Grief

 My husband passed away in my arms. He had been in hospital for a little over a month. The end was fast and in retrospect, when he understood that he wasn't going to recover, when he lost hope, he was ready to die.

There was no specific conversation around saying 'goodbye' to one another. However, in many ways that goodbye took place in specific moments starting on the Thursday and ending on Sunday evening. I had been in the city and arrived at the hospital on the edge of the city late lunch time. He was asleep and I hovered about the room until he became aware of my presence and opened his eyes.

He immediately, and for the first time, took out of the bed sheets his right arm. He had had a stroke and was paralyzed down the left side of his body. He brought his hand up to meet my hand and together, holding holds, he said, 'I missed you.'

'I won't leave again,' I told him. Later in the evening I told him I was going home by Uber to gather some things, and I would be back in an hour.

When I arrived back, he was asleep but the nurse on duty told me that she had told him where I had gone and that I would be back soon. She had asked him where he was, and he had correctly told her where he was. This was the first time he could do that. Up until then he had been on a plane, in another country, in Indonesia. He had been anywhere and everywhere except that hospital.

In fact, I had slept with him on a mattress on the floor for several days prior to this but I had caught a virus in there and was coughing and very unwell, so I had gone home to sleep in my bed, returning to the hospital each day by tram to spend the day with him.

Now, I was there until the end.

I think it was Friday when I climbed into bed with him. I had to wiggle into the smallest space beside him so that I didn't hurt him. He woke. It was very difficult for him to form words, but I clearly heard him say,

'I love you so much.'

And then he said, 'You are strong'.

Knowing that all he could do at this point was to reassure me that I would be all right on my own, that's what he said. That's my interpretation.

Everyone came to say goodbye. Of course. My daughter discharged herself early from having her daughter to show the babe to her father. We smothered him with love in every way we knew how. I told him that only good men get this much love.  I never stopped touching him, massaging his neck, holding his hand.

When the children had said their final goodbyes, we were left in the room alone until the nurses came to change his position. He stopped breathing and then he started breathing again and then I held him in my arms.

'I love you, I love you. I love you' I kept saying as he gasped, took his final breath and passed away.

Grief is an extraordinary thing. We gave him the best send off. We all talked about him in the church - me first, his children, his six siblings. It was a glorious send off as the coffin was lifted from the church to the bagpiper playing 'Scotland the Brave'.

At first, I thought I would get through this all right. Feelings were under control, until they weren't, until the loss was felt over the past few days, the enormity of it.

He was my Protector. My love. My life.

I know he would want me to be all right, for us to all be all right. And we shall be. My grief ebbs and flows. Today I am a mess, a sobbing mess, but it feels right to really feel into it. To acknowledge the loss. He was my soulmate by just shy of 50 years and I miss him sorely. This is love. This is what it is to be human.

Denial

 I was never going to be able to influence my husband to do things the way I felt was right. He was always going to attend to his health in his own particular way which is how he approached all the aspects of his life. There was a degree of suspicion about the traditional medical profession that did not always serve him and probably stems from the fact that his mother, all those years ago, died young.

Against medical advice, he did not do surgery, but rather approached an integrative doctor, meditated, juiced. All was fine until it wasn't, and even then, testing was slow and misdiagnosed, until a biopsy determined that the cancer had spread to his bones.

Denial protects, unfortunately, from facing the facts before you, and there was no bucket list, no readjustment of life to incorporate the bad news, just more supplements and various powders and pills, which were never going to do the job.

I fought and raged at times against the process, tried to persuade and convince, but at the end of the day, he was going to do it his way, make his choices, and that was that.

It was only a couple of weeks before his stroke when I found that I had stumbled upon a new landscape, one where I had come to terms with the way things were. It is called 'radical acceptance'. Still, the stroke took me by surprise and with hindsight I wish that I had been more assertive. At the same time,  I was missing parts of the story that would have enabled me to be more assertive. It was a slow moving trainwreck and one over which I had little control.

It is up to me, and my amazing children, to navigate and sort the next chapter. We support him in every way we can, and we await denial letting go of its grip so that this final chapter can be one of peace for him and for us, that we can make the best plans possible, find purpose, and rest in love.

The suitability of love

 I just finished the novel 'Intermezzo' by Sally Rooney. I am missing the characters already so I listened online to a few book club groups sharing their opinions, which were divided, as one would expect. 

What did appear to be consistent was a liking of Margaret, the 36-year-old woman, recently divorced from her alcoholic husband who goes to bed with Ivan, the 23-year-old "on the spectrum" chess player who she has been assigned to drive home to his Airbnb from a tournament.

The two protagonists of the novel are Ivan and his brother Peter, but we get to know Margaret from the inside, and thus, it seems to me, readers relate to Margaret, and not to Naomi and Sylvia so much, because we come to understand Margaret better. There's so much about the other women that remains a mystery. It's missing the point by the way to expect to know them better because they are Peter's girls, and if Peter can't know them better, then neither can we. It's his confusion about the two women in his life, and how they fit, or don't, that is central to the story.

One book club member was lost as to a motive for Margaret having a relationship with the much younger Ivan. Ivan has braces, isn't that sure of himself, but there's something there; a wanting, a desire, and they are both kind, humble people. The sex scenes between them are so beautifully constructed that I would have thought there was no doubt in readers minds that this is irresistibility on both sides. And kindness, which they are both needing.

I think this is either a conscious or unconscious thought on Rooney's mind all the time - that what seems 'suitable' for some people isn't suitable for other people, and maybe these choices aren't even ours, but the conditioning of forces greater than ourselves. The reader leaves the book, I would have thought, wondering about the limitations we set on ourselves about what is suitable; even what 'love' looks like.

I think for many readers it will be a stretch to think that the two women could share Peter in an ongoing way, and that's probably right. Should Peter and Naomi settle down and have a child, the opportunities to see Sylvia may begin to run down, or not. She may be incorporated into the new family in ways, a loving aunt for the child perhaps. The two women genuinely care for one another, and for Peter, and that's the glue.

Monogamy has its place, of course, but what I don't think makes sense, is that it demands that we have no care for other people of the opposite sex. Jealousy has a purpose, to be sure, but it also has this nasty demand that all loving feelings should go to one person, forever.

Honestly, I think this unwritten expectation places demands on a union that are almost unachievable; that one person has to fulfil one's needs for passion, affection, understanding, companionship and so forth, forever and ever. It's sort of bottling oneself up, kind of living in fear of spreading good will around, lest one be judged.

I don't mean that Peter's decisions, and the girls, can be a regular sort of thing, suitable for the masses. It's a particular situation, but maybe not so particular. The times they are a changing.

Anticipatory Grief

 I think about being in a storm, not quite sure where you are or what's the correct direction; what, in fact, to do.

I think about the advice, told in so many ways and by so many people, not to focus on the past or worry about the future, but simply to focus on the present moment.

I remind myself that control is an illusion and that life will play out regardless of my input. I can control all sorts of little outcomes but the big outcomes, other people's decisions, for example, are well beyond my control.

I think the tough part for me is not knowing, are we going backwards or forwards?

