Rain and Resilience
6.45am at the table in the front room ( I have been awake since 5.30am)
You don’t go to church or a psychotherapist – you go for a walk and feel better.
I woke up completely dressed, the cotton fishnet tights making for a sweaty nights sleep. I am totally exhausted from care work and tidying work and battling against depression work.
I drew and sorted and walked my way out of black. I walked the path in the woods near to Ted Hughes home. You could see that there had been a deluge of rain, the ground was sodden and covered in piles of leaves and stones that had been washed downhill by temporary rivers.
There are still a few leaves clinging in the trees catching the sunshine. I very almost stood on a frog that crossed my path. I didn’t kiss it. I didn’t become a princess and it kept jumping overtime I pressed focus on my camera.
I saw a black rabbit, and a pheasant jumped up with a screech. Earlier this morning I heard the owl calling behind the house.
Its not always possible to do all the things that keep me sane. Walking, breathing, drawing, holding Naoise hand. Its not always possible to be sane in this violent world. Do we hide behind a rock or do we engage with life ? Do we live in fantasy or face reality? Do we hide or do we seek? (lullaby, rocking child to sleep, breastfeeding)
I read Judith Butlers article about mourning becoming law in the wake of the terrorist attacks in Paris, the the restriction of liberty, the upsurge of fascism, misunderstandings. She states that these are;
Horrific, sad, and foreboding times, but hopefully we can still think and speak and act in the midst of it.
Slowly we can make sense of things. Slow is good. Slowness and healing take time.
I have been up since the crack of dawn, yet I still can’t articulate my thoughts. I wanted to write something about rain, crying, mourning, and resilience, but for now I have to wake the house and dress children and ensure that they have all they need to go to school. Small actions of love and care make the world turn around.
Walking to fetch water. Walking to give birth. Walking to calm a baby in a pram. Walking to stay sane. Walking to find inspiration. Walking to buy food from the shops. Walking to drop my son off at school.
Special delivery: proud new mothers in the world’s poorest country, Tom Seymour, Monday 16th November, The Guardian
“Mourning becomes the law”—Judith Butler from Paris, Sarah Shin, Monday 16th November, Verso Books
Bjork on Iceland: ‘We don’t go to church, we go for a walk‘, Laura Barton, Tuesday 17th November, The Guardian