I’m sitting here scribbling away to the new Agnes Obel album Citizen of Glass, which is due to be released in a few days.* One of the tracks off the album – ‘Familiar’ – was released a couple of months ago, and I’ve been enjoying that one, but was curious to see how her new album would shape up. I’m not really allowed to say anything at this point, because it’s not yet released…so I’ll sit on my hands for a few days and let you know what I think after that.
Anyway, I want to mention this post by Mel. Because it’s one of the most beautiful (and beautifully written) things, ever, (truly). I found myself chuckling and tearful at the same time. And I came away feeling thrilled and tender and alive. I so hope we get to hear more stories about a horse called Buzz, and his lovely Mel.
I have no idea why the above text is in bold. But there you are. I can’t actually un-bold it. WordPress is quite bedevilled.
Anyway, I managed to henna my hair again, (long overdue), and I’m really liking the results this time. Each time I do it, there’s a subtle difference in the colour and tone. And I got to thinking about writing a post about henna, but also about other beauty stuff at some point. A kind of over 40’s, slightly off-centre, diy, witchy version of beauty, anyway…
It might be a pleasant diversion perhaps to swap notes and ideas, and chat about some pretties…because to be honest, the mainstream media’s version of beauty and cosmetics tends to give me hairballs. And it’s frankly often absurd and insulting to my age-group and intelligence. Not to mention the environment. And my budget.
All this powerful lunar energy, hey? I mean, even more!
The weekend was beautiful. A sweet interlude. On Saturday, by the light of that great glob of moon, a group of kindreds gathered with me, and we sat around a fire, chatting and looking at the stars, (for the sky was clear enough, for once). And we laughed an awful lot. Which is a fine tonic, is it not?
And it was here that the last scraps of an old, insidious and jagged little spell that had lodged itself in my heart, was finally broken with the power of laughter.
The laughter of people who see me clearly, and know who I am. They helped me laugh away a spell cast by a subversively malignant fairy. One who for so many weary years has spent simply too much energy trying to covertly control and manipulate the narrative of how I am seen. And the narrative, in general. I used to feel so hurt and angry, and terribly confused by this. The lies, and the hunger for the vulnerabilities of others.
Once upon a time…
But time is a kind, if ruthless, teacher. I have more knowledge now about narcissism, especially the covert kind, and how not to engage that dance card. Because it’s a dance, for sure. And I was good at that dance. I don’t blame anyone else for that.
I have better boundaries now, and hopefully more compassion, (from a distance, I’ll admit). I have a greater understanding of how deeply fractured and unhappy someone must be, to behave as they do. I truly wish this person happiness and freedom. At this stage of my life, I’ve never desired more deeply, nor more urgently to love and know intimately, my own heart and mind. And I wish the same for others.
I’m much more interested in focusing upon who and what I love, upon ideas, and the creative spirit, my garden, music, and beautiful things.
These days it’s ridiculously simple: it’s no longer mine to carry. And it’s none of my business, what they say or do. About me, or about anything. If anyone believes what they say, that’s not my business either. It’s a terrible cliché, but I know the truth, and that’s all that matters. The sense of freedom and lightness that comes from that is profound. It’s a deep, unshakeable knowing.
The rest is, um, chook poo.
…And meanwhile, in the garden, the moon blinked between the Spring leaves, and an owl hooted in a tree.
Then someone laughed, and snorted their wine, (moste un-ladylike ; ) A few of us laughed at that. And then things escalated, with laughter tearing through us like a contagion. We all fell about (literally, off our chairs and onto the grass). Actual lunatics. Uncontrollable, hysterical laughter. We weren’t even sure what we were laughing about, in the end.
I do recall someone calling me a “mad witch”, but that’s pretty much par for the course, these days.
The owl was understandably most put out by all the ruckus.
It was certainly the kind of laughter that banishes evil spirits, and jagged old spells. Laughter that reminds me that I’m free, and happy, and that life is good. Laughter shared among true equals has added power; shared with those who see you, and love you as you are.
Even the wine-snorters.
Tomorrow I get to spend much of the day with a dear-heart as we pootle around the mountain. Another unexpected treat, and I’m thoroughly chuffed.
Oh, and I’m still getting my head around Bob Dylan being awarded the Nobel Prize for Lit. But, hey.
Also, as a result of her tweets in the past week or so – absolute pearlers – I think I may be even more besotted with JK Rowling than ever.
In garden news, the parrots have eaten all my pumpkin and sunflower seeds, (I was ridiculously naive to plant them straight into the garden). So I shall be sowing them again – in punnets, and locking them away from these most charming of marauders. Truly, they are charming, those King parrots. Just one look of total amiability, and all is immediately forgiven.
Wishing you a delicious start to your week xxx
*I’m not a reviewer – the Bloke received a download of the album (for work) this morning.