For the vast majority of people with cancer, there is a team who supports. The person may not take all the advice offered by them, but overall, there's a strategy in place, often a cocktail of strategies, and thus there is a plan. 

My husband has tended towards being a lone ranger in so many capacities and his cancer journey is no different. He doesn't want me at the appointments with the oncologist - says the guy is too dark and there is no upside in me hearing what he has to say - and thus I don't have the opportunity to hear what he has to offer.

I find myself listening for the bits and pieces of information offered to me, trying to make sense of them, sort of attempting to put them together to see if I can make a tapestry. 

I cannot honestly say if I know or even think, if he is going forwards or backwards because the information I have is too disparate and even contradictory.

I have noticed that I am feeling numb about it all, perhaps I am not sitting with any story that could or would ground me. I mentioned this to AI and the response was that numbness is to be expected, a way of coping. I suppose it is. If you don't have the data what else is there to do?

I think when it 'all falls apart' there's a solace and a strength that comes from a return to meditation and to the sense of equanimity in meditation. When I was guiding meditation groups, I almost always used the imagery of taking two steps back from the mind so you could observe it more clearly. This immediately puts one in the seat of the witness and in that seat the mind quite naturally starts to slow a bit. You can see the thought(s), almost like picking something up in your hand. 

In fact, it occurred to me just now, it's a companionable thing to do too. There's you, the compassionate observer, and there's the mind, dancing not too graciously.

When I was in Bali last year, the love meditation my husband and I did in a group had a very lasting impression on me. If I need comfort I go back to that room in my mind. We were invited to feel into the deepest love we had for another person and then, with the most divine music playing, to take that love and give it to ourselves. This was a magical moment for me and so I repeat it alone as required. I pour the love inside myself, like taking a jug of healing water and pouring it over my body.

It's a strange walk, the cancer experience, both for the person with cancer and the person accompanying the person with cancer. AI called it 'anticipatory grief' and encouraged me to reach out to a group of people going through a similar experience. I will think about it.

Purpose

 Due to some hypnotic work of recent times, I have felt calm, in spite of the turbulence, both close and far. There's no doubt that the trances worked for me and I know this is very special work because I hear hypnotists on the Internet in various places like Spotify and it does nothing.

Even so, I do have my moments when my world can feel like it is blowing up. My husband will return home from seeing his oncologist. He speaks to me matter of factly, and I sit there as his active listener. But last evening there came a moment when my body reacted in a way that I had to notice. I suppose you would call it a panic attack.

"Can I ask you to pause for a moment? My body is overloaded."

In fact, it didn't last long, and I was soon breathing freely again. I think by acknowledging the bodily reaction and giving it some attention, things settled down.

I am not sure whether to call it 'anticipatory grief', or catastrophic thinking or something else, but maybe it's just a natural thing to be a bit panicked about difficult news.

I am proud of the way my husband handles his cancer. If one avenue closes, he simply looks for a new route, all the while staying positive and believing that he can make a difference to the outcome. This makes it much easier for me than for many other spouses.

He is also remarkable in the way that he continues to enjoy all the little joys of life. I had moved the Fiddle Fig to the front of the house where it gets more light. He noticed the abundantly healthy new growth this morning and was genuinely excited about seeing the progress of the plant. He is an infectiously positive person. He has fallen too many times to count, got up and dusted himself off just as many times.

My life, our lives, may well have changed forever. My husband said he would like to return to our hotel in Bali. This is an ideal destination for a holiday because we can go to the Pyramids of Chi for meditations every day if we choose. I started to make arrangements, considered dates and so forth. He was keen but at the same time he sees the oncologist again in six weeks and he may wish to begin a new treatment that requires him being here. Scheduling something has become something outside of our control.

In the meantime, we work away at putting our lives in place. He's actually expanding his business rather than starting to close it down and this is in line with the fact that he has never thought the idea of retirement is for him.

I am completely aware that my life has always and will always spin around my husband. It's the relationship, our dynamic; the way that suits us both. There is no changing this.

There's a bit of a trick they use in psychology, in couples therapy, where they might get one of you to do the opposite of where they want you to go ultimately. That's what happened to me a while back. My submission was removed (I am here to tell you they can do that!). 

When I finally accepted that this is what had happened to me, not a trick of the mind, but absolutely a state of mind where I no longer had access to even my erotic fantasies, I screamed bloody murder. I did not go quietly into that good night. My submission is so very much an embodied and enduring part of me that I was rageful about it, until it was returned to me, at a deeper level. Then, I was fine.

I have had some pretty confusing and confronting situations over my life, but nothing was quite so confronting as those ten weeks when I felt like what maybe a regular girl feels like. No, it was worse than that. It felt like I was in a desert without water supply.

There's another trick of the psychology trade where they might put the work into creating change in the quiet one (comparatively quiet, that is). That also happened to me, this time at my request. When I changed, everything changed. Somebody has to be willing to stand up and say, 'I can do this. Choose me.' That's how a 'system', a marriage, can evolve.

In a few days it is Mother's Day here and I am fortunate to say that I have four children of which I am immensely proud and five divine dear grandchildren. 

Over the past few years, I have learned to let judgment go; to just consider that we are all doing our best, except the manipulators, thieves and cheats. They need to do better.

My purpose has been to love; nothing more, nothing less. I do what I do with that intention, knowing that to grieve is to love. They come to us cap in hand. That's the journey. That's the human experience. The sooner we understand this, the better.

Truth and love

 

"When I despair, I remember that the way of truth and love has always won. There may be tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it: always."

-- Gandi

Hunter types

 I see an acupuncturist around ten times a year and so over the last couple of years we have come to know quite a lot about one another. I have no expectation the work will be done in silence and it's surprising to me that this works for me because when I initially went to see him, that's the way I expected it to go. I prefer silence as a general rule.

We both like one another, that's clear. Although we come from very different places (he's American Chinese) there's so much we find to talk about.

Bit by bit, I revealed that I was experiencing some sort of transition stage in my life that was a struggle for me. This was no surprise to him since my pulses suggested a blockage (an emotional blockage) in the spleen/kidney/gall bladder area. He had said it so often and focused my acupuncture for those areas of my body that it just made sense to explain more about the confusion I was experiencing.

Interesting, that yesterday he told me the story - again - of one client who had transitioned from her banking profession to the healing world and was enjoying her studies. It was a subtle nudge to get creative about the next (final) stage of my life.

I am no stranger to the visualization of sitting on a mountain and looking onto an endless vista - a visualization he asked me to do at the end of our session last month. There's close to nothing another person can do for you in these transition stages of one's life. I know this, although I also know that the empathic practitioner will attempt to do so. The answer will come from deep within when it is ready to come and when there is but one and only one answer.

It was probably best that I didn't know the situation of my life at the time, over the many years, as I do now. After a great deal of investigation, I now understand that, without doubt, my husband has what some people refer to as a Hunter brain, and other people refer to as ADHD.

I mean, really, that's not news. It was a likely diagnosis in my mind for many many years, but I hadn't quite embraced it as fact; the repercussions of that kind of brain on a marriage, and in my marriage, being a woman with an innate slave mentality. 

