Alone

‘So, now alone or not, you gotta walk ahead. The thing to remember is, if we’re all alone, then we’re all together in that too.

It helps me sometimes’

I’ve had a bad day. Physically a lot of stress is passing through, emotional processing and trust issues. There’s been no energy to make plans for the future or know how to let new people in, or if I want to.

The thing is, how I am feeling or how I have felt is not static. Just because I have had a bad day does not take away from the privilege it is to have a series of films to fall back on. I have a shelf of them – of life lessons in visual form that speak to me .

PS I love you has been one of my gotos since I saw it in the cinema with an ex. Although I can’t relate entirely to the emotional content directly as I still have my father and have not had a man I love die on me; although several have left.

The above quote sums up the film for me. Patricia is the main character’s mother who had to just get on with things when her husband left with 2 children to look after and used that anger to keep on going when she saw her daughter head for the life she had (her words not mine). Despite this, the insight of fluidity and bigger picture thinking still remains up there in all of the movies I have seen. If we are all alone, then we must be together. There is huge comfort in that.

I have given myself permission to rest and recuperate today. It has been hard as I had to cancel work stuff and also possibly postpone my tattoo ritual. I have felt very alone and unsure of myself. But a larger sense of compassion has arisen – both for self and the situation I am preparing myself for closure for tomorrow.

So ahead I go, not knowing the exact direction, but trusting that not only will others come alongside me on the way, but I will also be my constant companion. Looking after myself the best I can even if the flat is a mess.

There is a lot more I want to talk about from this film and why it is so important to me, especially as Ireland provides Holly with her own chrysalis, but for now sleep.

And to my wounded and grieving heart I say:

I see you, I hold space for you and it will get better.

PS I love you.

The Chastity collection: an introduction

Three months…long enough to change a habit…to evaluate life and certainly long enough to be a challenge.

I’ve always toyed with the idea of chastity, celibacy….but never had probable cause to. Or the right incentive. With religious connotations or the necessity of a power dynamic as a legitimiser; I felt conflicted. Being staunchly labelled as someone with a problem with authority and also mixed messages at being at the mercy of my drive or somehow oversexed…this topic was heavily laden.

And yet, ever since I read an article in Look Magazine entitled ‘Why women like you are joining the new celibacy club’ an idea had been planted; although I never managed to track down the Prim and Proper Pussy Club – something that still appeals.

It’s hard, however, to separate this story from the assault and the spectre of the anguish and many-time breached boundaries. Or on the other hand, the tale of the self-marriage and naming ceremony on the 7th year anniversary of my graduation and the renewal of those vows. Or even setting aside the well trodden othering of my femality and wanting define my own standards…even exploring feminization.

There are a number of pieces to dissect and create with on this journey; especially mourning the collapse of the relationship that was an offering to the goal of autonomy and embodiment, but also the glimpse of unconditional love I had felt from the man I thought I was going to marry.

‘The tale of the little un-icorn that was’ will also seek to weave some more of my disparate threads together as I wend my way towards a relationship contract with myself, making friends with solitude and my cunt; although not necessarily in that order, as well as framing my existence as liminal and preparing the way for a digital detox to hold more space for this creative space.

I promise no linear reporting as it has been hard enough to write this 2 months in. But I am grateful for the opportunity to breathe life into this experiment and have you with me as I dance in connection – both intimate and friend to find a brighter horizon.

I legitimise my own creation. It is enough.

 

 

Will I ever get better?

Another from the vault. Also unpublished and still so very apt in my journey:

The question that stings right to the heart. Being able to feel, process and know simultaneously there are people in more pain, discomfort and hardship than me, whilst at the same time others are ignorant of the struggles I face.

Against myself.

 

I, the enemy.

I, the multitudes of years and of unions and of past lives and of future

Co-existing

I, the static to your everyday life

I, the cancer

 

I do not know.

I do not know why I ache

 

Why every time I let go the more I shut down

Why my knowing is absorbed in the ignorance of being

 

Of seeing visions

Through madness

 

Why any step forward feels like a gun to the head

 

Steps towards the future

A career

Alien

Scattered

 

In time

In origin

In multiplicity

 

Hospital

Operation

Specialists

ENOUGH

 

The blood that courses through my veins

Surges

Desperate to cut through

 

To feel alive

I am not dying

I am in stasis

I know not where I go

 

Friction

Raw insurgency

Turns me in onto myself

 

I want you

Almost as much

As I want him

 

Better

Bitter

 

Continuum

State of affairs

 

Limitless

Limiting

Limited

 

Will I get better?

At what?

 

My heart bleeds

To know not

 

But this I do

I want my days to count

 

My life, my love

My hopes for your

My story to be told

 

So if I may be bold

Let me share

This journey

However long

Alongside you

 

I am really scared. After almost a year of hospital appointments, I don’t feel closer to an answer

 

 Why is my body fighting itself

How can I step away from the ties that bind

 

The trauma

That is life.

The cards handed to me

 

My case is not more or less than other people.

I am not special.

