There’s a wonderful book for ‘blocked creatives’ called ‘The Artist’s Way’. I’ve been dipping into it for years, even though it’s meant to be followed week by week. You may have guessed that some of our lives are not a ‘week by week’ affair, more a random doors opening and closing kind of thing. Or even, ‘try not to blink or you might miss the door altogether’.
The point I’m trying to make is to do with something that the author Julia Cameron advocates, which is the practice of writing ‘Morning Pages’. No doubt, many of her readers have exclaimed, in various states of desperation: “I’m blocked! How am I supposed to write a morning journal when a shopping list is beyond me right now?”, or suchlike. Julia has fortunately wised up to every which kind of excuse and lamentation, so immediately diffuses the situation by telling us to ‘sit with the page’. The idea is that, if you can’t think of anything or if you don’t know where to begin, start by writing exactly that.
So this is how I’m having to start my blog today and it’s because my mind is in a tizz. The main thing that’s on my mind is something that I’m finding difficult to express. I’m also not sure whether we know each other well enough yet. And I like knowing that you’re there.
Sitting with the laptop open at a cafe table, I’m appropriately situated, considering my state of mind i.e. looking inwards. The comfy window seat faces a lofty room, made a lot more intimate by warm light radiating from pendulum light fittings dangling well below the ceiling line and by the sparkle of white Christmas lights running along (what appear to be) ancient wooden tea chests hung on their sides along one wall. Stacked on these make shift shelves are misshapen oranges ready to be juiced, jars of local honey, bags of coffee and teas of every which kind; and seemingly every other kind too. Beneath them sit matt white kitchen units that nostalgically take me back to the days when I enjoyed sitting in rather ‘nice’ homely kitchens, chatting with family and friends. A scrubbed wooden worktop houses machinery that brews, steams, boils, squeezes and adds things up; whilst tantalising cakes call softly from beneath attractive glass domes.
Lyrical ballads backed by the gentle tinkling of keys or plucking of strings drift past and around us in timeless fashion. Meanwhile, the coffee machine gently hums and hisses, creating that ubiquitously welcoming aroma common to coffee shops throughout the land. All in all, someone has skillfully created an atmosphere that is conducive to friendly conversation, even occasional bursts of laughter. I like it that people are happy. At the same time, I’m aware that having enough ‘tokens’ in our pockets is what is making it possible for us to feel cossetted and comforted in this place.
“How on earth am I going to address what’s worrying me?” I put to a friend, half way through a phone conversation about robotic body suits that may be able to help him, or people like him, in future.
“How about saying ‘People with severe unmet needs are being abandoned because of the collapse of social and health care infrastructure’?” comes the immediate reply.
“That’s spot on!” I share with him, somewhat shocked and regretting not having asked him sooner.
Note to self: Being stuck may be a sign to get talking!
The DWP has become an agency remorselessly at war with the people it is supposed to protect. And instead of being helped by our wider community, the same people are being openly blamed for the awful situations they find themselves in, having to hide away and becoming increasingly isolated. And to add insult to injury, they are seemingly expected to feel wholly ashamed with themselves.
These are my friends, my community, the people who picked me up when I thought I was finished; who accepted what I told them when no one else would. They’re also the ‘home’ I run back to when things get hard. They’re my family, my clan. And they’re the very reason that I am here, able to write this blog.
My philosophy has always been that, with every lorry load of shit that lands in our lives, our job is to turn the situation around; to find the blessing within it, so to speak. I’m finding it incredibly hard this time round. The only thought that keeps nudging at me, says: “What else is going to motivate any of us to action other than a strong sense of injustice?”
There’s a lovely thing happening where I live. It started, for me, with a kind neighbour who walks down the length of the road at least twice a day, accompanied by her children, dogs and occasionally (would you believe it) a number of cats. She always has time to talk and show interest in the lives and well-being of her neighbours. The vibe here seems to lift that little bit more each day that she passes by.
With the growing sense of ‘neighbourliness’, requesting ideas and assistance from others in order to ‘turn things around’ now seems less like ‘asking for help’ and more ‘in the spirit of things’. It’s a chance to create that kind of community spirit that so many of us inwardly long for. At last, there’s that spark of hope that I’ve been waiting for.
As you ramble through your life, whatever be your goal
Keep your eye upon the doughnut and not upon the hole
Irish Blessing
