Truly Alive

Retire to the duvet realm shortly after 10.00pm, re-emerge shortly after 9.00am, a remarkably early hour for yours truly. Dressing gown bedecked, switch on the PC for a little idle surfing, feeling rather washed out and jaded. Somehow the time just scurries by, surprising in an era of idleness. Contemplate taking a shower but, uncertain as to whether I can cope with the effort, return to the desktop and continue to get nowhere slowly. By this time a serious debate with oneself occurs, the topic is the pros and cons of showering.

By 11.30am, I succumb to the lure of the shower. Sheer luxury as I sit in the shower; I rub my face almost gleefully, watch the water flow over my weary limbs, the warmth seems to alleviate the pesky muscular aches and pains with which I share my daily journeying. This is bliss, it almost feels like something I should feel guilty about; it takes quite some time before I even contemplate the washing process, it’s almost as if in these moments time has stood still and I’ve entered some kind of sublime ecstatic state. I start to count my breaths, a kind of reassurance that it’s not quite simply a dream; all is calmness!

There once was a time, which I find hard to believe, when showering was a straightforward mundane routine, neither pain or pleasure. Next, there was a period when I could only take a shower when my beloved was there to support me, an omnipresent giddiness / light-headedness made the shower a most insecure place for me. Things became somewhat easier once my beloved obtained a shower seat; once that was in situ, the task became far less troublesome, although for long enough it still proved a chore. I still found that by the time I emerged from the soaking, and towelled myself dry, a half-hours rest (minimum) was required before I could consider getting dressed.

Anyway, that’s the past and this is now. I’m still basking in the afterglow of that serious pampering, provided by the shower unit. The muscular and joint pains are returning but, I am still able to revel in observing the sun blessed blue skies. Today I am truly alive.

New on 'Mal's Factory'

TWO NEW POEMS (First Drafts), or they may even be jottings towards a single poem, can be found on 'Mal's Factory'.

A True Thanksgiving

Sometimes a very basic foodstuff can seem extra exciting; in this instance I’m referring to a simple baked potato, served with stew and a few garden peas, as the main course at a community meal at the local Methodist chapel last evening. I really must find out who supplied the potatoes, and what variety they were; the nicest baked potato I’ve tasted in several years.

This particular chapel no longer serves as a place of worship, having been closed in the course of circuit re-organization, but its former congregation, who were forced to disperse to other churches in the broader vicinity, still meet together for coffee mornings and the occasional communal meal. There is a very strong sense of fellowship at these gatherings and, any proceeds raised from the events, less expenses, go to a worthwhile cause either locally or abroad. Although it was not the church that I attended, the warmth of welcome received was a real treat.

Much as I appreciated the symbols of the communion service, in times when I was more able to regularly attend worship, I couldn’t help but feel that this was a true eucharist.

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A later posting for today, A QUESTION OF IMBALANCE, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Mal's Skywatching

This mornings posting, WEATHER WATCH, can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Bring Me Sunshine

The sun shines, and all seems much better with the world; a bright day has such an amazing effect on one’s sense of well (or even not-so-well) being, it’s only a pity that it has little effect on the multitude of socio-political ills that afflict the majority of humankind.

Just looking out onto the garden gains new vibrancy; each year I’m amazed and encouraged as the first shoots thrust their way into daylight, preparing for spring. (see my poem First Rite on this theme)

Shuffle my way up to the garden pond, look in disgust at the floating debris, think about netting it off but, I’m all too aware that once I make that effort I’ll be too tempted to start on a more widespread cleaning. The piscine inhabitants wouldn’t be too happy about that, this early in the year, so it’s just as well my energy reserves are not exactly fighting for release.

For the moment, I make do with topping up the bird-feeders, pace about a little to give my leg muscles a little stretch, before returning to the house for a nice cuppa (or three) of Earl Grey.

It’s remarkable how much easier it is, on a bright day, to count ones blessings. At a time when I’d lost contact with many of my friends, as my ability to socialize declined, I was able to make contact with others in cyber space, and most importantly able to offer help and encouragement to some of these people.