 

And yet I hope beyond hope of a sense of

Surrender

Letting go

 

I know that there is some journey ahead

But facing me

Silent mind turning

Inwards screaming

 

May the dust settle

May the focus come

I do not want to miss out

 

Neither do I want to miss

This life of mine

That is my own

 

Fear abounds

Love surrounds

And in you, on life, I trust.

A dedication to my niece

This is one from the archives. My niece turns 3 in June, but I never had a chance to publish it. With my sister’s permission and with a view to updating it:

Not even a year old and you’ve turned our world around. First born of the next generation, my little niece. I’m writing to you on this International Women’s Day to thank you for being.

I have learnt so much of myself through you already and each time I see you it is amazing to see how much you have learnt about how you work and fit into the world around you and the joy in which you experience it with. It is infectious and I hope you never change.

I hope you grow up knowing how loved you are, not only by your moma and dada, your grandparents and great grandparents, aunts and uncles, but also in your own ability to love yourself. For you are loved and lovable – a lesson I’m still learning myself.

I have seen the transition in my sister, your mother: from girl, to woman, to wife and then to mother. And it makes me smile. I am proud to be part of your story and that of your family as you grow in each other. It gives me hope of a family of my own one day and glimpses of what also might be.

First born, I sense a connection. Through observation at our sensitivity and inability to laugh at ourselves, reminiscing with photos and afternoon cuddles. I pray you never lose sight of that inner child of yours. You swim in a pool of adult attention so effortlessly – the centre of everyone’s world. You brighten our days with your little chatterbox and you remind us of what we once were.

Your smallness in comparison to the size of your uncles, your fragility and yet the strength in those hands, your persistence in standing up, exploring and inviting us into your world of bright lights, loud sounds – technicolour. No wonder it sometimes overwhelms you.

I wish for you a future of happiness, containment and contentment in who you are and all that you can be. I pray you will be happy in all that you do and that your path be blessed. May all doors be open to you for who you are not and hindered by the views of the world defined by biology.

Little girl, may you grow up to be a fierce woman. Proud of who and what you are. Tender hearted, loyal and aware of all you are: potential sister, friend and mother. May your steps be blessed.

And as I learn to parent myself more, may you continue to be my example. To let down my sword of battling and to experience the childlike joy at the world around you. To not be bitter at the judgments people may make about being a woman but to explore each and every shadow. To be content in my own journey and to have grace with others. Take all that life has to offer, often mouth first, as you do.

Dear heart, thank you for helping me to see past my own fear, to take of the glasses of struggling and recognise the call to just live. To stretch out and expand into all that I can be. For the change is through me and you too my sweet. Not only through words and actions but by being. Life is there for us to experience and hopefully many more afternoon cuddles.

Writing through the pain

Is the art of surrender.

My default response has been to freeze. Grip tight. To censor myself further until it becomes safe enough to breathe. Like the mothers of old who would devour their own creations. Pressure valve, shrink and see it through.

Not necessarily fear of failure or getting it wrong. More it just doesn’t feel concrete enough, partial illustrative imagery or I am too small to get it out. Birthing pangs.

The battlelines have been trodden; state explanations and awareness backdropping the parameters but not allowing the strategy to flow. The words leaden on a fractured sky.

Bigger picture thinking is grained into resilience but not always accessible in the moment. Breathing cautiously pushes the horizon wider, pulsating, contracting. Rhythm.

Fixing is the opposite of surrender. Busy solution driven throwing out a spider web at everything, anything to make you feel better. Forcing the mind to shift to a different feeling state as if where you are is not valid. Sometimes it will just not budge.

Reframing that censorship is the next goal. Making peace with and defining my creative process. The need to mull things over, check inwards to see what resonates and fill my focus, shift my focus freeing myself from fear of procrastination or moral judgements about production. All parts of the process are valid and it is only from the lens of the picture as a whole does it make sense.

I am writing this having weathered a storm. I do not feel closer to writing what I need to for work, but I have written this. And that is enough.

And soon I will be able to articulate into words my experiment of the past 3 months: chastity.

Creating a vacuum to let things flow – sounds counter intuitive. But it works.

So, how do you delight in the tumult of the storm? Where sheer frustration others you from that internal world and nothing seems like it’s going to change?

I know not how, but it shifts. It did for me this evening.

The dance

Trusting the process and finding the how…this is my explore;

In the ether beyond the labels, I reside. Pathwalker, soul shaker, axe grinder, intense firer
Fire heart, braveheart, not for the faint heart.
I permeate, desecrate your pathology. Your binary radar of normativity.
Those inner boxes that keep you safe and you from me.
From me will come the fluidity, will come the fluidity, will come
The technicolour, weaving rainbows.
Calling nations to their stations.
Bored of excuses, let me explore your frustration, let me expose my armour, no need for salvation.
Co-creation, validation tools of the trade of this generation.
And whilst this all might not quite make sense. Its just my first attempt at a stream of consciousness.

Prologue

How do you frame the experience of a white passing mixed race Indian female femme brown eyed brown haired and often bushy gender queer queer trans* autistic perceiving invisibly differently abled middle class eldest child old before her time performing extrovert introvert kinkvert omnilovert somewhat sceptical nonsensical idealist passionate spirituallite intuitivist equalitist?

You just do.

I exist.