If there is one characteristic required of a Dominant in a consensual power exchange, I would say it is consistency. Yet, for the ADHD brain, consistency is maybe the hardest thing. This kind of brain with inadequate dopamine receptors, requires spontaneity and ways to kick up the dopamine supply - in my husband's case, that would be news about the wider world, Trump, Putin, the Ukraine, the entire economic system of the world, information about the body.  Each article or video gives him a little hit of dopamine. Consistency, say, of addressing our Agreement, does not do this for him. His brain is expert at hyperfocus on the issue at hand, primarily a business issue.

In my reading, deep research into his condition, time for Hunter types is clearly a very big difference to the neurotypical brain, sometimes called the Farmer brain. We set up a weekend whereby on Fridays I ask for a couple of things to happen sometime over the weekend. But it didn't take long to realize that this a timeframe that offered too much variability and opportunity for the whole thing to be missed.

The only way this was going to work was for me to take the responsibility of making it work - looking out for a good time and suggesting it, or even saying something along the lines of 'would 7 pm this evening work for you?' and then reminding him at 7 pm that we had an appointment at this time.

Would I love it if I didn't have to do this? Sure. But what I am learning is that this is the only way a D/s exchange is going to be consistently present in our lives. Maybe, just maybe, it can be something else over time, but I certainly cannot rely on this. 

And only time will tell, if he actually wants this at all, if it is the ADHD condition that is preventing success, or if it is that combined with his prostate cancer and treatment, which means that his sexual desire has come to an end.

Two of my sons have a diagnosis of ADHD, but they were both gifted with a delightful sense of humor. It didn't weigh at all heavily on them in the main, mostly, I think, because they didn't fight the diagnosis in any way and played to their strengths. It's the denial that can make life tough, rather than seeing how immensely creative this type of brain is; the huge gifts this brain brings with it. People of my husband's age, of course, were not treated well, and this early conditioning is difficult to fix.

The therapist we have both spoken to, separately, being at a loss, did suggest to me that I open a dialogue with my husband about getting my needs met elsewhere. He was happy to help me through this situation. I can't see it myself. I think it would be endlessly hurtful and thus would lead to unhappiness and sorrow. I just can't go down that road; not after a lifetime together.

Do I sometimes say to myself, 'This is too hard, I give up'. Of course, I do. It's a mismatch of gigantic proportions. But then, there's the love, you see. I can't deny the love. And so, I go on.

Transformational periods

 I have been listening on Audible to the novel 'Long Island', which I think of as being about 'middle age'. It occurred to me that in my lifetime 'middle age' has changed. It was once thought of as in the 40s of one's life, whereas I think of it now as being later, in the 50s or even in the 60s. We remain more active and fitter for longer now, we have our children later, so I think it is all combined with living in a different world.

So, in the novel Eilish and Tony, in the throes of bringing up their children, of living very close to Tony's family, and he busy working away at his plumbing business, and Eilish working as a bookkeeper, there's a single line that reveals that they have stopped making love.

The problem set up on page 1 is that Tony has fathered a child of another woman, and the Irish husband, knowing full well it is not his (so they stopped making love too...) is planning to put the baby on Tony and Eilish's doorstep.

Eilish refuses to deal with the problem and heads off to Ireland to visit her mother for the first time in twenty years, and the way is now paved for her to have an affair with a man she once thought she might marry.

Toibin, I believe, is interested in posing an event, and then seeing what transpires, and indeed he successfully showed how the ball rolled away in an unstoppable way.

But I am interested in what started the ball rolling and it's not the man coming to tell Eilish about the infidelity. It's the fact that they stopped making love. That set it all off, most probably.

It's in 'middle age', whatever those words mean to you, when the needs of people can sometimes not be in line. It was pillow talk, this novel, last night and my husband offered, 'but in middle age the man is still busy with his work and achievement and responsibilities, and the woman is not.'

I countered, 'Eilish was working. Many women are working. Yet it's almost scientifically proven that it's women who want to reinvigorate their sex lives in middle age, it's the men who are too preoccupied to give it the necessary attention.'

But I heard him. I think he is onto something. In middle age, maybe that's a time when a man is feeling burdened by responsibility and legacy and getting it all right to pass money onto the children, when health issues may crop up.

Maybe middle age for a woman is a time of transformation; a time when she doesn't so much want to reinvent the world, or even herself, but her marriage; looking for something more heavenly, more divine, more sacred; like the love being a river that enables the love of the whole world to flow through it. This is experiential for me, by no means all the time. However, once you have tasted it, you never forget it, and maybe, just maybe this is what women intuitively know is possible.

I heard a man speak about his new woman recently in an unusual way and I think he is an unusual man for doing so. He said something like, 'you are a powerful woman, and you don't need a man, don't need men. So, to love you is not to control you. I am like the banks of the river, and you are the river that flows between the banks. And yet, you want to surrender to the maleness in me and I am trying to figure out how exactly to do this, to hold you in this way. It's not something our mothers and fathers taught us, and I am still working this all out.'

D/s has never been a perfect fit for me and perhaps that's why I am thought of as needing it "in a particular way". It's the powerful piece and the wanting to surrender piece and how they marry one another. At the end of the day, I think of it as a mutual devotion. Since I have thought of it in this way, I have felt much more at peace.

Love

 This will be short. I don't mention it here too much or in my life generally, with the children or extended family or friends. I guess we are both being stoic, he and I.

However, I am the spouse of a man who has been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, and for some reason today I want to say that, to myself.

I want to acknowledge that I may lose, earlier than we ever anticipated, my husband whom I married 43 years ago.

One's brain does everything to save the Self pain and my brain is no different. I can assure myself my husband will beat the odds and be totally healed. It actually is possible.

The facts are thus: I would be devastated to lose him. I have loved him, and he has loved me for nearly 50 years.

I have the rather unenviable ability to imagine the future, of walking into our holiday home, a place he loves, when he is gone, and that moment fills me with intense sadness. 

It makes me realize how very much I love him.

A note to self: to cherish each day.

The Gap

I cannot say I have a great deal of experience with the loss of loved ones but each loss has been felt acutely. In the case of my father, it was a sense of regret that he was alone at the time of death. I had visited him a few weeks before his death but needed finally to return to my young family. And there was a mix up with contact details for my mother so they couldn't reach her. 

I felt sad about his dying, and when I returned again to Australia for the funeral I remember the weight of the feeling just as I was about to enter the Church; the Church where he had been married and I had been married. I recall it as a sinking feeling; like I was being pulled down and back.

Thinking about it now I felt he had a good life; the life he wanted. It wasn't a privileged life and he had his sorrows like us all, but he had a marriage that fulfilled him, largely, and work and interests that engaged him. Although he died relatively young, almost 77, it had been a life such that when he passed, there was a relative lightness about it; an end to the cancerous state.

I have lost others I was close to. The loss of David who I met through his blog 'Room at the Top' is still felt. We were chums and could shoot the breeze about almost anything. He had an old world charm about him, a man that shined his shoes, you know, and I appreciated all that. 

