for me.
Over and over, I'd think 'this is the one', only to have the group fall apart.
But now, in my 50's, when I think some of my more prickly edges have softened, my heart has opened in new ways, and I have inevitably grown more into my true self, I find myself in two groups that accept me wholeheartedly.
First there's the memoir group I belong to, with OopsIHadABaby, Gardener, and HippieRussian. We've been together over three years now, and are closer than sisters. We've thrown each other much-belated 21st birthday parties, celebrated publications, commiserated over rejection slips. We've bolstered each other through difficult writing patches, bitched about various jobs, and held each other as we reveal the most hidden parts of ourselves. These are the ladies to whom I consign my journals, and who must break into my house after I'm dead, and steal them. Whenever one of us is nervous about reading out a piece of writing, for fear of judgement, we hold her in silence, compassion, and love. We make space for her to forgive that younger, unknowing self.
We have agreed that we simply have to continue writing memoirs for the rest of our lives, so that we can continue meeting every two weeks. Even if those memoirs devolve into 'my three years at a shit job', or 'the dog walking weirdos I meet'. As we dig deeper, we realise that there's another story, and another, and another. I have never felt more accepted in my life.
The other group came into my life most unexpectedly last year. I was at the Fig Tree Café, having morning tea with my two young grandsons, and somehow I got talking to one of the ladies at the next table. BritchyWitch revealed that her group were parents from Vermont South Special School, where TwentiesBoy used to go. I was invited to join their group as an Elder Stateswoman, someone who's gone through the VSSS and Heatherwood High thing, and whose young adult is now in a recreation programme through Interchange Outer East.
I thought this group would be a fly-by-night thing, but I find myself turning up every few weeks, and sharing my life with theirs. I have found true friends there, who care, and share, and don't place conditions on how any of us parent.
The themes of both these groups: no judgement.
And perhaps I had to wait until my own heart felt safe enough to open, and cease being so judging. Only then could others find their way in.
Do I have sisters? No, not of the 'same parents, same blood' variety. Nieces, great-nieces, cousins, yes.
Do I have women who are sisters? Yes. OopsIHadABaby, SnakyPoet, Gardener, HippieRussian, BritchyWitch, Blondie, PaulFan, and a few others. The sisters of my heart.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
Just back from seeing ALADDIN in the theatre. Maybe it's me being super-tired, and shaky, and almost smelling illness in my nose(got that pre-cold feeling), but apart from the Genie, the performances felt flat. The guy playing Aladdin had a hard job coming up against the actor playing the Genie. Then again, the Genie is such a BIG part in every sense of the word, that any mere mortal role would pale beside it.
I'm tucked up in bed now, and will haul myself out for Dr Who with PB and TB, but then it's back to the swooning sheets again.
I'm listening to a vimeo thing for the course I'm studying, and truly, I don't have much else to impart.
I've just started listening to the audio book THE MONSTROUS CHILD, and I'm not sure that a whiny teen is the right personification for the Norse Goddess Hel. And whine is all she does.
So, consider, Satya, how would you portray one of the 'negative' Goddesses. There are plenty of books out there portraying the Aphrodites, Athenas, Hinas, Artemises of this world, but how to make the likes of Hel, Pele, and Kali. How does a teen goddess react to finding out she's got an unpopular gig? A certain amount of whining. But come on, She's Goddess material! She's gotta love it, right? How does Persephone deal with her Queen of the Dead gig, never mind the Spring Maiden thing? She's also Hades consort.
This bears thinking upon, because there's a story here...
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
In the past couple of weeks, I've undertaken a Creative Non Fiction short forms course, and started Sage Priestess Training. I'm also doing the Pull Pen Paint tarot art journalling course, which is turning into a year-long thing. Loving all of it.
I have also started writing first thing in the morning as a regular practice, just a couple of pages here and there, dividing my attention between various projects, but mostly the spiritual memoir, the CNF homework, and the new writing memoir.
I do yoga once a week, walk most days, belly dance once a week, and grandparent in the cracks. Bit of gardening, bit of cooking, bit of parenting, wifeing, being with my pets.
Let's not forget reading. Never forget reading.
This is the happiest, most content I've been for a very long time. It's like the Bachelor of Arts I should have taken back in the 80's.
I am my writerly, witchie, yogini, dancer self, with a side salad of mother, grandmother, and wife.
Ironically, because of anxiety, I'm getting a referral back to the psychiatrist today, where I can tell her that I'm weirdly anxious, but quite happy, and not depressed at all.
Have not lost any weight at all, even with increased exercise, but I think I've moved it around a bit, so that's okay. It would be useful if I didn't scoff so much Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate. But not as pleasurable.
satyapriya: Macchu Picchu 2009 (Default)
My amateur peering into my tea cup this morning netted me several butterflies standing out from the general wodge of herbs. A few odd specks of herb formed into butterfly wings on two different angles. For me, butterflies signal transformation.
I truly hope so, because just yesterday, at Mastermind group, I was whinging about how I saw writing as work, wanted to reframe that back into play and adventure. I was reminded of an NLP exercise BunnyGirl took me through some years ago, to reframe a difficult incident I'd just experienced.
Today will see me trawling the web to see if I can find something similar to help me reframe my writing life. My mind just don't like Work, and Job, and Career. Not even Calling, Gifts, Destiny. It all sounds like a drag to my child-mind.
Nevertheless, three new pages written this morning. Two on the spiritual memoir, one on....wait for it, a new memoir called A GIRAFFE IN MY TEA CUP. Writing memoir. Title came shortly after the tea leaf reading I had at the Tea Festival.
"Nice title," I thought.
"It's a great title! Now, let's get on with the writing memoir!" said Creative Brain.
"The what?"
"The writing memoir. You know, for the boxed set of memoirs."
"But I'm not done with the spiritual memoir, the PizzaBoy memoir, the TwentiesBoy memoir, or the belly dance memoir..."
"Writing memoir. Start now."
Sigh.
Because who doesn't want 20 unfinished projects?

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