Gladness

On a windless, clouded afternoon at the end of May,
I go for another bushwalk.
I’m greeted at the start of my walk by one of my favourite native birds,
the kookaburra:

Its laughter echoes through the scrub for the first ten minutes of my walk.
Then comes magpie song:

A kangaroo regards me intently from afar.

The only bush in flower is one whose name I don’t know.
Its flowers grow in tiny, white clusters and smell sweet and rich, like honey.

It’s quiet in the bush,
and I, too, am quietly gladdened for my time there.

Daylight robbery

On Saturday afternoon, I went for a quick stroll on the beach,
shoring the sights up in my memory — and the warmth on my skin — of the last hours of Daylight Saving.

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It was a typical mid-Autumn day.
Windy.
Half-sunny.
Half-dull.

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The sand was wind- and water-rippled.
The gulls’ footprints seemed to blow away as I watched.

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Soon, when I walk on the beach, I’ll wear shoes, socks, a coat, a beanie.
I’ll call the wind ‘bracing’.
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I’ll think of this last long day of light with yearning.
Summer nostalgia — is there a cure?
There should be!

Note:
Okay, a confession: autumn makes me crotchety. I’ll get over it soon, I swear!

Coming up roses

Since my last post on roses,
I’ve started glimpsing them wherever I go.

Outside the entrance to my office, there’s a bed of low-lying roses.
They catch my eye as I walk through the automatic glass doors on my way in to work.
So I sneak down to soak up their beauty again in my morning tea-break.

After rain, the petals and leaves hang heavy, glistening.
And it feels to me like a moment of stolen beauty.

Coming alive for the first time to the beauty of something
that has always been around you
is one of life’s greatest joys.

When all is said and done

Other people’s words about … staying still

Do you ever have the urge to just move?
Metaphorically, I mean — not physically. That feeling inside — that longing not to feel stuck anymore.
I do. (Midlife crisis, anybody?!)
I don’t think there are any answers to this longing. I think the more we try to move — to push on, to change — the more we forget the grace there is in surrender.
In simply staying still.
Maybe you’re not an ABBA-tragic like me (I know! I know!). But today I give you a song that helps me with this.
Have a listen.
See what you think.

Listen to the song: ‘When all is said and done’, by ABBA*

* Note:
Click on the orange ‘play’ button at the top of the page in this link to listen to the song. It’s one of my favourites. The song is about the end of a relationship … but I think it works equally well if you think of it as talking about the end of a phase in your life. (Bear with me here. I know ABBA aren’t known for the literary nature of their lyrics! I did warn you I was an ABBA-tragic … )

Other people’s words

Emetophobia has governed my life, with a fluctuating intensity of tyranny, for some thirty-five years. Nothing — not the thousands of psychotherapy appointments I’ve sat through, not the dozens of medications I’ve taken, not the hypnosis I underwent when I was eighteen, not the stomach viruses I’ve contracted and withstood without vomiting — has succeeded in stamping it out … 

From ‘My age of anxiety’
by Scott Stossel

Sometimes, no cure exists for our ills.

We learn — slowly, painfully — to co-exist with them:

We learn to strive for grace.

Note: Click on the following link if you want to know more about emetophobia. And for a review of the book I’ve quoted from, and more insight into anxiety as well as emetophobia, see Sally Satel’s article  from The Millions.