Curves

Her hands slid soft and determined down the flowing curves of silken clay, shaping the sensuous contours with thick yet sensitive fingers. Her nails were short and practical but glistened with the mottled glue of old acrylics, the remains of what was once a glorious and securing signature of femininity.

The studio was her favourite space. Wooden floors and walls.  Bare and humble. Shelves holding an array of books and magazines for inspiration for herself and for her work. Unintentionally messy. Some would say ‘lived in’, just like her. We all live in our bodies.

The undefined lump of earthy substance was slowly taking form. There was something familiar in the circular body with four arms and four legs equally placed around the circumference. A face peered out either side of the large head, different perspectives from the same origin. A time when two were one.

Plato’s children of the moon.

She was thirsty. Her tongue felt thick with film, her mouth was moist but dry. The residue of cherry coloured lipstick had collected in the corners of her paper thin lips framed with occasional whiskers. She brushed the nylon blonde hair away from her face and scratched her head, came away from the wheel and searched for the glass of Kentucky which was lightened in tone by melted ice. She drank greedily, apple bobbing up and down. She’d been at it for too long again. When would she be satisfied with this physical nature? When would she feel she matched herself?

Her mind span in parallel motion to her wheel. Stop, start, stop start. In just a few days, she had her next appointment. Her stomach churned at the thought of incisions and stitches, all the drugs and the year long process she was going through just to be herself. How she felt inside. The ‘she’ that had sought realisation and acknowledgement for most of her life. She crafted and she was crafted in turn.

Would her final form be as illusive as her last creation? As her last love that slipped away into the choking cloud of ignorance she’d known for most of her life? She closed her eyes, flashed back to the harsh words “Don’t touch me”. Again she reached out to be pushed away “You’re wrong!”, “I can never love you”. She swallowed and glanced in the mirror. The subtle trace of mascara was running down her cheek and she wished desperately to find peace with herself. The wheel turned and she quietly and thoughtfully continued with her work.

Woman in the bathroom

I arrived at the station with time to spare before my train. As I entered the toilet to grab some tissue for my runny nose, I scooted around a lady stood, brushing her blonde bed hair in front of the streaky mirror. She wore a smart black jacket matched with smart trousers and it was quite apparent that she’d had to leave for her job in a rush. Unprepared and vulnerable, she wore an embarrassed expression as a result of my clumsy entry. Poor thing just wanted to be caught up in her normal routine where she could feel normal, safely herself in her surroundings. I met her eye with a reassuring smile and whilst pulling the tissue hurriedly from the holder I wondered what her morning had been like. Perhaps her alarm hadn’t gone off, or after a stressful day she’d allowed herself and extra glass of wine before bed and slept through the snooze button. Maybe she’d woken to find her cat had been sick on the new beige carpet during the night, or the shower she’d been meaning to get fixed the last couple of weeks had been playing up again.

All in all it wasn’t a good start to her day. So I closed my eyes briefly and secretly wished something wonderful would happen to her, like she’d find a tenner on the floor, or bump into an old friend and arrange a drink after work, where’d they reminisce childhood crushes and adventures, wistfully wonder where the time had gone and make heartfelt and determined promises that they’d escape the clutches of the adult routine and start truly living again, starting with a cultural but fun wine tasting holiday in Tuscany.

Mosaic

We are in the dying days of summer and the weather is ever changing.

Even darkened plumes of tall column like cloud structures, intense and foreboding can almost instantly dissipate and make way to a scorching sun, that burns me with ecstatic energy.

You are my weather machine.

Engulfing me with a light I thought was out of reach, blinding me to a darkness that has held me in its bleak clutches for what seems like an eternity. Sadness has no concept of time. How long I have stumbled in the dim light of day I do not know, holding onto the notion that nothing is forever.

Nothing is forever.

Hard times will fall away like sand through grasping hands, hardened with guilt at the vulnerability we were unable to change fate and save those we love. Much like every beautiful moment is precious and fleeting, to be celebrated and missed on passing, everything will flow it’s course and drip away. All these the colours of life’s great mosaic, a portrait of each person made up of every second we take, every moment we make with ourselves and others.

Others are the most valuable.

I cannot find peace with what’s been, but I can learn to accept its pain. A branding on my heart that will ache from day to day. I can learn to lift my face up, opened eyed and mouthed to clouds and rain. As if I don’t, it could subside but I’d never feel sun again…and what a shame to feel just nothing out of fear of feeling pain, so I embrace all that tethers us together and all that makes us the same, whilst I wait with baited breath to bask again in suns warm rays.

Doing the deed – Becoming a do-gooder

There was once a time where do-gooding was frowned upon. ‘Interfering do-gooders’ were known to meddle and cause problems for those of us cantankerously surviving in our mundane day to day existence.

Thankfully these times are changing for the better. It is becoming more popular to do good and I am stumbling across more and more adverts/short films/music videos that promote goodwill and kind gestures. Us human beings have the power of endless love and compassion locked beneath the barriers that our minds create as a defense against hurt, anger and rejection. These barriers however do a good job and we almost always forget what we should do. i.e. that poor old chap trying to cross a busy road. ‘Sorry buddy, no time for you, I’VE had a bad day’.

How did we come to act on such selfish tendencies? How can we say “I don’t care, I’m looking after me right now”?

Imagine if instead of this we all looked after each other. That we donated a moment of strength to someone who was struggling. Imagine the bond that would form with someone who rescued you when you most needed help and were too scared to ask a stranger. That on seeing that poor guy trying to cross the road, no doubt terrified by the noise and endless streams of machines intent on mowing him down, you took those few seconds to take his arm, walk him over and carry on with your day.

It’s these few precious seconds that are nothing to you…and everything to him.

Think about the relief he’d feel, thanks to you. Imagine the smile on his face when he tells relatives of that lovely person who helped him when he felt vulnerable and needy. Doesn’t that make you feel good?

How about that kid trying to get on the bus, or a mother paying for groceries amidst screaming children. They’re 20p short which means a long walk home, or missing out on some sort of essential item. Do you have a lose 20p floating about? I’ll bet you do. The thought crosses your mind but you shrug it off quickly. ‘No, I’ll need it’ or ‘It’s right at the bottom of my bag’. You stay quiet and they suffer as a result. You need it for what anyway? A pint at the pub later? A packet of crisps for the walk home? Just give them the 20p and change their day for the better.

It’s these little things that will make such a difference to those in need. Also, the enormity of joy and satisfaction you’ll receive from seeing a smile on someone’s face that you’ve put there is second to none.

There are countless moments like this every day for those who choose to see them.

So next time you see that opportunity to help, ignore that little arsehole in your head who’s only looking out for number one, waltz up to that person and do it. You’ll be surprised how good you both feel as a result and you never know, you might make a habit out of it.

And let me tell you, that’s one habit our world needs more of.

The ever written book

The misery of winter is slowly melting in the days of increasing sunlight.
Life’s essence, suspended in animation slowly drips and sinks back into the hard earth as the warm rays unlock it from it’s frozen prison.
There is so much hope for this year.
Hope in constant battle with fear of failure and the boldness of new moves, scratching permanent scars on the stoney monoliths of history.
In life we strive to carve our own story, leaving tales of glory and a way to be remembered when we are dead. Each memory is immortality.
Each person’s life is their own experience as is each animal and plant.
Even things alive for the shortest of time have the opportunity to leave their mark.
Life is an ever written book, it’s pages turned by the unstoppable force of the hands of time.
How thankful I am to live within it’s paragraphs.