Face

It's in the eyes
of course there's no deceit
In the fact that the sun shines beneath internal smiles
and the twinkling of hope
glitters from the beauty kept inside
Pure and untainted
Never to speak untruths
Only mirror the perfection
Like glass under a blue sky

Lids closing softly
never to hide the intensity of soul
but to bask in the ambience
lightly falling into love
gently binding into blood
and streams of thought
which meld as one
from the darkest days
the bird sings freely
a song of hope

Coming home and waving goodbye

One solitary girl.  A grown up girl, granted, but a girl who feels like a child the majority of the time.

and off I went to the big city.  The prospect of the 8 or 9 hour journey wasn't at all daunting.  With a very modest bag in hand I arrived ludicrously early for the coach.  Somewhere in the pit of my stomach I sensed the churning of nerves but I pushed the fear aside in favour of excitement.  Sitting on what seemed to be a refrigerated seat, I clutched at my phone to update every social networking site known to man....this was little me on a big adventure.  I've made the same journey a great many times you realise, only this time it was different.  Was he going to stand me up and leave me weeping miserably in a packed tube station?  Or would he honour his word and kick start the next chapter of my artistry.  As expected, the journey had its drama, with broken toilets, broken heaters and crying children to contend with but I just sat in my own little bubble of amazement.  I took in every single moment and made sure that every pore absorbed the memory. 

On nearing London, the familiar sights and occurrences presented themselves with welcome zest.  I read the signs....Baker Street, Oxford Street......anything that would fuel my eagerness and reinforce my decision to go.  By the time the coach drew to a halt my heart was racing so fast I thought it might burst through my chest.  This is when the 'strut' occurred.  The 'strut' would be my casual stroll in an effort to prove that I blend in and to dissipate unwanted attention; it fails horrifically.  After circling the same shopping centre three times I realise that the nerves have caused complete disorientation.  By the time I make it to the tube I am boiling hot and flustered and wondering how I will get to Brixton without passing out.

This is when it gets exciting...

Suddenly I am there.  I'm at Brixton.  I'm there - yes I'M AT BRIXTON!  So I pause......I pause, light a cigarette with hands that tremble sporadically and I think.  By thinking, I mean that my internal voice of reason said 'oh fuck oh fuck'.  There was no possible reason for this randomness, only the harsh reality of what I was doing smacked me right in the face.  I gingerly picked up the phone and walked as I talked.

Every step I took I felt like the wind was being pumped out of me, pure adrenalin I assume.

and there he was, smiling.

It's at moments like this I'd love to be able to slap myself round the face.  How do you react when the unreachable is suddenly in reach? He looked exactly as I recalled.  Smiling, friendly, casual, pretty and most importantly, he looked like the sweetheart I had imagined he was.  Now don't get me wrong, it may sound pitifully soppy but that's what you do in a blog or a diary right?  I have to make everything sound fluffy and sugary!  But it is true.  I saw his little face standing nervously and immediately decided that any man who didn't let me down after all this must be worth the journey.  Just writing this I get goose pimples because it's so damn exciting!  The second he put his arms round me and asked me if I was ok I knew the decision was easily justified, this was a friend for life. 

I've said this a lot this weekend but the weird thing is that none of it was weird.

We went to his house and I met his flatmate who was very warm and welcoming.  To my delight, there was a cat (I don't trust people who dislike animals).  We went upstairs and after his many apologies for the 'mess' I sat down on the bed, laid back and closed my eyes.  He did the same.  That's how time stood still a while - odd isn't it?  Lying on strangers' beds!  But it didn't feel anything like strange.

