Losing the physical self

There isn’t anything to write about anymore on this website, the time has come to voice my own thoughts elsewhere. Hopefully one day Anita will use it to express herself. People keep asking me for updates but they will have to ask her or the hospital. I can only end with one of my favourite poems and with love.

I have been here before
but when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
the sighing sound,
the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow’s soar,
your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall,
I knew it all of yore.

Has it been thus before?
And shall not thus time’s eddying flight
Still with our lives our loves restore
In death’s despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?

-Dante Gabriel Rossetti (sudden light)

I sit here on the canal bank. My toes skim the water. The sun is lowering more every minute directly into my face, infusing me with warmth, penetrating my soul. A canal boat passes and watching me busily texting the navigator makes a comment about technology and nature. I tell him I’m writing poetry which makes them all laugh. I have come here by cycling gently through my grief. Sometimes the impossible is just that and all you can do is be. As long as you can feel, you are still living. Its not hard to let go, you just have to take your hands from the bars. It worked and now I have found my place.

The water is moving from right to left just enough to be noticed, carried on the gentlest of breezes. The more I settle, the more I hear, the fish and birds spring to life. I dip a toe in the water, it’s cool yet refreshing. I’m beggining to like it, there’s no shock as I would have expected, it just feels lovely. The dark water isn’t murky, just an impenetrable viridian. There’s no urge to swim right now, watching the ripples I create is plenty.

The sun goes down, my soul is enlightened but now can hide in the shadows for a while. The sweep of the canal round the bend beckons, it’s time for home.

I have written a poem for my sister.

Mum was sick yet again
But sis was always there,
She helped with my breakfast
And combed my knotted hair.

Not strong enough to open doors
Through the sitting-room window we climbed,
Being with sis was always exciting
Most definitely fun inclined.

My sister took great care of me
When I was young and small,
She taught me to be brave enough
To stand up big and tall.

But everything changed one night
Not so very long ago,
A frantic call from the hospital saying
It was time for sis to go.

But sis was a lot tougher
Than everybody thought,
And she spent some time in intensive care
With a ‘killer’ sheep we bought.

Though sis is very different now
I’m relieved she decided to stay,
She sits in a chair; we laugh and joke
About the games we used to play.

Being restricted in a wheelchair
And driving us all nuts,
With sis’s determination
There are no ifs ands or buts.

Not everyone is lucky enough
To have a sis like mine,
And although things are hard for her
She may adapt in time.

She’s a symbol of loveliness
Although she doesn’t see,
That it’s what’s inside the heart that counts
And not what people see.

Although this time is hard for her
I hope that she can see,
How much I look up to her
To be the best that I can be.

Why is it when I find myself looking at a digital clock I often see number ones (11:11). The date Anita sustained the brain injury and quite possibly the eleventh hour is when things went downhill. Such a striking thing to look at on a digital clock, straight parallel lines, heading to infinity.

Grief digs a hole in us, it creates a well that’s as deep as the ocean but usually has a bottom. It can be filled with an ocean of tears or a swirling vortex. For me it’s a dark calm pool that enhances life, and to feel things deeply is a beautiful gift. It allows us to connect with something bigger that is beyond our comprehension but none the less is shown to be real.

Grief can sharpen our today,
not blunt our tomorrows.
Help us recognise the greater force,
not lead a life full of sorrows.

There is a flow of energy all around, connecting and grounding us. We are so wrapped up in the noise of our manufactured lives that we need to be taken to extremes to be awakened to it. We should learn to let things happen in life, follow the ebb and flow, watch the cycles and feel the harmony, following nature’s examples. Life is the coexistence of opposites including joy and sorrow, these opposites are meant to flow together, one embracing the other.

A couple of weeks ago I couldn’t sleep, so rather than look at the ceiling I listen to music and write, I do that alot. I write many things that only exist as expression. I wrote something about our time together on holiday in Greece.

I think of us always walking the shore
that tiny island that is no more
a private beach for us to moor

Ships pass through the linen veil
come and go they slowly sail
white sheets your skin still pale

The yellow costume your hair so fair
burnt skin glistens holding hands as a pair
a love so strong without a care

We’ll stay forever in our bed of dreams
A lifetime of make believe is what it seems
It is always and everything the only thing that means

At the weekend I visited the exhibition Gothic Nightmares at the Tate. A suberb collection of fantastic and supernatural themes which dominated British culture from around 1770 to 1830. It is the whole genre that impresses, more so than the individual works, although I loved William Blakes etching (Plate 33 from Jerusalem) most. It’s hard to think of a time before the Gothic shaped our culture. The riots in London in 1780 helped shaped the work. Some of the artists have been proclaimed as mad but after visiting Anita on Sunday and seeing her face contorted with palsy and pain I can probably relate to them more than ever. I love the idea that by voicing our nightmares in writing or painting they hold less control over us.

For some reason I have found it more upsetting seeing her recently. Maybe because it’s Valentine day and it brings back all the memories. She is drugged to drowsy, sweating profusely from her kidney infection, drooling and still has pain. I am very impressed and emotional that she has made me two valentine’s cards, one of them is from the cat. Neither of us can cry anymore so we don’t embarrass ourselves. The other day she made some scones and she was swimming yesterday. When slightly down I dread getting depressed, because I feel it could all fall apart so easily. The mystery of life so far has told me that we are all sailing more closely to the wind, mentally, than we think we are. It’s a good job I am an eternal optimist!

Anita tells me

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

Oscar Wilde

Today I feel flat but there is usually a tomorrow.

Friday night and Sunday, Anita was in the best mood I have seen her for months. She still has alot of back pain but at least the situation is improving. She also has to get over a kidney infection that isn’t helping the situation. They have increased her anti-depressant medication, maybe it’s helped.

I believe very much in fate, coincidence doesn’t even come close to explaining many things that happen in life. It’s all mapped out and you can’t avoid it. For example you see people or things when the odds are against it yet there are times when you expect to bump in to others and it never happens. If only you could just let go and have faith it will all unfold as it should.

The Way has no true shape,
And therefore none can control it.
If a ruler could control the Way
All things would follow
In harmony with his desire,
And sweet rain would fall,
Effortlessly slaking every thirst.

The Way is shaped by use,
But then the shape is lost.
Do not hold fast to shapes
But let sensation flow into the world
As a river courses down to the sea.

Tao De Jing

Anita is worried that she isn’t able to take advantage of the physio on offer in the hospital because of the extreme back pain she is in. There is a possibility they may let her go in a swimming pool soon, it’s something she wanted to do for a long time but no one could arrange it in the past. It’s a lovely place she is in, with very nice staff and excellent food. We had a nice walk around the grounds on Sunday, I pushed her to a garden centre but she was still in a lot of pain so an hour was enough. Sometimes when I see her she is very drowsy, it’s down to the drugs she is taking. It’s another form of immobilisation along with the pain and the bed rest that has affected her mobility. Because the place is psychiatrically focused there is always the possibility of a transfer to a rehab unit.
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