“Love is the force that moves you.”

 

Words from a passage from ‘The Power’; the power of love drives life and everything we know;  love is a feeling, yes, but it is also the motivation for innovation, art, creativity, money, architecture, travel, medicine, learning, teaching, an endless list and of course, the generation of life itself.

 

Love is also the motivation which has set me on course for my current path, to a new home, a new start, a new version of love, a new marriage, love the forceful energy source to make these changes to protect my family, and myself.

 

I often question the path.  As much as I am curiously excited and excitedly curious to see how well things will turn out, I am also unsurprisingly nervous.  But when reading ‘The Universe has your Back” by Gabrielle Bernstein, she explained how she tapped in to the Universe to give her clues that she was heading in the right direction.  Her ‘clue’ or confirmation that she was on the right path was an owl.  It can be anything. Ask the Universe the question and it will respond.  The Universe has been responding me for the last 5 months with a Kingfisher, my Mumbo.  Giving me the nod.  Keep going.  You are heading in the right direction.  Sometimes she is quick to answer, sometimes she is a little slower (maybe she is having fun!), sometimes she is emphatic, sending lots of kingfishers in succession.

 

Today, I took a trip to our new home.  To walk the boundaries, see the pears, admire the tulips, feel the excitement, feel the freedom, the sense of relief I already feel when I am there.

 

As we were acknowledging the beauty of the wall climbing pear tree, discussing how he had tended and pruned the branches lovingly each October, so that it would flower in the spring and bear fruit in the autumn, he told me a story.

 

50 years ago, he had planted 2 pear trees, one at each end of the coach house.  One day, someone he knew was having problems with his young family and he took the man to see both trees.  He walked him to the tree that faces the sun and said, “Look at this tree, it faces the sun all day and feels it’s warmth – it has grown tall, bears fruit and flowers without fail each year; it is flourishing.”

 

He then walked him to the other side of the coach house and said, “Look at this one. It gets barely any sun, feels no warmth, just shade. And it is practically dead.  Think of your children, your family. Give them love and warmth and like the pears they will blossom and flourish. If you don’t, they will wither away.”

 

Every time I look at those pear trees, I will remember the beautiful pear tree story that brought tears to the corners of my eyes and remind myself of my family, my 2 sons and my Big Man, and what I need to do for us to flourish.

 

Love is like the sunshine, the warmth.  We need to do more to feel love, share love and allow the force of love to motivate us to do what we love, then our lives and those of the lives we touch will bear delicious fruit, blossom and flourish and grow tall and proud.  If we live in the shade, block out the love from our life, focus on the lack of light, the lack of warmth, draw others into our darkness, we cannot expect life to be beautiful.

 

I already knew the answer when I asked the Universe this evening if this was the right house, the right path, the right thing to do.  But she was super quick in response, so quick that I did a double take.  As I was asking the question, the first photo on the top of my Instagram feed was a giant mural painted on the side of a wall, the same shape as the pear tree wall.

 

Today made me realise that applying a little more pressure to the pain can help ease it,  adding a sprinkling of salt to the wounds can draw out the ‘poison’ to promote healing.

 

I may feel a little black and blue from the muscle pummelling and crunching of my back bones, pelvis joints and a tad sore from an injection in my bum, but I know it will be worth it in a couple of days; if I am lucky enough, maybe when I wake up.

 

I may feel a little black and blue, with a bruised heart from hearing honest truths, numbed from intense self-reflection, but also a little lighter from understanding the miserable reality of then and feeling the hope filled reality of now;  recognising how far I have come, from days of consecutively bad ones leading to weeks, now only one bad day every 3 weeks.  The salty sessions are worth it, the poison being drawn out, leaving only purity.

 

Perhaps I no longer have the constant pain and that is why I apply the pressure, apply the salt, to remind me it is there, inside the aches.  The pain is the core, hidden in the depths of the constant ache that needs awakening, to be brought to the fore, so it can be recognised, appreciated, given harsh attention, so it can ultimately be healed.  For when the pain is healed, the ache will go.