 

He was a darn good friend, and someone who offered sound advice lightly; respectfully and sometimes quite firmly. I suppose I just look back on all those conversations with gratitude and affection. Again, it wasn't a privileged or perfect life, but he had so much sense and he had made peace with the world and his world. The sense of his passing was also a degree of lightness.

In the case of Deity there is a sense of heaviness about the passing; that it should never have been this way. I am struck with this sense of weight about it at the same time as a sense of release; for him and for me. For whatever reasons, this world was too weighty for him and as I think about it now perhaps no one that finds the days so heavy should be asked to endure beyond a certain point.

To be clear, he had a sense of silliness that was light and breezy, but the darkness was never terribly far away. He just couldn't get out of its clutches. It wasn't like Churchill's 'black dog' at all; not depression. It was the difficulty that ensued when carrying the wrongs of the world; when searching for relief not easily found.

It has a sense for me of how I felt when my father in law died. There had been so much passion; so much angst, drama, anger, intensity; conflict; resolve, commitment, that on passing, the world did seem lighter for the passing; the warrior at rest; the battle over.

When we lose someone who has made up our reality, it's a new reality for us. Everything looks a little different. There's a gap and we have to decide what to do with that gap.  It's an opportunity to look out at the world with fresh eyes. We need quiet time to process the passing at the same time as we need to engage with this new life of ours.

It's a strange phenomena for me right now. As much as I know with absolutely certainty that Deity is gone and  will not be returning in that form again, I do feel him around me and I sort of want him to be proud should it be that particular cloud above my head from which he is peeking down.

Do you ever catch yourself walking down a street and looking out with a sudden understanding that what you see isn't actually 'real? I am not at all sure that here we are on Earth and there are the dead, somewhere else. Souls linger about, at least some of them; maybe those we want to linger about.

Maybe that lingering we sense might also be called the love that remains in the heart. As a Buddhist might say, rupture becomes rapture.

Healing

When experiences occur earlier in life and are not felt and processed, they sit there in the subconscious (an untreated, unhealed wound) until something or someone triggers them. At this point, the person who has experienced and carries a wound from the past has a reaction. It may even be that they are, in a sense, transported back to the event or events of the past. 

Personally, I have had a few experiences with my husband where I felt that he didn't know that it was me with him. I felt that he was talking to someone else; talking to someone who had hurt him long ago. This was a very disturbing situation and I didn't feel I knew what to do. I stayed completely quiet and after the eruption, so did he.

In general, when my husband is triggered by something I have said, I tend to stop talking. This is a technique I decided to use after I realized that it didn't matter what I said, my words were not going to help the situation.

Aware of the trauma that sits in my husband's subconscious, wholly untreated, I have learned to take it into account.

Recently, a member of the extended family to which one of our children married into, was strident, outspoken and inappropriate with my husband when the subject veered onto politics. This was at a children's birthday party and my husband chose to close the conversation down, which the woman in question did not want to do. She was in for the kill and angry he wouldn't fight.

 My husband had no way of knowing, and I didn't know either, that the young couple were supporters of Trump and his politics right across the board. They don't believe the Earth is warming, for example.

Recognizing the quicksand he had landed into (and I have since raised it with a senior member of the family who admitted it is a difficulty being carried in their family), he made the fastest exit he could. But, it was too late. The woman in question, and now her husband, don't engage with my husband at family celebrations.

This is, of course, upsetting. After listening to my husband again recently explain to me what happened, I suggested that he simply engage one or both of them in a totally safe conversation - the weather, the children, football (we support the same team so that's safe, right?).

But, due to this trauma that sits in his subconscious, maybe him feeling that he made a mistake in some way, my making a suggestion wasn't a good idea. I know this but sometimes I see growth and healing in him that suggests we can go a little deeper in our relationship and that I can talk authentically.

It can be useful to make a note of what happens and what is said in these situations between us. In the past, I have been too blindsided by the verbal attack to remember (or even take in) what is said. The value of writing it down is to evaluate how the situation ensued and what the trigger might have been. It may never be helpful to him if we can't discuss it, but it is helpful to me to understand where the trauma sits.

It went like this in a broad brush way:

- He explained the initial event in detail.

- I acknowledged what happened but reminded him this was in the past, couldn't be undone, but maybe engaging one or both of them in a simple, harmless conversation might break the ice.

- He said to me, at least I remember distinctly these particular words, "Don't make things up?"

- I repeated the words 'Don't make things up' in an effort for him to see where his mind had gone - blaming me.

-He then said, 'I don't need your advice' and said between one to two minutes more of which I don't remember anything.

I stayed silent. After he was silent I picked up my phone to check the weather (a signal from me that I was going to start my day) and he got out of bed.

Event over.

I think a great many people understand now that marriage can be about a relatively safe arena in which trauma from the past is played out. I  know that I am married to a man whose soul/heart/Spirit (whatever you want to call it) is good and pure, but who has suffered trauma that he can't necessarily heal without help, which he refuses to access.

At the same time, I also know that I carry trauma from my past, emotional needs unmet. Thankfully, I have a brother and we are each other's witness. Just talking truthfully, whilst keeping it in context of two parents who were doing their best and were also carrying trauma, has helped us both a great deal.

I do also need to acknowledge that my trauma is not entirely in the past. I continue to experience difficulties living with someone who is carrying trauma. It's a juggling act trying to be my authentic self at the same time as I do my best to have my own needs met and to keep myself emotionally safe.

I do not run from the truth. I know that I am capable of being hurt and I know that I am strong. I have much to be grateful for at the same time as I have had much to endure.

I could have run away many times. I could have ended it and found refuge in aloneness; maybe in the arms of a man who felt entirely safe. I would be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind.

But, even in the darkest of moments, it's the Buddha's words that I hear. They keep me in the game.

'Hatred never ceases by hatred but by love alone is healed.'

Worthy

It's interesting to maintain a dialog with oneself, and I think very beneficial to a person. You find yourself noting changes in mood, patterns of thought, feelings and triggers.

I think the most obvious trigger for me is anger. If I become angry I am curious about that. Since it's an experience I loathe, I want to know what instigated that feeling in my body. The answer is that I was triggered - that the thing that was said or done or seen or experienced somehow stepped on a trigger point - a wound - that still sits there deep inside and out of sight.

To put a name to this trigger point, it would be 'unworthiness'. It could be a feeling that I am unworthy of love, or unworthy of attention, or affection, or care.

It's simply not the case that any old person could touch this trigger point. I am not expecting care, or affection from someone I meet casually in the street. Although, I offer that when someone in the street is caring that's a particularly lovely experience.

So, the experience of a difficult emotion such as anger comes hand in hand with expectation, I think. There's an expectation that a few chosen people in your life will take the time and make the effort to provide a sense of attention, affection, care and love.

It's this expectation, or perhaps hope, that one will be cared for by another person that can make some romantic liaisons so sticky. If things started out so beautifully, and then drift into only random moments of care, or words of affection, the memories of the beautiful experiences can lodge into the brain and body and not allow someone to see that the landscape has changed for the good. 

Even then, the body does throw up signals that all is not as it should be - that these are painful experiences that are remarkably like those already experienced in one's youth. Unworthy of love. Unworthy of care. Unworthy of affection. Unworthy of attention.

