whip-crack metal on metal
resonate cold pressed
equalised ear drums
pinched noses
jaws clenched
heads tilted towards the surface
swirling bubbles buoy our bodies
offsetting contracted lungs
as we hover delicately
new language signals make for
slow comprehension
no lost translation
forefinger meeting thumb
making a peaceful circle
rocky hands of concern
slashed throat setting off
learnt skills demanded
redressing the calm
whilst striking through the head
declaring the holy grail
the king of the sea
descent darker into an
ink blot scape
slivers of silver flash
thousands of tiny souls
moving as one broad connection
creation carpets mountainous
installations as life beyond recognition
plays out in Earth's inner space
wide eyes periscoped
busting craned necks scanning
that thin line of trust between
your buddy's next breath
and inherent inquisition
at odds
then at one
with the water
currents waving goodbye to
blue bottomed boats
grabbing hold of taught lines
breaching the plateaued surface
gracefully grabbing shifting steps
wishing waiting wanting
for the next plunge
Eight thousand three hundred and seventy four point eight miles
behind waking expectations
my slated mind would be
scrubbed clean of the sand
dropping through her hourglass
figuring calculations under bamboo
breaking waves breathing stuttering
hillsides gasping beneath neon
planes flying low clipping wings
scarred arenite pulling faces
thrill seeking pleasure miners
drilling deep down to an unrighteous utopia
Finally. She's going. Last week, my irritating lodger handed in her notice and will be leaving on the 1 December. Her absent mindedness, selfish attitude, irritating personality and inconsiderate behaviour have mounted up to make her the worst lodger I've had by a country mile. I like to think that I see the best in people, try to ignore their foibles and accept them for who they are, but this idiot has just pushed, pushed and pushed her luck. Sadly, she won't ever change and her slutty male-attention-seeking demeanour is only going to make her sadder as she grows older. Good riddance.
After about ten months of faffing, my flat will be going on the market the day I step off the plane back onto English soil. (Don't want to think about that moment at all right now as I'm enjoying the anticipation of leaving for so much unknown adventure.) A debate has raging as to whether to not buy anywhere else and bugger off on a UN Volunteering mission. It's something I've always wanted to do and now is as good as a time as any. The stability of owning my own home, job, car, pension, blah, blah, blah.. has it's attraction to so many people. Even doing what I do for a career hasn't provided me the peace I expected. It's less about the job, more about the comfortable rut that I've dug myself into. I am mindful that trying to change my environment to match up to an expectation about personal satisfaction or contentment isn't the right way to go about things. However, the "necessities" of living a happy life seem to only be slowly draining away my patience. The next fortnight will be a good time to take on some perspective, carry on listening the encouraging words I've been hearing and perhaps get closer to some understanding.
This has been on the soundtrack to the past week. (Apparently I missed her at Reading Festival this summer and I'm "so uncool" not to know who she is... This was said whilst I was being forced to watch the X-Factor. I rest my case.)
Sadly, one of my relatives has been given a twenty one month prison sentence. It wasn't unexpected, however it has still been a great shock to my Granddad and Mum, who frankly, don't need the stress. It won't be the first time visiting a relative in prison, but it will be the first time I'll be in a position to be able to try to support them; hopefully with brighter prospects and some hope.
A more pleasurable recent experience was visiting the Ankerwycke Yew on the invitation of a member of the Ankerwycke Coven for the celebration of Sanhaim ("so-aim"). Thirty or so of the most friendly, loving, interested people gathered in a misty dark woods near to Runnymede. Wearing cloaks underneath a two-thousand year old yew tree and invoking the spirits of earth, wind, fire and water caught my attention. The group guided meditation through the thin wall into the spirit world firmly cemented my interest, but sharing home made cakes and a few chalices of Mead made me want to stay. The only way to describe it is magical. Paganism (in all of it's various guises) has lit a flame inside; it feels so visceral and tangible as a belief system. The lack of culturally negative doctrine and acceptance of (practically) any interpretation on their ideology sets it apart from most religions I've come across. I've been asked to write a poem for their Yule celebration in December, so, I'm going to read, learn and try to understand before I set pen to paper.
A slightly more hazy night was once again spent in the Milk Bar. This time, rum was consumed, but in the form of their spectacularly chaos inducing "Milk Bottle" cocktails. You got it. Pints of rum cocktail. Fill in the dots.
Having the night off from doing anything tonight has been a soothing opportunity to reflect on the past week or so. Life is good, but I'm mindful of getting caught up in events and getting swept away in the tide again. If I don't have time to write again in the next week; I'll see you in December for some Elbow fun, Grenville Hall and the blasted countdown to Christmas.
