DEPRESSION ~ Starts 2018

Writing has been difficult of late,  but my juices turned into ample spit  enough to swallow a pill. Laughing. The pink and white pills keep me sane.  While my words play games in my brain. But, at least, an absence of vicious pain. I travelled on-and-on with wonder, Through white flashings and thunder, With one thing and then some other. Sometimes a sharp kick from a blunder, Throws my coffee cup and stuff asunder This has been a busy round of summer. I've floundered beneath my many pillows Trying to ignore life's peccadilloes. It's a rough bout with invisible foes.  I've painted pictures in my head and pondered books I have read, and read. All this while lying quite still in my bed. Laughing, Love and Light

I was driving along a winding road just after the official midday sun when I started singing, "Jesus loves me this I know, 'cos the Bible tells me so.." I am blessed to know, also, because I have miracle after miracle and blessing after blessing. I am back in bed trying not to get too sick to ...  My favourite place is home and I am home and it is just lovely because my glass chimes, although in a very protected spot, are chiming in the December wind. One of my bucket list items is likely to be completed soon enough.  I shall tell you more about that when it happens.  I am quite excited at the prospect. Today I told stories about dancing and my love for steel factories and steel and men who work with all that.  Today I held the little girl; she was so happy to see me. Today I bought four new pencils. Today the sun is shining and the sky is blue.  My window is clean again and I can keep tabs on my tree and life in it.  My plants bloom ever on and I...

https://youtu.be/synJSNIJ8QE   ( link to the title of this)    Interesting fact. I drove an ordinary Hilman Vogue back in the late-ish seventies. Used the same filling station every week. Creature of habit. I knew the attendants. They certainly knew me. Good service. Friendly. Lovely people. Africans. Love them. All good. My friend Doug has a clapped out Merc, holding on by the golden thread that love is, through menopause and breathlessness - exhaust fumes will do that to you. "I'm going home to Australia for the holidays. Will you drive the old girl for me?" "Gosh. Really? Its a big car. Do you trust me? (I am an undiagnosed weirdo who smokes non stop and is skittish in a good situation). "She is easy to drive. She just needs to go for a run every day to keep going." I think of an old race horse.  "Okay..." I am freaked out, but he is my best friend - the only friend to be honest, the only man who respects my friendshi...

One gets one life. One gets one shot at this life. One imagines time is a slow thing. One dreams of many things. I have been lucky. I have done all the things on my theoretical bucket list, which was a surprise;  all I did was dream about doing these things. I never saved a dime towards all my travels. I just managed to find it possible from time to time. The Universe does truly conspire to grant you the desires of one's heart. The conscious ones and those we don't even imagine we desire. Onism. A lovely word from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. "I passed through it once (planet earth), but I've never really been there."  As the Gregorian calender flips over and on with 2019 looming ahead, there is little comfort to go around and less cheer and joy in the world. If I had known, like really consciously known, not that surface stuff that fools you some, that I could have had the desires of my heart fulfilled, and if I had any brains, I would have been...

https://pin.it/7z7kaoedz2kge7 I love Love. And Keats is so full of it. I wonder who he is now... The day begins with holding hands. My "monster" looking large hand is held by a tiny old, skin and bone tiny hand. It is such a tender thing.  I can't help weeping. Why, I wonder, is it so hard for us to break free from our shells and love?  Why does the Higher Self only slide up and out in our last days? How long are our last days?                            "I love you." That is our final sentence, if we are fortunate enough to be conscious. My grandmother could not speak.  My Father could only say it with his eyes and my mother, bless her heart, said it often, not knowing who she said it to. But she said it. That is all that matters. Dearest Mommy, If you can hear me, I love you too. I will choose you again, and love you better next ...

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