 

The wise and experienced words of my legend that is my Dad plagued my mind today.  “You will go to hell and back.”

 

My hell was at the bottom of the ocean. I don’t really remember much about it.  I think I was in shock, numb and my mind now protecting me from myself.

 

“One day you will wake up knowing the way out. And then because you are a Brooks, you will come out of the shit smelling like roses.”

 

I know I am no longer in my hell, having chosen my path out, but I am not yet sure I smell of roses as I still have hellish days.  April is littered with trigger dates and memories; memories that now seem false; memories that now make sense; memories that have a stream of questions linked to them; memories that I try to understand but can’t; memories that bring back the tears I haven’t shed for a long time.

 

It could be because I am tired and still in pain. That would be the simple excuse for my obsession, the ‘leak’ in my constant concentration to block out the memories and triggers. But I know it is because I am back home, deeply saddened by the fact I no longer like it here, surrounded by falsehoods, smoke and mirrors, reminders that I was just a puppet in someone else’s play, someone else controlling my strings, lurching me one way or another if I got to close to the truth.

 

I hate myself for being so ignorant. For playing the fool, so ignorantly beautifully, complete with moments in the flow of joy.

 

While I have numbed myself to my recent hell, he too has frozen out the past. When a new piece of the puzzle lands, as I try to find where it fits, he has closed the book and moved on – can’t remember or won’t remember. Yet his past is my present. My living mind ‘hell’ trying to work it out with only part of the story.

 

No amount of small concentrated moments, small jobs, sunny walks and laughs with the boys have helped me escape today.

 

I live for the day, like my Dad, when I refer to my hellish experience, I can say “I don’t really remember, it was over 50 years ago.” And that new memories, happy times will have eclipsed the darkness, filled my mind so there is no corner or recess to hold any part of it;  with all the unplaced pieces forgotten, dusty, lost, insignificant and no longer important.  That will be heaven.  Not hell.

 

 

 

 

 

All good things must come to an end.  All good things are the tonic for life.

 

All good things are lie ins, lazy breakfasts, leisurely walks, sailing club lunches, Cornish ice creams, barbecue suppers and blue skies.

 

The tonic is family time.

 

It’s hard to believe we have been here 10 days, gone so quick, feels like forever.

 

Rock is where we rest, recuperate and revive ourselves;   Rock is where we remember the simple pleasures before we head home to rebuild the bigger ones.

 

 

 

I need to take a leaf out of my own advice book and not worry, ignore the many fears I have about following my own dream to write a book;  every day I receive more signs telling me to start by my fears of it not being best seller and a complete flop, and embarrassment so much that people will laugh at me, because it has all been said before, that it will upset people rather than inspire… that it will all end up being a big waste of effort.

 

Instead, I need to listen to my inner curiosity and ask ‘I wonder what would happen if I wrote a book?’ And do it.

 

When I think like that, words seem to just fly out of my head and on to a page.  And this has happened several times… but is it the start?  Or is it the middle?  Or is it the end?  Or simple just a passage that needs weaving in….

 

As I sat in the blazing sun, drinking my flat white, watching the boys and men dance around on the waves of the estuary, this is what came tumbling out.

 

 

 

My mind sees my day, my life and choices from two angles, my cheerleader and my saboteur: from the perspective of Snow White or of Dobby;  Dobby my friendly and over protective sabboteur who was for a period of time transformed into a Parisienne stripper wearing only cut out knee high boots and a black satin basque and nothing else… only for a short period of time but was also the most cruel and ugliest of all saboteurs.

 

Perhaps she was my biggest catalyst for growth and change, identifying most what I needed to lean into, recognise, accept, endure and embrace in order to do the work to transform everything, including myself.  

 

I never thought the unknown lodger in the darkest park of my brain would be the one I held the hand of and brought with me. I had to prove to her, she was wrong.  Wrong about everything, me, him, us and especially herself.  I showed her so much of the good and true, the honest and the strong, that she faded to dust, just a handful remaining that the returning Dobby picked up and threw to the wind.

