Attrition (2)

I am enjoying the feeling of calm after the storm but it feels that that every time it happens it hurts me more and takes me longer to recharge.

Today I am going to enjoy a peaceful walk, feel cool wet damp beneath my bare feet and fill my pockets with pebbles and shells, just as I have done ever since I was a little boy. It is a small but significant comfort.

Attrition

I am hit over and over again by pounding, crashing waves and I know that I am slowly losing my grip on this slippery rock. I don't want to let go but my numb fingers can barely cling anymore.

Life Is...

Life is...


Well, most of the time :-)

Another Day

Warm sunshine.

A favourite walk.

A handful of freshly picked cherries.

Its another day.

Midsummer

A day of different emotions.

I still think that joy was the strongest; it was also the first. I walked out into early sunshine - a glorious day - and stood as my coffee brewed. I was wearing my old morning robe and let it drop, feeling the warm air on my skin and felt the joy break through all the frustrations and I just bathed in it for a moment.

Later in the morning I was overcome with frustration and (such a rare visitor) anger and decided to walk them off but couldn't shake them. At one point, reaching a gate, I kicked it open fiercely, lost my footing and fell heavily onto my back.

No harm done and - thankfully - no-one to witness my shame but at least it cleared the negativity from my mind as I had to admit to myself that it was a stupid thing to do, that I deserved the bruises and that it would probably raise a wry smile later.

So here I am on Midsummer night and I can smile at myself but it is an empty smile because things really are not good. I ache with a frustration that I have absolutely no answer to. I smile but it is a bleak smile and I sit teary eyed (another very very rare visitor).

There is always a plan.

I will keep myself busy and not brood.
I will walk (but not kick at gates).
I will lose myself in glorious music.
I will cherish my friends.
I will allow myself to be in love in my own small and controlled way.
I will not neglect myself.
I will cook fabulous food.
I will look for and find beauty and pleasure in small things and brief moments.

And when my frustration turns to anger (which I always direct inwards anyway) I will remember myself laying on my back like a beetle one midsummer's day.

Finally, I stand by my first statement. My strongest emotion of the day was my joy at walking out into a beautiful morning. That morning sun has eclipsed the rest of the day.

Resignation

I just walked out for a while to clear my head and stretch muscles cramped from sitting and - just as I reached the furthest point and with nowhere to shelter - it started to rain. At first there were just a few drops and then a downpour. I walked through it with my head bowed and, in the matter of a couple of minutes, I was soaked and getting cold in the chill breeze.

In my youth I would have either laughed and danced in the rain or railed against it. Today I just felt a grim resignation; a dull ache that is a frequent companion; even here on my beloved beach.

I knew that the rain would stop and that I would soon dry and warm; I also knew that some things would continue and, if I walked all day and all night, they would still dog my heels.

Pebble

I like the thought of being a pebble in your pocket for you to squeeze when you need reassurance and at hand when you just want to throw something.

A Book and Its Cover

A cloudless sky and an azure sea.

Like a child, I kick my feet through shallow water and then make my way over sun-warmed pebbles to sit in the shade and enjoy the faintest of breezes.

I pull a small, slim book from my pocket. It is old and tattered but a good companion. I do judge this book by its cover as it always makes me smile the way you do when you remember a good time spent with a lover or friend and, inadvertently, I look up as if expecting you to come walking and smiling along the beach towards me.

Tango

Yesterday was one of those days when things just seemed to be on the verge of falling apart. I held myself up to scrutiny and didn't like what I saw. Last night I slept fitfully and woke up feeling dismal and frustrated on a chilly and grey morning. Sheltering behind an old wooden groyne, I pulled my coat tightly around me and sat listening to whatever my ipod shuffled for me. After a couple of songs, an Argentinian tango tune played and -immediately - I was transported back - slimmer and wild eyed - sitting in a uni bar when she walked in, stood behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.

I looked up and turned to see a stranger beaming down at me. She was lithe and her pleasant face held what seemed to be a permanently amused expression. Without introduction, she said that she was on her way to a party and did I want to go with her? It seemed a great way to spend what had promised to be a dull evening and we walked together through late sunshine as I learned firstly her name and then that everyone would be speaking Italian. I had no Italian but I had some Latin; I was sure I'd get by.

We were happily drunk when she started to teach me how to tango.

Over the next few days we scratched the surface of each other's lives. She had been a ballet dancer and I remarked that she must be very flexible. She grinned and said that she'd show me; she did.

But summer saw us heading in very different directions. The last I heard from her was a post card from Pisa where, if I wished, her cool room awaited me. I was a penniless musician and a couple of years short of the courage that would have taken me on that adventure without a moment's thought.

I sat and smiled at the memories, silently hoped that she has had a good life, then stood up and faced a difficult day, my syncopated steps remembering the dance she had taught me.

Liebestod

I worked until my muscles could take no more, stopping just at that point where the music reached its final crescendo and - for a brief and precious moment - nothing else existed and I was free.

Before My Walk Is Done

It is a fresher morning and I love the cooler air on my skin as I walk endlessly, it seems, leaving a clear set of footprints behind me in the fine, damp sand.

Looking to my side I can see another set of prints, just close enough to have been able to touch fingertips with the woman who made them. Slowly, inexorably, her prints seem inch away from mine.

There are other prints that come tantalisingly close but appear forever out of reach and are always likely to arc away from mine as I move forwards; sometimes striding but at other times, like today, walking slowly but still steadily.

The further I walk through this life, the more it seems to me that - in one sense or another - my footprints are likely to end alone.

This melancholy thought makes me smile to myself wistfully. I raise my head and enjoy the sensation of the sand beneath my bare feet.

Before my walk is done, there are many more steps to betaken.

Falling Into Simplicity

You could call this place Simplicity.

The sun is shining today and, although the air is still a little chilled, I know that it will be warm later; perhaps even hot. I love this place for its clear air and the fact that being here gives me equal clarity of thought.

I escape here to submerge myself in a simple life. In the summer I can sleep outside, wrapped up in a blanket and then, when I wake, bathe in the sea. I eat line caught fish, cooked over a driftwood fire and drink coffee brewed in a can.

As often as not, I don't even have to wear clothes. With my feet in the shallow water and my head in the sun, I can feel very dancey indeed.

Evensong

It is so peaceful at the end of this glorious day. I sit and feel the gentlest breeze kiss my cheek and ruffle my hair as I listen to the slow, repeated, calming sounds of the waves. Picking up a smooth, flat cold pebble, I warm it between my palms and, hoping that all is well with you, find myself repeating Eliot as he quotes Julian of Norwich:

And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well

I skim the pebble out into the sea, counting its hops until it is swallowed by the darkness.