Nights pass too soon and before I knew it my eyes were closing without a definitive plan for what to do next - and I needed this performance to happen so much!  Then I realised exactly what we needed to do.  Then we agreed what we had to do.  Then we got excited about what we are going to do and I just might burst I'm so pleased about it.  Tess James and Rich Kightley are going to collaborate on a beautiful piece of performance art about the merging of souls.  Who'd have thought it?  The trouble with this kind of work is the inevitable emotional connections you make to people.  I'm not in the habit of showing emotions in public, nor am I soppy or romantic or flighty or anything of that sort.  Yet it was me who allowed myself to stand in the coach station sobbing like a baby.  It was me who gazed into those piercing eyes like a fool and clutched onto his jacket for dear life.  It might have looked stupid but it so did not matter.  He cried.  I cried.  There is no possible explanation I can offer for my behaviour.  Goodbyes tear me apart at the best of times but leaving London, especially when I now know that it is home to someone so dear to me, was very hard to take.

I take much comfort in the knowledge that this is an emergence of something fresh and exciting and not at all an end to anything.  I feel so blessed that I had the chance to do this.  Everyday life has rumbled back in, but this time it has more energy bubbling beneath the surface.

Tess is very happy indeed.

Reincarnation and shoes

You know you are almost fixed when the purchase of sparkly sandals was most unneccesary but you did it anyway.  I'd say I'm as much returned to normal as I'm ever going to get.  I danced in the kitchen today, I made the children laugh and I laid in a sensory ball pool.  For those familiar with my personality, these few things would suggest a return to my former self, even though the ripples of memory will always stay with me from the week that passed.

Friday 13th may pose a problem for some people.  Myself, I find it the same as any other day and have taken the majority of my 31 years of life as a learning process which led me to the conclusion that dreadful things can happen any day and that Friday 13th is a get out clause.  As I write there are still a few hours remaining of the day so it's fair to say anything could happen yet.  At this point, my biggest drama of the day was that my mobile battery died on the bus; I'm sure you feel my pain!

I'm literally rambling to eat away some of the remainder of this Friday.  The morning brings a beginning, a brand new start which carries with it an immense sense of unease.  I dare not allow myself to feel excited about these new journeys as I must stay grounded at all times.  Getting carried away could lead to carnage of course, as my parents always taught me, I should be careful, not speak to strangers etc.  I'm pretty much going to break every childhood ground rule.  But this is it, I'm following the dream and disregarding the sensible.  Life is always too short and I'm living it whenever I get the chance :)

Giddy Kipper

So as I write I can see Katy Perry on the television, squawking some disgusting, barely audible nonsense while sporting what can only be compared to a giant condom on her head.  This is the path of the day.  Giddy, ridiculous and downright bizarre.  It's incredible what emerges from the mundane. 

PLAY AREAS - the space which depletes sanity within ten seconds of entering!  Today however, it is merely a sanctuary for nurturing my bruised brain in the company of an old and treasured friend.  I say every peculiar and unwelcome thought in my muddled and perplexed mind and she nods amicably before agreeing and even reasoning for my stupidity.  Fantastic!  I coo at babies, I discipline children, I drink coffee and before I know it half the day has passed!

EYEBROWS - a very mediocre subject, the humble eyebrow.  To some women I know, this kind of conversation would be the induction of ecstasy.  To me it brings a yawn.  Today, however, I embraced the eyebrow with gusto.  Wax me! Wax me I say.....in my head of course.  Hey presto, I am waxed!  A small addition to the day but it needed a mention for reaffirmation of my return to normality.

DISSERTATION - curse the dissertation.  I love it in a very troubled and enforced kind of way.  After all, it permisses me to write about what I love.....but it hands over my head like a suspended prison sentence.  I delay the process further with telephone conversations about Dick Van Dyke (as stated in said convo, 'I have a passion for Dick') and I roll around laughing at my own senselessness.  I write 500 words of the formidable essay and then become distracted by thoughts of naughtiness, spirituality and utter stupidity.  Which is where I am now.............

I must resist the urge to re-enact a scene from Mary Poppins on the living room floor.  Someone turn Katy off, my eyes and ears are bleeding!!!!