I used to think that I should fight against these triggers - be the better person, you know? I used to think that if I tried hard enough those triggers would evaporate.

But, I found a thought coming up lately...that maybe those triggers, the anger, was there for a reason, alerting me to the fact that whatever had brought up that trigger need not be tolerated; that the emotion need not be vanquished. Maybe there were just some experiences that should be sidestepped.

So, as an experiment, I tried this side stepping of a situation that led to trigger points for me; a lot of unworthiness; a lot of wishing it was different; a lot of longing involved for something that was out of range. In summary, I took a reality check of what I could control and what I could not control, and I decided to control that which I could - to avoid the triggers.

The result has been, so far anyway, a greater sense of quiet in the body and in the mind, which I like very much.

And...an acknowledgement lodged deep in my mind...that, aside from these trigger points from childhood, there isn't really anything wrong with me at all. 

I am worthy. 

I'm just going to sit and let that thought soak in.

Thoughts on the Depp/Heard case

 Like millions of other people, I got swept up in the Depp:Heard legal case where Depp sued Heard for defamation in an newspaper article she co-wrote saying that she was a victim of domestic abuse. I very much wanted to believe her. Even now, I don't know and I don't think the court case made especially clear what actually took place in their relationship.

For sure, they said mean and ugly things to each other. For sure, they both found the union to be sufficiently disturbing that, ultimately, there was no alternative but to split.

Whether he caused those bruises on her face, kicked her, slapped her in the face over and over, (as a witness testified), I don't know. 

What we can know is that the jury and the world, generally speaking, was of the opinion, that none of these things happened, because if even one of those things happened on any given day, the jury was obliged to find for Heard. 

If she suffered not physically but emotionally, then that too would count as an acknowledgement of Heard's vindication for writing the article. The jury determined that she was not emotionally abused.

Or, maybe the jury felt that they were both emotionally abused by one another and so it sort of amounted to a cancellation of abuse.

There was very troubling testimony and had I been on the jury, I would have wanted to explore that fully. A young man who became close to Johnny testified that right after their wedding ceremony he made a statement that went something like, 'Now I can legally knock her around.' I found that chilling.

I also would have wanted to explore the fact that victims of domestic abuse often want to protect their abuser and that this was in line with Heard not wanting to talk to the police after they were called, and I think they were called after a friend heard a very troubling encounter between Depp and Heard on the telephone. (I didn't see the whole trial so that may not be entirely accurate)

My point is that there was evidence that domestic abuse of one kind or another appears to have taken place and has been corroborated by other people. Maybe the jury thought these people were lying too.

It's strange, because I am of the understanding that it is a crime to give false testimony and it seems odd that so many people who gave testimony have been accused of lying on both sides. It throws into  question the judicial system and the willingness of people to lie.

I was a young woman in the days of the trial of Lindy Chamberlain who woke one night whilst on a family camping trip in the Northern Territory of Australia to find her baby gone. It was a similar situation to the Depp:Heard case from the point of view that the judicial system and people at large got involved, with nearly everyone having an opinion one way or the other. (You may recall that Streep played Lindy.) Most people, and the courts, came down on the side that Lindy must have killed her baby.

I found that proposition absolutely ludicrous from the moment I heard about it. I held onto that position for years until that joyous day when baby Azaria's jacket was found, corroborating the fact that a dingo had taken her baby.

In the meantime, Lindy's life was destroyed. The (innocent) woman was in jail when she had her second baby. Can you imagine how devastating it could be for a human who loved her baby dearly to be accused and convicted of killing her? A witch hunt, indeed.

So, I wanted to believe Amber. If those awful things happened, and she made it out of there in one whole piece, then I wanted to support that strength.

But, things niggled me. For one, I would never write a public article that would destroy the life of the man I proclaim to still love. She supported him, she says, by not wanting to talk to the police, and yet she wrote the article. There's a problem there.

The 'malicious intent' that the jury believed in was a surprise. Really? She maliciously intended to hurt him? Well, yes, thinking more on this, I suppose she did write it with either the intent to inflict harm on him or else she was naive as to the repercussions of the article. 

One article I read shed some light on the power dynamic of the couple. Sure, Depp was richer and more famous, but Depp came across as a codependent who couldn't navigate such deep (narcissistic) waters.

Who knows?

I do know that this trial in some way struck a cord with the world at large much like the Chamberlain tragedy which took place long before social media was a thing.

When a relationship begins wonderfully; when a person is provided with much affection that they so sorely need, and then things start to become a bit emotionally abusive - intermittent validation/affection; tactics that confuse the other person but keep them enmeshed in a relationship that is troubling - it's hard for the brain to figure out what has happened. Wasn't it once a great relationship? Wasn't he or she once so loving? Maybe, if he or she tries hard enough, they can get back to that?

I don't know what happened in that relationship exactly and I am not sure if the participants fully understand the dynamic themselves. To be sure, they were both right to go their separate ways.  Unfortunately, that was not done quietly.

Mercy

 As Christmas Day fast approaches, I find myself experiencing all sorts of emotions. 

My oldest and much adored son will be moving to another capital city imminently and he will take, naturally enough, his son, due very soon to enter this world.  Covid provided me the luxury of plans being put off for almost a year, so the idea of not seeing him regularly was also put off into the backburner of my mind.

A few days ago I had framed an official photograph of his football team as Premiers of our AFL football league for 2009. (We always come close but haven't achieved glory since then.) It seemed a nice reminder of the city he loves whilst he was living in a warmer clime. I was doing fine until in conversation with the framer and it suddenly hit me why I was doing this task, and I got teary. 

Of course we will travel to them regularly but it's the first time one of my chickens has gone to live somewhere else permanently. It's only an hour's travel in the plane so it's not dire, but just a bit of a shock to the system. The saving grace, let me assure you, is that there is nowhere better to live than right here, so I know he will be back when he can (might have to get super senior in his company and insist because the market there is bigger than here). And, I know he'll want his son to go to his old school. There are forces behind the move back.

All in all, it's a lovely time of the year for me. It's the first time my grandsons will be at the beach, and we will all be there, so that's grand.

And yet, my mind returns, each and every day to a friend suffering with addiction 10,000 miles away. It's been without question the most rugged few months of his life. For a time, I had access to his sister, so while he was too ill to get me a message he was alive, I had her. But, he objected to the email interactions between us. I think, and I can't blame him, he felt we were colluding.

The point being, that having had a one liner email saying that he wasn't doing very well at all, and since then silence, I check my emails each day and due to the silence from him, I wonder if he is alive or dead.

Trust me when I say I have wracked my brain to think of something to do that is useful. Initially, I did all I could to get the people in his life to organize an intervention and get him to a long rehab situation where his body and mind had a chance to re-calibrate. I also aimed for time in a monastery. He needs a lot of silence; rest and peace. There simply wasn't the force behind the intention.

To my knowledge, he is alone at Christmas time in a vast city at a time of year he usually adores. In spite of my best efforts, my mind pulls back to that thought, and to all the people suffering right now.

