Five secrets for the New Year
Five secrets for the New Year
Is it time for me to write about the haunting up a twitten in Hastings old town?
Hello, my lovely friends,
Many parts of me are circumspect. We all need to have secrets after all, though in my case they are not hidden, rather, they are not expressed.
Number One.
My wise woman ways. Ask more if intrigued. We are and we always will be, the shadow and the light, lurking and dancing with the seasons and beyond.
Number two.
Nature lover which melts into and from number one. You've all seen my bird feeders that I obsess about. The collared doves, the starlings and of course the house sparrows that now mob my garden with endless happy chirping. My love of nature reflects into my spiritual path because they echo each other. A stone from the beach, becomes a charm in my hand, resting there with comfort. I look forward to the bees on my lavender and the swifts which I hope will return in May. Pixie, my child of fur and claw… There's more to read on this and here’s a start. Little Feet at Pett Level…
Number Three
History lover, folklorist, hoarder and teller of crazy tales. I blame my ex-husband Gabriel. He taught me how to read maps and the landscape, to understand it from before we had roads as we know them. The secrets in words of places, hidden in the crevices of derivation where time takes a word and moulds it within the mouths of people, repeating until it's something new. Have a read of my column about the word cripple for an example…
Number Four
Ghost collector. Yes, I adore Danny Robins Radio 4 podcast Uncanny. I do not believe in ghosts. But I know that strangeness surrounds us. Just you all wait for the new novel!
Number Five
I suspect some of you know I used to do burlesque, spoken word burlesque and modelled naked. I do cry a little that poor health has led to a hanging up of the tassels that are no longer viable to twirl. Then again, I am eager for the future to offer me opportunities to be disreputable…
But it can be tough right now
To find those cracks where the light gets in (all hail to the late great Leonard Cohen). But it's essential we find them. Like this. Reminiscing on one breath, future-gazing on the next. One of the lights I cherish of late is being on Substack.
After my brain traumas, it may appear obvious for me to take a path of self-pity for a little while. I'm sure I show that in momentary flashes because I am human, but after a lifetime of being fed pity, with it shoved down my throat so I feel like a foie gras goose, I’m wary of public demonstrations of gratefulness.
Generally, I say bite the hand that feeds and pities you particularly if that hand is stinking rich and privileged.
As a disabled woman
I'm guarded in what I share. This is partly because of the clichés we wrangle and evoke within the nondisabled mind. Until recently I found it difficult to talk about the pain I experience, because as an old activist, bathed proudly in the social model (look up my take on it here in Byline Times) I focus on the 80% of imposed barriers that create my disability. Barriers that are imposed and artificial. If wealth was distributed evenly and fairly, focused on a community model too, it would truly liberate me and millions of others.
But what of that 20%? That's my pain. The goblin on my shoulder. The thing within my body that bites and gnaws and aches. Drags me to distraction and sometimes hopelessness. Rarely have I written about this, as I see it as private. I am also wary of the risk of despicable pity porn threatening to soak me in its usual sugar coating, its immobilising disrespect.
What next…
for work and health and play dear readers? What are your thoughts on the future and how can we avoid sinking into the existential dread that surrounds us globally?
I say look beyond the mainstream news. It's always notorious for celebrating the worst and perhaps I am naïve in wishing we would celebrate successes and those individuals and communities that work tirelessly for a common good. They are there, I'm privileged to have connections to many of you. But we don't often get easy access to seeing and reading those positive stories.
Can you help?
I am thinking of adding a layer to my Substack. Exclusives within a paid subscription. Perhaps you would like a monthly poem? An extract from my novel? Soon there will be music to download that I recorded in the 1980s/90s years - who would pay for access to these little extras? Or make some suggestions of your own!
A card reading from a selection because a wise woman always has many at her disposal to choose from – suitable for the laughing atheist to the deeply spiritual. I'm respectful of all as long as respect is returned…
For this Substack, I have a particular request. That is to share any opportunities, any call outs you hear for online readings, performances, guest slots on radio shows and podcasts. I begin this year with an urge to make small moves forward by sharing my profile, my storytelling damn it, further.
Support is always appreciated. And thank you for your lovely comments on my last Substack. One in particular intrigued me by praising my apparent revelations and honesty. A deeper sharing of the self is a summary of the feedback given. I hadn’t even realised I was doing such a giddy thing.
A sigh of relief that it's soon…
Imbolc, the festival of Brigid, 1st February
when we see the first glimpses of Spring, which Christians copied for Candlemas. Enjoy the snowdrops while you can, before climate change chomps up the familiar roll of our seasons.
Time now though to stop moping and rambling to preserve some energy as later I am writing about the haunting up a twitten in Hastings old town, to summarise a scene in my current on-going novel.
So, for now, dear readers,
I hope you find peace and connection in a world of trouble and horror. I keep close to what I can change and what I'm connected to. Isn't that all we can do, the common people, knowing that from the grass roots grows great change? I believe that, truly.