Feed yourself on London

So the days drone by, perpetuating into nothingness.  Yesterday was a conundrum; do I feel fine now or am I dying inside?  It was a dark musing, yet no matter how well it was kept under wraps it crossed my mind at least every five minutes.  Beginning the day with a cold sweat following what amounted to a dream, despite its uncanny representation of the already lived.  Things were more familiar in a routine kind of way and at the same time I found myself experiencing the same kind of separation from reality that I had on Saturday.  Seeing my childrens' faces yet not registering them was not only peculiar, but alarming in a way that provoked intense questioning of self.  Nevertheless, the day was a hint more bearable than its predecessors.  The tears seemed to come less intensively and this was a relief and a respite after the density of emotions before.  Speaking to others experiencing similar things has been therapy for me in more ways than I could have ever imagined.  Just hearing that voice on the end of the phone had me instantly reassured, even if the conversation was to share anguish of sorts. 

What remains is an internal conversation of analysis about what happens now.....having thrown oneself into a passion with such gusto, how can one function in the throes of monotony which is everyday life?  The answer is to find the balance, I figure.  I feel nervous and bewildered at the notion of combining motherhood with ambition, despite the way that I have managed it fairly well over the past nine years.  Suddenly the passion cannot be ignored or downgraded in importance and I must find the way to do both without sacrifice. At a point of today there came a sudden outpouring of grief which led me to realise that this will never disperse and it must be allowed to happen....

So a new quest begins and, yes, it involves that boy with the tousled hair and the insane tattoos.  We are making art my friends, together, leaning on our shared experience as support and inspiration.  I'm a spontaneous person in general, though I hold a steady head and know when to put a lid on emotions and desires.  This time I'm discarding my own insecurities and learnt habits and throwing myself into the throngs of chaos voluntarily.  I literally shook as the confirmation came through for my ticket.  On Saturday I go to London, alone, on an 8 hour journey into the complete unknown.  I will make the work that I need to make with the artist I want to make it with and then I will venture the 8 hours return to normality as if nothing ever happened.  I suspect I have taken leave of my senses, but if it all goes wrong nobody can ever say I didn't try <3

Documentation of Gifts of The Spirit, Fierce Festival 2012

Spine chilling yet strangely lovely....not myself, just the art of course!

9th April 2012, The Aftermath

Rich means having great value, worth or material wealth, or money, or containing ingredients to give something a heavy, deep flavor. (adjective)

....So very true

In every sense of the word, the boy is Rich.  Vibrant and endearing in the most understated and humble ways.  It was inevitable that the experience of the last few days would have seeped into my soul, indeed it did, with earth shattering results.  The fear is that a door has now opened which may never be shut again..... yet the fear is also the pleasure in knowing that this is just the beginning. It would be a fearful untruth to state that this new beginning was one of solitude, as I know that my deepest hope is to have a companion.  This is not related to lust or sexuality, this is related to something I wasn't ever aware of before.  It's the cliche; the one seen on second rate Rom-Com's where the eyes meet across a table and life is perfect.  I have no rose tinted spectacles but my eyes are open wide and I truly do not want, nor am I able to shut them.

The day has been a very muted and dank experience despite the fire inside my head.  Presumably, the echoes of the hypnosis have to seep their way out somehow in order for life to regain normality.  Sobbing at people in supermarkets is not often a part of my everyday life, yet on this day I allowed it to happen without apology.  It feels natural and so very necessary to endure the roller coaster of emotion imposed upon me and so why should I fight it?  Perhaps the most unwelcome side effect has been the lack of recognition of those things belonging to me such as my home and my children.  It's almost as if time has stood still for a while and the only things which make sense are those things related to the experience. 

Gradually, in dishevelled and sporadic ways, life is drifting back in.  While the waves of sadness begin to roll away I am left with an urge to hang onto them for fear that I may forget something important.  But....of course.... I won't!  Who can forget the elation at having fulfilled a life ambition and stumbled across the most wonderful people on the journey?  Each and every one has left their imprint on my heart.