I am filled with gratitude for what I have in my life but the best Christmas gift of all would be a note to say that he is being taken care of with people who know how to do that, and that in the end he will be all right. I don't think that note will come.

And so, I use this platform to urge you to be not just grateful but merciful this season.

Happy Holidays.

Shining a Light

There are times in one's life that seem so easy one takes them for granted. And then come the inevitable difficult times. 

A spiritual leader I follow talks about rehearsing for those difficult times by appreciating what is good; stopping to smell the roses so to speak; like building up a fortress of contentment and ease with the present moment such that it can buttress you against the difficult times that will inevitably come.

Sometimes, difficult or sad things collide with one another creating a labyrinth of difficult issues that seem hard to navigate.

If I try to describe this feeling, it's like things are out of place; like there's confusion in the natural order of things.

Then, it's time to walk; to let the dust settle so to speak; to let the dirt settle in the jar and fall to the bottom of the jar so that the water becomes clear.

Then one sees more clearly.

Yes, a pet will die, maybe earlier than we thought. It's heartbreaking but it's a tender time too; when we savor the moments left; when love is abundant and transparent. Be Here Now.

Relationships may end. Wouldn't it be lovely if we could end those relationships with grace; with civility and a sense of love. All that love. Did it just vanish? So much abundant love, gone up in smoke? Highly unlikely, I say. Something is covering the heart; a denial that seems necessary to do what is being done, but love itself remains, even if hidden from view.

As part of the Compassion Prison Project, which I highly recommend, I exchange letters with a man on death row. I think you might be surprised at how easy it is to do this; two souls writing to one another. That's the way I see it.

Tough love. Does that really work? I am not an advocate. Teaching, showing, modelling, providing opportunities for people to dig deep into their core and be resilient; that's worth doing, absolutely, but without love in the heart, without a sense of a soul touching a soul, I am not sure you are doing any good.

We, as humans, have so much capacity to shine a light in the darkness. I wonder why we let that opportunity go so readily.

Love

 At bedtime last night I found myself having a bit of a scroll through my Facebook roll (probably using the wrong terms there) and I came across a little video of a story about a chimpanzee who had been abused and was being nursed back to good health. 

When he was healed and ready, he was being taken to an area which was wholly protected and where he could live out his life happily and healthily with other chimpanzees. 

Jane Goodall was one of the people who escorted him to the area. She held his hand through the crate where he needed to be for the journey and she talked to him.

When they reached the place, they opened the door and the chimpanazee walked out. He had a good look around and could see he was free. 

He went and thanked the other girl there who had taken care of him and he took a few steps away from them. 

Then, he turned back, jumped on the box and wrapped his long arms around Jane Goodall and for several seconds they hugged; the most heartfelt hug of love between two creatures.

I cried openly as I watched and I am crying as I write this.

Love is all there is. Love makes the world go around. 

All the rest is mere detail. In so many years, you won't remember the detail and the detail will have vanished. Poof poof.

Be. Love.

Definition of love

I wonder if we don't expect too much of ourselves to experience a particular kind of love.

In spiritual terms, 'God' is within all of us, and we are all one. This feeling isn't available to me constantly, but I can certainly close my eyes and feel a loving being, feel the connection to all beings. These feelings are felt by people attuned to the non-duality of life.

Yet, the words 'I love you', what's the definition, the meaning of those words? What they mean to me maybe they don't mean to you. Feelings of love are not really quantifiable.

We can love the world. That's almost easier to do than loving a particular person with behaviors that aren't easily understood. It's quite a skill to practice unconditional love. It's not easy to give up all expectations and see what comes back. What if what comes back doesn't fill your cup?

Some people say, well, love is a verb. It makes sense. When someone acts in a loving way, the mind and body process this positively.

You can express the sentiment that you love someone, and maybe, the words stand on their own. Yet, the receiver must feel them, no?

Or, do we sometimes steel ourselves against the full blast of those words? Maybe, they can't be felt unless we are feeling lovable.

One time my husband had a terrible thing happen to him. Nasty. We felt in a foreign country, isolated and alone. In those terrible days, all we had were each other.

The post arrived and there was a letter from someone not all that close to my husband, expressing his condolences and giving my husband heart that he could rise from this fall. Instinctively, with no words spoken we hugged each other tight and cried.

One little act of loving kindness, a crack in the dike, had caused the tears, previously held back, to gush forth.

I tend to rely on the feelings within my body. When thoughts become too muddled it is the body that doesn't lie. This has been my operating stance.

If my body is screaming out to me that something is askew, I stop and note it. This is not to say that my body is always right but it's not right to ignore these messages either.

Sometimes I think that the best we can do is adopt a loving and open heart, but at the same time, if one has a particularly loving and open heart, the head has to be brought into the calculations. Is the situation serving you? Is it elevating you? A very giving person can find it difficult to bring an unsatisfactory situation to a close, and some people know that and use it to their advantage.

When I am working with young children I adopt a non-judgmental state of mind and an unconditional stance of affection and good will towards them. I meet each little being as a unique soul and they seem to like that place in which to meet me. I'm amazed how many little things want to work with me. A little girl said this week, 'I wish I wasn't smart. Then, I could be with you more.' The honesty of the young child!

It's true, that as a teacher of sorts, I enjoy working with smart children. It's an ego thing. When you teach a child and they get it, you feel you succeeded. It's an instinctive thing and you can't really help that feeling. I tend to help the lowest functioning kids and the highest functioning kids and there's a big difference in one's own state depending on the group.

It would be lying to say that reading with a child who is struggling to use phonics is a walk in the park but at the same time it's priceless when they feel a sense of achievement at their particular task. Maybe you breathe deeper in moments, because you're struggling for energy to be mega enthusiastic at certain moments, but that's the job. They deserve and need your undivided cheer leading capacity.

If someone loves  you in a high-functioning, relatable way - they send you notes of love or adoration, perhaps a little note simply saying that they were thinking of you today, as an example - this all feels very easy and delightful. Flowers are a delightful gift, a compliment is a delightful gift. This sort of show of love delights us and we love to be delighted. It uplifts us. It makes us smile. It is all so easy, so loving, so sweet.

So, what happens to love, when the love has hunkered down and maybe looks like something else? Delight is rare. Rather, the love is assumed, has very little to do with words or behaviors. It's just there, perhaps one person thinks. I am loving you. Why aren't you feeling it?

I think love demands a degree of sharing, and then a deeper level of sharing. Not everything explored and witnessed is going to be to our liking but we've seen ourselves in the other by then. It's that spiritual sort of love where you've reached the stage of unconditional love.  You love this person with all of their flaws. You just love them using your heart and not much at all of your head. That can be a scary place to hang out. It can defy logic.

Love doesn't die. I don't think it works that way. But, it can lie dormant. It can go to sleep. We can say we love our new couch, or our car, or our coat. So, it's all a bit nebulous since we happily throw away those objects and replace them with new objects. The word 'object' can be a worrying one to me as it pertains to kink. Toys are easily discarded or ignored so be sure you are a loved toy, that it's  a role given and received with love.

True love, that of another Being, doesn't just fade away. When someone has helped build the landscape of a heart, they always dwell within.

