6am (awake at 5am)
Freedom is a state of mind. I must appreciate my freedom. The freedom of my feet to walk the earth. The freedom of my mind to wonder, and think, to question. The freedom of art to express my inner feelings, insecurities, failings, rumblings, mumblings. Be mindful not to suppress actions that explore unconscious thoughts, silly thoughts, mad ideas, things that make no sense now, but might in the long term. Freedom of actions that are informed by watching the children play, skipping, jumping, frolicking, being naughty, pushing the boundaries. Dissenting and saying NO.
I get up. First day of my period, so the substantial lack of weight loss was probably down to my cycle and water retention, this pleases me. The moon is still full in the sky, I watch its light through the kitchen window. I put the kettle on to make tea, get out the small bowl of defrosted forest fruits and dollop some organic bio blueberry yoghurt on top. I make sure that I put soya not cows milk in the tea. I think the fat of the cows milk does affect my weight. Although as my friend said I do need to question the oestrogen in it. I drink water, take vitamin D, cod liver oil, vitamin C and iron supplements. Its routine now, makes me feel like I am improving, transforming my body. I think that my waist is starting to reappear. This desire this work towards weight loss is about personal freedom. Dropping the weight, loosing the mother load.
Motherhood is constricting, but motherhood can free the soul. A pull this way, a pull that. A tug, a hug, a tearing of the heart. Naoise hit me in the face with his snuffly comforter, a king sized duvet cover that he cherishes. I was so appalled and shocked, I just stared at him, then I averted my eyes, he said sorry. It really hurt. You hurt me. He is forgiving, I am forgiving. You can’t always get what you want. Freedom takes time. Waiting, always waiting. There are moments and gaps and spaces in-between the interruptions, and within the interruptions the mind is jolted out of place. A clear thought is brushed aside by a demand for milk, or a cuddle, or some help to work out how to operate a toy, or a coat to hang up, shoes to take off.
Waiting again behind the privet bush in the Hare and Hounds car park. I am waiting for my eldest son. I take a book and read. I am beginning to enjoy the waiting. Giving myself a little more time to breath between work and children. Time to think, to put on lipstick, to look at my reflection in the mirror. To breath, to be me, not a mother, not an artist, no something, somebody, a role that another wishes me to carry out. Just me on my own with my own thoughts, beginning and ending.
I walked bare foot about 200 yards in the snow. It connected me with the earth, the birds, my body, this place. As I walked I listened to the sound my feet made in the snow and the caw caw caw caw of the crows. It was silly and mad and yes made me feel all ug and primitive like the first woman ever walking in snow. The video is clumsy and messy, occasionally my trouser legs fall into shot, I should really be naked, but naked ramblers get arrested and put into prison. I will get naked but higher up, much higher up and at a time of day when there is less of a risk of bumping into a dog walker. I cannot see many police men so hey less of a risk. I see through this very simple and brief action what the naked rambler is fighting for. It is sheer madness that in a land that proudly proclaims its freedoms and its rights to say and do what we please, that we are barred from walking without clothes in our landscape.
I want to be as naked and as alive and as free as the black crow in the field.