 

I welcome him, like an old returned friend. He is only and simply a manifestation of my fears. His purpose to keep me safe, not to demoralise me, destroy me of my self-esteem, taunt and feed me lies. Sometimes he may find himself in the desperately attention seeking knee high kinky boots or the pathetically needy satin basque …but we just laugh!  Me and the elf who is playing ‘house’ in my mind, heads thrown back, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

 

He still gently reminds me of my fears of the big life changes we are about to make, drawing my attention to them, only so I mitigate them or remind myself firmly, convincingly that I choose them. He is my protector.  She was narcissistic, taking advantage of my vulnerability, manipulative, cunning and mean and I could almost weep with relief that she is gone.  The experience taught me a lesson in understanding the saboteur and how there are many faces of the mind, and to be mindful therefore of which ones to listen to and which ones to recognize for their destructive nature and ones for their pastoral care and ones that give you courage, strength and empowerment.

 

I am immensely proud of Snow White, Dobby and myself. Battle scared. Exhausted. But ready to live.  We beat the evil queen in my head, who tried to rip out my heart, throw me to the curb and step over to replace me, just like she tried to take Dobby’s place.  I am reminded of a cookoo, who has no home for themselves, looking from the outside in with jealously and greed until it can move it.  But it never stays long, for it is not their home and never will be, forever unsatisfied.

 

 

And then real life brought my passage, my beginning or my end to a close.  Dobby quietly questioning what I had written, Snow White singing loudly as I skipped along the path with my little man to make a berry smoothie, drowning out the fear and reminding me stay strong in my curiosity.

 

I am getting pretty good at ‘letting go’ or knocking down the walls of the model I have built up in my head.  Letting go of where I should live, who I should be friends with, what I should wear, how I should make a living, how I should think and act… and this last week, I have been practicing at letting go of what I think I should eat.

 

(as a side note to self, I notice a lot of ‘shoulds’ there…. Does that mean I am letting go of ‘should’ too)

 

Food has always been something I could control.  I always had the power to decide what I use to nourish and fuel my body.

 

When working away during the week in the so called ‘glamour’ of consulting, I would often eat in my room having bought lettuce, tomatoes and a tub of cottage cheese from the supermarket.  I look back now and see that so clearly as a sign of misery, choosing not to nourish myself at all!  Perhaps subconsciously knowing poor diet on top of long hours and work related stress would mean I would get ill, and I could stay at home?

 

The only time I felt relaxed about food, the quantity and food group, was when I was pregnant.  I ate healthily, but allowed myself treats and it was the only time that guilt hasn’t plagued me, when I didn’t lie down at night and list every morsel that had passed my lips and chastise myself.

 

When starting to understand more about health, wellness and the importance that diet plays a part in it, my nutritionist advised I keep a food diary.  A good way for most people to see where the little bad habits creep it, so they can work out why and manage the cause.  For me, it was just a way to beat myself up again.  And I probably didn’t need to.

 

With my back problems keeping me immobile, my food control habit mental reflex is kicking in.  But this time I am ready for it!  I recognise it, say ‘hi’ to it and wave it on it’s way as I indulge in ice cream, fish and chips, a bumper pack of mini eggs and watch my little belly grow.

 

The guilt I had been harbouring about food was just as toxic as the food I was putting in my mouth, just far less enjoyable.

 

As I drove to the osteopath this morning, so she could manipulate my locked joints, ligaments and muscles, I listened to a brief chapter of the Untethered Soul.  It referenced a pendulum and that living on either side of the extreme used incredible energy to get there and also to sustain, hence the swing to the other side. The sweet spot, he said, is right in the middle, when there is minimal energy in movement itself, and therefore the energy around can be put to better use.

 

Apply the theory to a diet, or my imposed diet; a completely restricted diet caused me intense mental stress and energy in worrying about what I ate.  So I have swung completely the other way and let all restrictions go and binge eating anything sugary, battery or refined.