Words from the grave

I've had a plan in mind for some time, to write in a small journal to each of my children. I'm not sure that I'd give the journals to them whilst I was alive. Rather, the journals will sit in the safe and when I am gone my words to them will be my gift.

I don't think I am especially good at speaking my most heartfelt thoughts. I try. Sometimes, I write them on a birthday card. Mostly, I allow my behavior to indicate my love for them. I think one son knows that my getting up early specifically to pack him breakfast (I call them 'care packages') is a sign of my love, whilst another son knows my research into drawing classes is an indication of my attention and approval of the life he has chosen.

Generally speaking, I would have to say that my love for them probably has the tendency to be suffocating. When one son came around recently to do his washing when his washing machine broke, he found me ironing the pillow sleeps and said, 'Mum, there is no pillowslip police. You don't need to do that.' Of course, they'd fiercely deny that, but they've made noises that I can be a little too motherly. I know.

Anyways, I'm going to have a little go at noting some points that come to say about each of them here and let's just see. We'll start with the first born.

Adorable baby. In those days you stayed in hospital for a week, and this was deeply bonding. I talked to him constantly, particularly at night when no-one was around, telling him how special he was, my "special blend" boy.

We went everywhere together but still in the mode of thought that I needed to prove myself, I took on a postgraduate degree. It was my sister-in-law who enrolled me in that first week in the hospital. My  mother came up once a week to mind him whilst I went to my lectures but mostly, somehow, I just did the work at home whilst he was asleep, and made use of a day care place when I had to do school rounds. Gosh, I'd forgotten that!

He was hungry, starving for food and stimulus. It was at around the 4 month mark when I couldn't satisfy his need for food that my mother said to me to stop listening to the maternal nurse and to feed him. He golloped down brains and mixtures of beef and vegetables, spat out fruit.

That first year of his life was the year I was the most thin in my adult life. He so needed to be stimulated that staying home wasn't an option. I'd put him into the pram and we'd walk this long block around the city. We'd be gone for hours and he'd take in everything. If I tried to enter a clothing store, he'd scream, and I'd do a U-turn out of there at a fast clip and keep walking the streets. Once he could walk we had two outings to parks each day. As long as we were moving, all was well.

A memory: He was between one and two years old. I walked by the laundry and found that he had been playing with the box of detergent, tipping it out, but now had a spoon trying to get it back into the package. I walked away, happy he was trying to sort the matter out. When I walked back he was just finishing tipping the lot on the floor to make a mound. I called out his name and he tipped the lot before I could get to him. Much later, my husband pointed out that I did a similar thing when told to 'Stop' doing something. There's a wilful side to our nature. He's no submissive and I think I was always too strong of mind to be a full on submissive too.

When we moved to the USA he was so lonely. We arrived in the winter and one of our things to do was to walk to a site where they were building a home and watch them. He fell in love with Mr Rogers and a character from outer space whose name I have forgotten who lived incognito with the earth family. He was so excited when it was time for the show and so sad when it ended.

I knew I had to do something to garner some excitement in his life and so off we went to the local YMCA and it was agreed that, yes, he was too young for the ball hour with three and four year olds, but he could run after them. That was fine. That was a life saver.

I have regrets about enrolling him early at a Nursery School. He vomited for a week each time he caught site of the building from his booster car seat, but later the teachers told me that had I waited another year he would have done the same thing. He was simply very attached to me. He seemed to love it there, but I have reservations about the early education of all my children in the USA. Their dedication to rules over emotion didn't sit well with my children. Strong Presbyterian women they sometimes couldn't see past the behavior to register a need.

He grew to adore his life in the USA and was very upset, when the time came, to leave. He was into everything - lacrosse, soccer, ice hockey. But, swimming was something he hasn't done much of, and that's because another strong Presbyterian woman insisted I let go of him and let him swim to the end himself. When he came up, he got out and refused to attend another class with her. I only wish I had a stronger personality to tell these women at the time to shove off.

I was told very early on that he was a leader. At the age of three he was organizing all the other children with free activity time. Tom was to get the trucks, and Nick the blocks, and the children, the teachers told me, listened to him.

When I picked him up from middle school on his final day the Principal looked genuinely sad. He would be greatly missed, he told me. Even if he sometimes frustrated them, teachers adored him, their "gentle giant".

From the moment he set foot on the grounds of his new school back here in Australia he found friends who are still his good friends today. Though they are scattered around the globe he visits them when he goes to that country and of course they visit him when they return home for a visit.

Again, from the get go, his leadership ability wasn't questioned, but nearly all teachers have spotted an untapped potential for excellence which frustrates them. They all think they'll be the one to get him to work hard enough to show all that he is capable of achieving.

In his final year of school his English teacher contacted me, the first. He was doing fine but how did he expect to get in the top cohort if he didn't do some work?  Of course, we talked, but he assured me he had it in his grasp. Right. Girls and sport, these were the priorities.

When the marks were published he'd made it into a good university but not the ideal choice, perhaps. He wasn't fazed. He did his course, barely entering the grounds. He was still coasting, still flying under the radar such that he didn't get shot down.

I credit a young man who wasn't one of his brighter friends, academically speaking, who told him that you couldn't wait until graduation to sort out employment. As an aside, it's so interesting to me that it was his not so academically top of the line friends who have been so successful in business.

He was selected into a Summer Graduate program at one of the big firms, was noticed, and offered a full time position. He stayed there a few years, aware he was being used, as all newcomers to these big firms are. Over a few years he was courted by a smaller firm across the road, and eventually he moved.

It's been upwards and upwards ever since. He works hard, is dedicated to the job, and has been rewarded with many promotions. It's not all beer and skittles. There's a part of him, like me, that likes to kick back. His hour of yoga a week, when he does do that, he says is the most relaxing hour of the week. But, he won't compromise on standards of work, or getting new work. The ongoing success of such a firm in a highly competitive market place relies on dedication to the client.

So, what matters to him? Well, he adores me and his father. He has always adored my husband, and instinctively, defended him. Recently, I suffered what is sometimes called 'an empath's meltdown' and said things that I don't normally say. He listened, but there's this thing about him, like his Dad, that keeps people on the straight and narrow. There's a reason why things are as they are, and yes, people can be difficult and rigid, but there's still an order to life that can't change.

I've felt this a few times. He is sympathetic, to a point. But, we all have our roles. He actually said that recently to me. Didn't Dad and I have an unwritten agreement that he'd make the money and I'd do the family/home stuff? Well, yes, all right, that's true. But, he did get, didn't he, that sometimes people needed to emote? Yes, sure, he was listening, he said.

He's had so many girls. If I ever counted them...no no, I don't want to know. Quite recently he said to me that the first girl was the only one that would do anything for him that he wanted. Another time, he was seeing a psychiatrist that was maybe someone he wanted to see on an ongoing basis, but no, it turned out, he let it slip, that she was quite vanilla. I said nothing.

He's with a head strong girl, gorgeous, soft, but wilful, like him. So, there are clashes. He wants to do his work and she wants him. She wants him to wash the kitchen floor but he resists because he makes most of the meals. You know, stuff like that. But, maybe, this is part of his personality, to choose a girl that is a bit feisty, that provides him with the stimulus he needs.