I am a very lucky soul.  A best friend held my hand through all of this, an inspirational man allowed me to share in this and a beautiful man will, with further luck, allow me to develop this in more wonderful ways.  My head will touch the pillow tonight with a smile.....sweet dreams! <3

8th April 2012

Undoubtedly the primary reason for this level of emotion is the aftermath of several days of hypnosis.  The hypnosis I experienced as a participant writer in Ron Athey's latest production of 'Gifts of the Spirit'.  The words simply don't come out any more, they curl and weave around every fragment of my tired brain as if to torment me, because as I part my lips the words never leave.  The day has passed in a haze of melancholy transitions; the most painful being the goodbye.

So picture it now...

There's the room.....a derelict building site of a space, with beams and a soaring glass roof, piles of rubble littering the floor.  The icy chill in the air almost adds another layer to the experience as you might question whether it's the weather or the concept which has you shuddering, irrespective of how many layers of fabric protect you.  In the still of night the roof acts as a mammoth reflection of the performance, showing each participant from above as well as below.  At the hub of activity, the table of vocalists sits poignantly, waiting to send the first sparks of electricity to the waiting writers; the seance machine.  Othon, a musical genius in boxing gloves, sits at the piano, commanding attention in the room for all the right reasons.  The outline is defined by tables of typists, washing lines and pegs and a vast white cross of paper for the outpourings of 16 hypnotised minds.   There was a suggestion that to comment on the aesthetic might be rather pretentious or limp, however one could never deny the outlandish beauty of the stones and the enhancements, merged perfectly with just the hint of flamboyant. 

The master himself, Ron Athey, leads the production line of sounds, layering typewriters over his gentle entrancing voice, injecting the piano sounds, ecstatic vocals and eventually speaking in tongues.  Every element of the crescendo sends the writers into a wild frenzy.It seems as if every noise releases a new tension.  On the command 'unhinged' it is evident that the writers are far beyond the point of no return, with bodies scattered carelessly over the white cross of paper.  On reflection the discovery was somewhat chilling, with the news delivered to me that I had been on my back, eyes closed, spewing ambidextrous Latin in mirror images.  Recorded footage had this freak show behaviour confirmed to me and the shock resonated inside my skull, knocking the breath from my chest.  This was me, I had done this, and yet the sixty minutes I spent scribbling had passed in a heartbeat and not quite etched the memory I would need in order to understand it.

In the few hours that followed, I made sense of nothing, I understood nothing and I recalled nothing.  All that remained was a sinking feeling in the pit of my belly and waves of extreme sadness.  The only thing easing the pain was the stolen comfort of those who shared it, which is why I leant on them and talked uncontrollably of my ecstasy and discomfort to anyone who would listen. 

This leads me to the boy.  I should have been a boy myself, after all I surround myself with male companions on a daily basis.  This boy though, this boy was different.  Perhaps it was the penetrating eyes and the way they melted into my bloodstream, I don't know.  But oh the boy.  Beauty personified.  If I can meet someone in a bizarre situation and feel like a part of me came home, then I want to hang onto that feeling.  Inevitably, the sense of euphoria in having discovered a thing of beauty was marred by the crushing realisation that our lifestyles would clash inexplicably.  What I would have given to be able to walk off into the distance for a while and bask in the loveliness of the moment, but I couldn't.  I squeezed the life out of every single second of the last part of the day.  The safety of the arms that sent me to sleep will replay in my head over and over and over again.  The boy.  It is with a heavy heart that the goodbye was given and the tears have fallen ever since.  You don't always encounter a soul mate.....but I ponder.....is this what i did?  So many times I thought I found perfection prior to this day, but now I can see that this is what it feels like to love.  For whatever reason I sit now, elated yet wallowing in self pity and bereavement and I will soon close my eyes to hold that hand a while longer.