The past couple of days have felt more difficult. P’s dad was rushed to hospital in need of a blood transfusion and has been kept in since. I felt his weakness on Sunday when he came for dinner. I can feel the weight of worry in P and my girl.
As ever I’m trying my best. I really do try.
I feel I have no interest or motivation in work. Going through the motions in order to get paid but unable to give them the kind of fake enthusiasm that I hear from others. I just can’t be bothered to pretend. Always friendly, polite, kind but don’t ask me to be fake. I’m doing the work. Is that enough? Or is it more important to play the game? I ovs know the answer to that but I’m just not playing.
Saving all my love and energy for people and things that I actually care about. Right now I feel strong enough not to need anything back. Self sufficient and taking care of myself. But using my blog as a little release for little thoughts that have no place to go but for some reason I just wish to share.
I love the sound of rain on the windows. I have said it before but there is something so very sexy and romantic about a rainy day that transports me into my own world of unadulterated fantasy. My beautiful imagination can conjure up magic that in the secrets of my mind make me feel happy.
What a waste of a rainy day.
I sat alone later this afternoon watching a programme about the life of Marilyn Monroe. I felt tired and had it on as background noise.
She had such charisma that has stood the test of time.
Her “rescue me” vulnerability that was so attractive to men all of whom ended up using her in some way. The sort of attraction that was short lived as that same vulnerability eventually became more of a burden.
It always appeared she was looking to be loved but instead found herself with a variety of lovers who eventually denied her existence in their lives.
As I watched and listened to the series of people who had something to say about her, I came to a quote by an old Etonian and Oxford educated film critic and writer for the Guardian. As he talked of Marilyn’s relationship with the playwright Arthur Miller he said
“ can you imagine the uneducated girl from an orphanage falling in love and trying to be the equal of one of the greatest intellectuals of that period, Arthur Miller. But she tried very hard”
I found myself replaying that comment a couple of times. What did he mean by that?! But there it was. As bold as brass!
Previously I had stumbled on videos for some songs by Novo Amor. Birthplace had originally found its way to me at the beginning of lockdown and has ended up leading me to a story that resonated with me as the wheels start to turn again.
The film depicted the life of Mongolian nomads who I learned are gradually becoming culturally extinct. An indigenous group of people whose existence is being affected by rules that are made by people who don’t really understand their way of life and make it difficult for them to live in the way they choose. Just wishing to be free but watching it gradually being stripped away from them..
freedom may be a state of mind but It feels like the state still try to control it.
It made me sad when I read about their challenges and showed me how easily and with so little respect we believe that we own everything including the lives of people and this planet. We like to put a label on things and say “this belongs to me” .
My girl is my daughter but I don’t own her. I have had the privilege of borrowing her. Of sharing in her life so far. She is free to live her life however she chooses. I wish that for her above all else. I hope of course that her life includes me but more so that she folllows her heart and is guided by her soul in where she goes.
Why do we wish to own it all when it displaces others. People who just wish to be able to live within their different customs and pass them on to their children.
I hear about progress all the time. How I laugh. we have followed our tried and tested strategy when we talk about change.
The people who think they own it all try to fit the life that works best for them into the same thing but just packaged slightly differently.
When we all found ourselves in lockdown we immediately looked for solutions in living life in exactly the same way through different means. Fitting an undefined peg into the same square cage and calling it progress and innovation.
A desperation to stay connected even though no one was really connected before. Perhaps we can now hide the superficialities of life and relationships behind the excuse of everything being virtual.
I have never felt more disconnected. Exacerbated by being bombarded with a constant stream of how we all need to stay connected. It’s easier to herd sheep if they are all in it together.
I feel I have to switch it all off just so I can breathe.
As ever I feel lucky to have that special few.
I would feel very alone without them.
Hearing or seeing their real and genuine in whatever format it comes is enough for me. They are my magic. I wonder if they know that.
The forest is the best part of my life right now I feel connected to something more. Something bigger than me. A feeling that can change my emotion as I walk beneath the trees. From complete emptiness as I finish a tedious and purposeless days work in my job, to total connection within myself and all that surrounds me as I walk under the trees. Feeling the energy from all the life that surrounds me as though I am part of it. I love the feeling of being so alive. Smiling and then chatting to every random I pass. Perhaps not quite connection but it feels real and untainted.
I read this today. I feel like I want to share it just because I liked it. I’m not sure why exactly. I think perhaps I like the idea of heroes. It made me think of all the people that I love who are heroes to me.
I hope they know that.
“Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor—by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world.
He will take no man’s money dishonestly and no man’s insolence without a due and dispassionate revenge. He is a lonely man and his pride is that you will treat him as a proud man or be very sorry you ever saw him.
The story is this man’s adventure in search of a hidden truth, and it would be no adventure if it did not happen to a man fit for adventure. If there were enough like him, the world would be a very safe place to live in, without becoming too dull to be worth living in.“ Raymond Chandler
I feel better for sharing