 

I am guessing the sweet spot in the diet, is when you eat when you need it, not when you crave it.  It is about listening to your body to find out what it needs, whether that be carbs, protein or greens.

 

At the moment, I am in full swing.  And allowing myself to enjoy it, waving at the little voice of restriction and guilt … pelleting them with mini eggs.. as I fly by!

It was an interesting comment that stumbled in to my world today – ‘I am not sure of my purpose.’

 

I know I have felt the same in the past.  Wondering what life was all about, what was the significance in my life, what was I meant to be doing, being… what would I leave behind in terms of a legacy?

 

The more I think about it, the quest for a purpose, the search for that significance is just as futile as the pursuit of happiness.  You can’t find happiness, happiness is;  happiness is a state of being, the only place you can look for it, discover it, is within.

 

I believe we can waste so much time trying to find or have a ‘purpose’, questioning it, when similarly, just like happiness, it can only be found from within.  A true purpose, or calling, is something that makes you happy, makes your heart sing and you do whatever it is because you love to do it, regardless of the opinions of anyone or anything else. So therefore, isn’t everyone’s purpose, just to be happy?  In this one life, this short time on earth, isn’t our reason for being to maximize happiness by doing what we love and being a person that you love to be?

 

I also believe so many people (me included), hold off, or hold back because they think their purpose needs to be so significant, so good, original, better than anyone else or touch so many people, that it frightens them, overwhelms them or feels impossible.

 

Our purpose is simple.  Simple self-indulgence. Doing what you love doing or being as much as you can in the time you have available to you.  Fill yourself up with joy so that you remain the happy, positive one in all other aspects of life.  What better legacy to leave?  What better example to leave our children and the generations to come?

 

Today, I ignored my little voice that berated me for my self-indulgent time today.

 

 

Today’s happiness came from watching the boys happy pootling off for ice creams on the boat with Grandpa, while I sat on the rocks with my own ice cream, a book, the sunshine… and took in all that was around me, letting my senses go to see, hear, feel, smell and taste and to write it down:

 

The echoing of the rippling lapping of the waves along the stony shore.

 

The twinkling of the dancing diamond light on the estuary..

 

The bellowing laughter of the seagulls at the musical jangling of the ropes and masts.

 

The soft gentle round hump of the land, bright spring green disappearing into the royal blue of the camel water, dotted with dancing and empty buoys.

 

The smell of ‘Padstow Perfume’ – diesel fumes of the ferry and the salty brown, sun dried seaweed.  (knock yourself out Jo Malone!)

 

The featherlight wind on my warm cheeks and the unforgiving stone perfectly moulded to fit my seat – and support my tender back.

 

The excited cries of families tumbling down the slipway with their ice creams, prams, wet dogs and jack wills bags, Spider-Man wellies, converse and soft leather bowed tan shoes (!) and an army of sandy little feet.

 

The last lick and final crunch of super sweet, sticky, delicious Cornish strawberry cone and the cry “Welcome aboard the black tor ferry!”

 

 

And as I sat there, the purpose of life was clear for me, to be happy.  And happiness is the purpose.

Marilyn Monroe wrote the words, “Let go physically so you can pick up emotionally” as she learnt to act.

 

I am learning to ‘let go physically’ as I have no other option.

 

When I originally hurt my back 3 or 4 weeks ago, and I was unable to use physical activity or exercise to distract myself from my emotional pain, I slipped back down my mountain, fell down a hole.   I was forced to pick up my emotions and look at them, deal with them in the darkness and spit fire at anyone who dared challenge them.

 

But this time, letting go physically, I find myself picking up emotionally and I find a calmness I haven’t felt in a very long time.   Perhaps it is the calm in the eye of a storm, as the past taunts me less and the future is just that far enough away …

 

As I lie with my legs on cushions to relieve the pressure, I am no longer swept away by a torrent of emotions, an anger that would make me run, a hatred that would make me sprint to breathlessness, a frustration that would make me scream to the open fields and startled birds.  Instead I find a stillness, a calm in my heart as I listen to the sound of my gentle heart beating to the sounds of my slow breathing.