One of his closest friends, that is my son was his best man, said that when he was calm he was like me and when he was angry, he was like his Dad. He's usually quite calm, really; considered.

He gets a bit of indigestion at times. He's been through all the tests only to be told that he has to eat mindfully, stay away from late night tacos, that sort of thing, and limit anxiety.

On the surface he appears completely under control in his tailored suits, but his perfectionism won't leave any stone unturned. If someone under him doesn't do the task well, they get a memo to do it again. He tells me the area of my cupboard where I tend to toss Tupperware containers makes him feel anxious and he once had a girlfriend who left her clothes strewn about the apartment, and yes, oh yes, she had to go.

I feel no desire, or need, to give him advice. Well, that's not true. I did write him an email recently where I tried to explain his girlfriend's point of view and suggested that he keep in touch as to the time he needed to do his work at night and an accurate indication as to when he would be able to spend time uninterrupted with her.

I think in many ways he carries the world on his shoulders and he has the sensibilities to want everyone he loves to be happy, and high functioning. If he's not happy about something, a brother's behavior perhaps, he voices it. At the same time, he's very encouraging. Do what ever you want to do, but do it well. Do things, see the world, have fun. Live your life. That's the message.

Like his Dad, when he can let work go, he's an absolute delight to be around. His sense of occasion makes him the perfect host, best man, officiator of an occasion, speaker, leader of the team. On birthdays, he's the one to contact the rest of us to arrange the perfect gift for the person, the potential food and wine to be served. He's your classic first born. He's an achiever with high expectations.

He wants a family. He wants children. I can hardly wait to meet his children.

As I said to him in a recent birthday card, I am delighted to watch his fast climb up the corporate ladder but more than that I am proud of the man that he has become; wise, compassionate, loving. I love this kid with every bone in my body. I am proud of him beyond words.

Overcoming cravings

Most people have addictions, do something that soothes them in the moment, or that they wish they didn't do, or could give up. Perhaps you find yourself seeking out  too much chocolate after dinner, or need more attention than the average person.

Some people take refuge in drugs or alcohol whilst others crave the high of the gym to an obsessive level , or need a lot of casual sex, or power, or control.

Some people become addicted to connection, or trying to forge and maintain a connection with another human being whose interest in that connection is only haphazard; an empath spiraling down into codependence, a submissive person in the domain of an ambivalent dominant perhaps.

Whatever the addiction, there's a story behind that behavior, lots of suffering.

It's said that sometimes people come into your life in order to teach lessons, but addictions can be so long lasting and inevitably they cause a great deal of pain, to the sufferer and to those around them.

We tire of the suffering. That's the reason for suffering. We become desperate to be rid of the addiction. Round and round it goes, so many attempts. So many falls off the wagon.

With tenacity an addiction isn't impossible. If you can pause long enough, breathe, wait it out, the feeling of craving will dissipate. You sense your own strength to withstand the craving.

But, dare I say, that there may well be that one time when the craving is too much, the physiological feelings - perhaps a heaviness in the throat or the chest - can't be battled. You cave in and once again the addiction has the upper hand.

So, trying as hard as we do to be rid of an addiction that is causing havoc to our peace of mind and way or life, what might be missing, if we want it that badly?

Here's the thing. Each time we fail we beat ourselves up, right? If only we were stronger, more committed, then we wouldn't fail.

This is the problem. To overcome an addiction you need to have self compassion. 'Love is always loving you' you might say to yourself. Or, 'I know this is hard. I am with you'. Whatever works for you to settle yourself is fine.

Befriending yourself, it gets easier and your resolve is strengthened. You're not alone any more.  Love trumps a craving in the moment. Love is always loving you.

Feeling Free

To feel free is to completely let go of anything and everything that holds you down. There are many definitions: to liberate, no longer confined or imprisoned; to let go.

Most likely, your personal definition or description of feeling free is quite different to mine. A person in China restricted from offering his personal opinions freely would have a sense of liberty if the situation altered and he was able to express himself freely without fear of punishment.

The child who feels constrained to become someone that their parents wish him or her to be would feel a sense of freedom if the parents were to assure the child that it was their wish simply for the child to be happy.

A man or woman who holds their opinions tight to their chest for fear of an upsetting argument would feel freed if the partner were to assure that they would remain calm and discuss the situation openly and rationally regardless of opposing views.

There is a beautiful sense of freedom away from home with no possessions but a few changes of clothes in a suitcase.

There is the freedom of the meditation cushion when the stillness of the still mind (they mean the natural/free mind which has nothing to do with thought) is reached.
 
 It's subject to interpretation as to whether freedom is achieved with no thoughts but plenty of feelings. There is a tendency for us to want to be free of what is sometimes referred to as the negative feelings - anger, sadness, hatred, jealousy. Yet, it's so interesting what happens when we quietly sit and allow those feelings full rein. It's hard to hold onto negative feelings for more than a couple of minutes. The physiological responses are so intense that after a few minutes of quietly sitting with them, they quite naturally begin to subside, to reduce and to  dissolve. There's a freedom right there.

There are people who seem emotion less and people who are too emotional and in both cases to sit quietly with oneself and check in - how I am doing? how am I feeling? - is liberating for the busy self. It's having an awareness of your state that can free you from being in an automated state, as if unattached from your self, or unhinged. We sit with 'our whole body' on the meditation cushion. We have arrived. There is no where we need to be and no-one else whose needs come before our own. It's a liberating thought.

For several years it was possible with very little effort to take me to a bimbo state of mind. A translation of that state would be sexually liberated, or the object state of mind/no mind. This happens less now than it used to and the question for myself is if I am in some way to blame for the situation. Am I less inclined to 'let go', something that was so natural, so easy for me not so long ago?

Philosophies and spiritual teachings tell us that there are no mistakes (which I find hard to accept but let's go with it for now). That is, we are not dust in the wind. We are the wind. We are not part of life. Life lives through us. If that's the case, I haven't made a 'mistake', it's just that 'letting go' into the bimbo part of me is not often available to me at this juncture in my life.

On my meditation cushion the experience is with myself. I am in relationship with my self. The experience of being free is available to me at any time when I choose to let go and enter the stillness of the still mind.

In my dreams or daydreams, my fantasy life, bimbo is readily accessible to me. She simply never goes away for the very reason that she is respite from the worried, harried mind. I can, if I wish or must, enter a state where liberties are few and expectations are sordid, and this frees my mind; relaxes me and subdues anxiety. I would never banish her for the very reason that she is so necessary to me.

Needless to say I thrive, not just survive, when bimbo in all her vivid colour splashes onto the canvass. This state is not available to me without the aid of the artist who wishes to paint a particular image; who with instinctive and particular knowledge can apply the brush strokes with just the right flow and smoothness to create the texture most satisfying.

It happens effortlessly when the artist is in sync with the canvass, knows what he wants and feels into his heart how the brush will work with him and for him to create something of beauty and liberating force. Each painting created in this way will have its own essential life force. Like love, it happens when both elements in play reach into something innate; something derived from nature. Only then can they both be liberated.