Flying and Landing

Something a bit momentous happened to me whilst I was dismantling my parent's garden. It crept up on me how bizarre it actually was; I was initially more interested in the emotional/psychological metaphors inherent in gardening but anyway. The old mirror bush project. I had a certain grip on the bush/tree and was pulling on it. It had been partly dismembered and I was hoping that a good tug would pop it over the threshold. That was the idea. Instead, comedy and parrallell universe transference. The twiggery I held broke and because I had my whole body weight hanging off this twiggery and there was a bit of momentum going on, I did not land flat on my back. This would have meant landing on grass. No. Rather, I did a combination of running and falling backwards and there was the flash through me: 'fuck - pain - shit'. Just so you know, there were many obstacles behind me. A concrete step, a concrete path. Pot plants. Other weird debris of my parents. So, expecting pain, big pain was fairly logical of me, even at the speed I was travelling. However, next thing I know ('fuck - pain - shit'), I was sitting in a canvas director's chair. Which sounds as if I slipped dimensions. And actually, it was probably was something not far off that. I was safely sitting in a canvas director's chair, high as a kite on shock and pissing myself laughing.

Dismantling is good for you

How funny, how unusual, and yet so pertinent:

I signed myself out of the 'dash' and then, this immediate internal voice, 'no no no, I have more to say, I have things to tell, the light is dipping over the valley, and I love this sunroom that is not mine, I love being a visitor in my childhood home, and this morning was an anger all confused and undirected and then I set to the garden with a pick axe, the pitch fork, the secateurs, the saw, my hands, and I dismantled! The main project was an old and filthy mirror bush that draped and slunk and was quite huge. So we took it out. It was heavy, dicey, brutal work and at the end, it felt as if we were unravelling a very complicated knot of old energy. Now, we open the back door and are startled by all the light in the backgarden, by the sharp edges of the studios, by the spaciousness. It's wonderful. I adore this kind of work. It feels healthy. Brain healthy. Cleansing. Brain cleansing. So I feel good now. I feel really good. When you are fulfilled by so little, life is pretty bloody satisfying!'

Tipsy or Straight?

How facinating that there is a new diagnostic tool in the medical/psychiatric field: as patients take balance tests, they have a tiny probe placed in their ear to measure their brainwave fluctuations. The developers of this tool are working on the link between balance issues, depression and schizophrenia amongst other neural disorders.

It struck a distinct body memory within me of some very rocky years. Literally, rocky on my feet and rocky in my psyche. My place on the earth, when I walked, was precarious. I have a pair of shoes that I wore through this time and they exacerbated the problem immensely. They are a very narrow shoe and the sole does not meet the edge of the upper level, so the sensation is similar to walking on ice-skates. Except, the sole was thick enough to inspire trust and carelessness and it was fine to trust, until you rushed a foot step, your foot slid within the shoe and you realised how close your were to the edge of the sole: an unbearable tip into a twisted ankle. It's a pity. They are very pretty shoes.

Poor balance and depression - I know it - makes sense to me.