Winning

Sometimes – more often than not, in fact – the inspirations and hope of the day come from the smallest things.

Today, my morning was spent in a bad panic. Shaking, mostly, but otherwise unable to move without having to talk myself into it.

However, I’d acquired a checkup appointment with the local physiotherapist to give me a once-over, and I knew I needed to go.

(I have a long-term back condition, caused by typing too much, too fast, back in my PA days. I deal with it.)

With help from Himself, we made it down to the surgery. And as I told the lovely lady what I’ve been up to, she was so pleased!

By going to the gym, walking the dogs, even knitting, I was doing my best to help my body – and in healing it, keeping it flexible and motivating myself, I would help my mind. Which would then make me keener to do the exercise, attempt things and keep that positive cycle moving…

I felt like crying. Happy crying.

When you’re in a bad place mentally, all you want to do on some days is hide. Or apologise for anything. You’re a pain and hassle to everyone and should just go away.

But this lady heard me, properly hearing what I said, and reassured me that trying my best was doing the right thing. Because my attempts came from sound foundations, experience and knowledge of what I needed to do. Small steps lead to big ones.

Sometimes that reassurance is the greatest gift. You won’t hear yourself, but truths told by trusted outsiders can hit home.

Feeling like I CAN do it.

Also nice to know that I am doing the best for myself in physical healing terms.

Battling on. Buoyed up by such support. Gym later, and I’m looking forward to it 😊

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Victory

This morning, I was trying my best… but sadly, it was not enough. 

Massive depression meltdown. 

Held up only by Himself, I made it through. I sank deep and had to kick up again in order to see daylight. But I did it. And am so very thankful for my family supporting me through it all.

Now, I’ve got myself moving. Not overdoing it, but I’m writing this from the gym. On my own (well, with a friendly trainer lady and a couple of other busy bodies). And I’m battling this time for positive adrenaline. 

Cycling for miles in a safe environment, watching Bettany Hughes on my phone screen. ‘Divine Women’, a documentary about the Goddess. 

I may not be quite a Wonder Woman, but I’m doing my best. This is more than I thought I’d accomplish today, by a long way. 

So I play on these fitness toys while listening to ancient tales of mighty women. 

This one’s for Nike – not the sporting goods manufacturer, but the Goddess of Victory.

Ancestors

I’ve always had vivid dreams. I used to keep a dream journal, as they made for great stories – I’ve dreamt entire Doctor Who episodes (to my intense frustration upon waking to find that I can’t rewind and watch them again).

But lucid dreaming is a different matter. When you become self-aware in the dream, and can affect matters. Or when it just seems a little more real than usual.

Last night, I dreamt about a family funeral that I’d attended – only it wasn’t quite right. Instead of a crematorium, we were at a graveside, that sort of thing. It felt real, but I was aware that something was not quite right.

I think it was a method for getting me into that situation, in readiness for a ‘hello’. Because the ancestor whose funeral it was decided to pay me a visit.

I’d known her in life, but never as young as she appeared (roughly my own age now). I was greeted with a huge smile and wrapped in a big hug, told it’ll be all right. She was so glad to see me, and the feeling was mutual – I was overwhelmed.

We didn’t have long, though. I soon woke up naturally, with happy tears in my eyes. This may have been in the dream-time, but it was very real.

Since the eclipse, something has shifted. I’ve felt connectivity with spirit returning at a deep level, and despite yesterday’s awfulness, I can’t help but wonder if this is some sort of mustering of my forces to overcome the negative… and my Black Dog knows it (hence the bad knocks lately).

I honour my ancestors, known and unknown. I’d rather not share a picture of this lady, but I have a momento from her on the house altar. She’s one of the kind folk who taught me to knit. She is remembered every day. And I know I am not alone.

I Wish…

An up and down week so far. Today seemed to carry only bad news. I retreated for a while, my mind just wishing for something good to come, be it happier news or a way to make things better.

And then this appeared:

‘The implicit risk in self-expression is tangibly present. The unspoken fear, at least among the adults, seems to be: If I give myself so fully to something I love, will I end up like that street-corner poet I passed while looking for a parking space?’

‘One of the biggest dangers of giving in to art is that our values might change – or return to an earlier, simpler form…. Maybe we’ll learn something about ourselves that we didn’t particularly want to know. Or maybe people will laugh at us.’

‘And yet, those who indulge their talents so lavishly attract us all… We’re drawn to the energy produced by talent, by concentration, by hard work in the face of uncompromising odds.’

‘Intelligence isn’t having all the answers. Intelligence is the capacity to learn what you don’t know.’

‘Life is too short to stand outside the window… saying I wish I could do that.’
(From ‘Zen & the Art of Knitting’, by Bernadette Murphy)

We make our own path as we walk it. We have to move, to take those steps, to dare, to explore, to be brave and curious, mad and unexpected. To battle on – because even if times are hard now, giving up can be the worst solution. We learn from working through, from keeping going, even when it hurts.

Onwards.