 

Maybe it is the time passing.

Maybe it is the healing power of Cornwall.

Maybe it is living in an untainted, untarnished dwelling, home, house.

Maybe it is distance.

Maybe it is just the eye of the storm and this is the rest I need to face the other side.

 

Maybe Marilyn was right and everything happens for a reason, including debilitating back pain.

 

‘I believe that everything happens for a reason.  People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so you appreciate them when they are right, you believe lies so that you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.’

 

Inspirational woman.

 

I am somewhat relieved on two counts tonight, 2 simple mistakes now so obvious that we are able to take the right course of action.

 

Firstly, Willy’s stomach ache and sickness this evening isn’t due to over bouncing, over eating, sea sickness (God forbid for a sea faring family!) or a bug that could wipe us all out for our holiday week, and just a simple mistake;  the homeshopping order delivered raisin bread, but not of the gluten free variety that I ordered and Willy ate practically half the loaf.

 

Secondly, after becoming more and more crippled as the week progressed, it was time to seek professional advice. The pain transferring from middle back muscle spasm to my hip joint, pelvis and tail bones making me feel and walk like I did when I was 9 months pregnant, even to the point where the easiest position was all fours.  It seems that my muscle spasm were an historic memory profile and automatic response of a previous injury and my brain doing its job by stopping me moving, this time rather than protecting my dislodged L4/L5/S1 lumbar facet, it was to protect my sacroiliac joint.  The mistake was to get my muscles out of spasm and then to strut my stuff for 3 hours on a cat walk in 4 inch heels and then get up the next day to do lunges, box jumps and ball slams before sitting immobile for 6 hours in a car.  Oh and then bounce around daily in a speed boat on a choppy sea, one moment air born and the next slammed on to the unforgiving fibre glass seats.

 

So I am lying in my lumpy, soft Cornish bed, with a red faced, sweaty little boy wrapped in towels, complete with sick bucket and marvelling at the criss-crossing of black tape across my back and legs, holding me all together; ironic now that mentally I am pieced back together, physically, I am falling apart.

 

Mistakes.  Only fatal if not learnt from.

 

Fortunately, this time, harmless enough for us to do just that:  Always check the home delivery before feeding my son his own particular poison.  Always ask for help when moving heaving oak beds.  Always, always, always listen to our bodies, they usually give us the signs to tell us what we have done wrong…

 

 

 

 

I recently read a beautiful book.  I read in two sittings.  And I could read it again.  ‘When Breath Becomes Air’ by Paul Kalanithi.  It wasn’t long, but it’s lasting effect on me has been profound.  How original plans, dreams and goals on earth can quickly become irrelevant when your time to fulfil them, realise them, is taken from you.  How quickly the lofty aspirations, the world changing ambitions become far simpler in favour of the little things in life and how suddenly they become the big things.  How swiftly and invisibly they shift, just like breathe becoming air.  An invisible transformation.

 

I was reminded of this when I listened to another story, another passage of beautiful words by Thich Nhat Hanh as he explained his perception of death.  These words helped me on Mother’s Day, a day that had devastated me the year before for feeling sorry for myself as I had no mother to spoil and no one was spoiling me; a day I sat alone in a coffee shop, tears falling in to my tea.

 

His words have helped me live.  For if you live, if you love and spend as much time with the living and those you love, you cannot fear death or fear those you love dying.  Creating memories leaves you with everlasting love for those who pass on or in the hearts of those living.

 

His words have helped me realise that just like breath becoming air, we too are energy and spirit and our energy and spirit invisibly transforms from the physical to the eternally ephemeral. As he describes, like a cloud invisibly transforms to rain or snow, our loved ones are the raindrops, the snow flakes, the sun rays that touch our body, that delicately brush our arms or wrap around us when we need them.

 

So this Mother’s Day, I embraced the living and those I love, the beauty in being a mother and the gratitude I have for a Mother in Law who makes me feel like her daughter; another invisible transformation.