One of those times

I am having one of those times. It is one of those "What the fuck am I doing with my life?" times when my happiness proves to be bubble thin and simply bursts, leaving me exposed and, when I look inside myself and weigh myself in the balance, I am found wanting. I must not waste what I have.

I think that I am going stir-crazy here. I crunch across the frozen beach to break ice and collect water from the stream and so at least the kettle whistles contentedly on the stove. I try to find warming books to read: summer tales and stories of found happiness and human kindness. I think that I am searching for a happy ending.

It warms me so to see friends starting to find their own happiness but my pleasure is tinged with a little sadness when I start to cast over the days ahead of me and I know that nothing is likely to change.

There is peace to be found in this place. The stove warms me and I have good supplies of comforting wintry food. I can draw closer to the heat, wrap a blanket around me and dream of a life that is not mine.

One thought does emerge from my meditations; I will not waste what I have.

I think that I might surprise people.

Ceremonies

There is a bitter wind across the beach this morning and there are ceremonies that I had been putting off which I have had to perform. I swept the rough wooden boards and smiled at the memory of the contrast your pale smooth skin against them. Then I unrolled the old, much mended kelim in front of the stove and the room was filled with the aroma of the caravanserai.

I sat on the step, a brimming steaming mug of tea at hand, and honed the edge of my axe until it was keen and then, throwing my coat aside, cut and split wood, enjoying my strength as I swung the heavy axe hard and with ease. The pieces were carried inside in a basket made from the willow that hangs over the stream that reaches the sea some twenty minutes walk from here.

Now I sit cross-legged on the rug and feed wood into the stove and enjoy fresh tea. I have been thinking about love, recognising that I am a loving man, but one who seldom, if ever, feels love. I am armoured against amour as surely as the strong walls keeps out the chill wind and have been since my childhood when I knew the tearing pain of loss for the first time and started to wall my feelings in.

I am enjoying being able to take the time to observe. I stare at the texture of a pebble and count stars; I hold a smooth pink shell to my lips and then peer closely into it, as I looked into widened, excited eyes as I slapped hard between widely spread thighs... over and over again.

Warmth

Sometimes one needs to take positive action.

I have been working on the cabin, defending it against the wild winter winds and waves. The roof is sound and the gaps around the winter sealed. An old wood burning stove has been dragged across the shingle (and what a job that was) and connected to the old flue. A large pile of driftwood is drying to keep me warm during the bitterest and coldest days.

Inside, I have made a bookcase from old timber and filled it with old friendly volumes, fossils & minerals and the small number of odds & ends rescued from my childhood home.

I will be content here; snug by the stove yet free to burst through the door, run through the rain and plunge, naked, into the waves.

Strength

I need the strength and power of the waves I watched yesterday to wash me clean and awaken me:


I'm not sure I am ready for what I have to do but I will do it.

Somewhat Cast Adrift

Cast Adrift? So what do I mean by that? I wish I knew exactly but I am muddle-headed after a week where a mild bug has slowly and inexorably dragged me down to a place where my arms and legs are as heavy as lead. This is never a good place from which to take a level headed view and I should know better than to sit and mope right now.

The beach is truly deserted. I feel marooned and almost, curiously, redundant. Glorious solitude has become miserable loneliness and I certainly didn't see that coming. I pride myself on being self assured but my need for others has been exposed like a raw nerve in a tooth. It hurts. I didn't see that coming either.

Perhaps its time to stow my things and head on away from the beach for a while.. or, perhaps more sensibly, for good. I suspect that I was always an inlander at heart and that I should leave the strand behind with my head held high and some very happy memories to sustain me as I look back and dream of my life by the sea.

In the meantime, I will throw myself into my work and reflect.

Gloriously Alone

Alone on a vast expanse of beach and with the sun unseasonably hot on my skin,
I walked right out to the water's edge, undressed and threw myself in.


Then, still gloriously alone, I walked along the sand, arms out and cock-hard in the sun.

I made my mark...


...dressed, and walked back towards my life.

All At Sea

I am feeling lonely and drowning in a sea of work. I am also under the weather which is making it even more difficult to keep up.

Friends seem to be drifting away, perhaps no longer swimming the same deep water as me, and I am starting to wonder what it is, exactly, I am looking for in this life.

In some ways, I have never been as successful as I am now; at the same time, I have seldom felt as alone and that written by someone who has always defined himself as an outsider, one who walks along his own path. I sometimes confuse myself with these contradictions.

This will pass; it always does. The beach is always less crowded as the summer ends and I will soon be strolling along the water's edge wrapped in a warm coat and with a scarf around by neck and, knowing myself as I do, enjoying the wistful feeling that such a day brings.