As my love for my wife grows daily, and that’s starting from a remarkably high plateau, I am so fortunate to have that love reciprocated. Being able to pop down to Open Church, for a cup of Fairtrade coffee and a natter, still seems like a bit of a luxury and, I can only be grateful that I can comfortably manage the walk down there and not be overwhelmed by any background noise. It’s simple things like that, which I would have taken for granted a few years ago, that I have now learnt to appreciate; even the fact that I have a roof over my head, food in the larder and, water on tap provides cause for rejoicing.

Even on a dull, wet day, I am aware of the many blessings (though sometimes it takes a bit of coaxing to bring them to the fore) but, as the sun continues to shine my gratitude is somehow amplified.

A PAIN IN THE ....

It’s only when I sit a certain way. Correction; it’s sometimes when I’m sitting still, at other times when I shuffle my bum to the back of the chair. Truth be told, it’s worse when I lean forward, to put something down, from a seated position except, when I stand up and reach for something it’s sometimes even more of a pain. Come to think of it, it could be when I take a sudden step forward; at least that’s when it causes my leg to fold on me and I lose my balance.

Who am I trying to kid; all I really need is plenty of fresh distractions, that way my awareness of it would simply dissipate.

A few minutes ago, whilst standing by the kitchen door, it suddenly attacked again! A searing pain shoots through my thigh but, unlike sciatica, there’s no apparent reference back or forwards from the hips or spine, nor is there any downwards extension through to the calf muscles. All is (apparently) encapsulated within the rear of the thigh. The physio suspects that it’s a nerve problem.

Pain-killers hardly touch it, but then, how would I know if they were being effective? It’s the brutally spasmodic, crippling, lightning flash that’s the real pain; there have actually been periods today, of almost 20 minutes duration, when I’ve not been startled by it. Meantime, a manageable dull bruising throb is much easier to ignore than the staccato stabbing.

My diagnosis is that “it’s a real pain!”

If only it wasn’t such a discomforting thought, I could add that “at least it keeps me on my toes!”

New on Mal's Factory

I've just posted a freshly woven poem, WINDBLOWN, on 'Mal's Factory'

Today's posting on Mal's Murmurings

The Force of Circumstance can be found on 'Mal's Murmurings'

Random Ramblings on Time and Perspective

Strange, the tricks of light and perspective; the history of art has a lot to answer for. I’m stood by the backdoor and, a good three hundred or more metres away, there are giants working on the roof trusses of a house under construction. I see these figures, each around 5’10” to 6’0” in height, at much the same height as they would appear if they were standing next to me. Were I to paint, or draw, the scene I’m witnessing, it would be expected that these figures would appear quite miniscule, positioned well on the way towards the vanishing point. Why, for the sake of convention am I expected to diminish their stature; our observation is always subjective, we always interpret the scene laid out before us so, why did anyone ever to take the trouble to lay down rules as to the way we are to portray it? Is it supposed to bring some sort of objectivity to the interpreted world?

I suppose there is a degree of importance to quantifying time and space, to enable us to more easily modify our environment for the sake of efficiency in our daily routines but, it has got me wondering about whether art comes under the category of work or play.

Mind you, I’m not wondering all that seriously, it’s more a case of letting ideas fly off the top of my head (and being bald, I suppose it makes for a smooth take-off as these random thoughts take flight).

Suddenly, I find time has become a greater issue than space, as I await the arrival of the workmen who are going to be renovating our downstairs loo; as I wait each minute seems like a quarter of an hour and, once the appointed time for their arrival has passed the moments seem to stretch out even further. It’s strange how the waiting process plays havoc with temporal values! Where once patience was a virtue I could uphold to a considerable degree, the past few years have swung the pendulum the other way; patience is now a quality which seems to belong to a dim and distant past life. Somehow, whilst anticipating an impending event, I find it impossible to apply my mind to any other task; it only seems possible to concentrate on one thing at a time and, even then, the quality of concentration ain’t what it used to be.

At least these random jottings have helped the time pass more quickly and, I’m relieved to hear the doorbell ring. Meantime, I’ll get on with a little bit more net surfing, before my physio arrives to administer the magic needles once more.

Reclaiming KING

People usually focus on the historic "I Have a Dream" speech, but it's the work King was doing at the end of his life that deserves more attention.

Read the article:

Reclaiming King : Beyond "I Have A Dream"

http://www.alternet.org/stories/74337/