Be willing to be a beginner every single morning.--Meister Eckhart

Well, the end of 2007 comes to a close. Our beautiful baby is wriggling around but resolutely remaining inside so it looks as though 2008 will be our birth year. We are huddled in, wrapped in the warmth of the fire and of love, counting the many blessings in life.

This has been a hard and an incredible year, bringing the greatest of joys and the deepest of sadnesses. Through that journey, my heart has grown deeper in Love and found a certain peace in the quiet moments.

Poem, November 27th

There is a certain peace
that falls with grief:
the first hush of snow,
still life before the cold.
It strips us bare,
wraps us in its fold
singing whispers.

(Victoria Bennett, 2007)

And so, on these eve of turning points within our lives, I send to all of you a greeting of love and a wish that your coming days bless you with love, joy and the peace of knowing the truth of your own heart, and may the wonder of life continue to stop you in your daily routine and make you look again and rejoice, even when the heart is wounded.

I'll finish now with a well known Irish blessing - one that speaks to me of all we can wish for each other...

May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
The rain fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

“Patience is not passive; on the contrary, it is active; it is concentrated strength” (E.G. Bulwer Lytton)

Adam and I, in front of the Christmas tree, December 28th 2007...baby still on the inside!

As you can see from this picture, the little soul within me has decided not to show just yet. Like me, it doesn't like to be hurried and has made it quite clear it will arrive in its own good time. The weather is frightful anyway, so who can blame it? Much nicer to be wrapped up warm and cosy in your own private womb. It is strange though - after so many months of fearing the baby arriving early and willing it to 'stay in', we now wait on edge for the signs of its awakening and whisper words of encouragement in the dark of the night.

Meanwhile, we are discovering new aspects to patience...which will certainly come in handy on those long nights to come.

The Eve of Christmas

Well, it is the eve of Christmas and the tree is up. I spent yesterday in the company of my family, treating my Mum and sisters to a day of pampering by Helen Bebbington (doula, homeopath, aromatherapist, masseuse, holistic hair stylist & beautician, producer of organic ethical beauty products, founder of Humanum holistic charity...and only 27 - is there no stopping her???). It was a fun day and it was good to see everyone laughing together. It is a strange time at the moment. We all miss Sue terribly and it feels difficult to enter the 'festive spirit' but at the same time, it feels important to celebrate the love and connections between us, and to celebrate the wonder and joy of life as well, made all the more clear by the impending birth of our baby.

After 9 months of journeying together, I feel ready. Not only has the nest been feathered and spruced up by Adam and Simon, but I have had the opportunity to rest, to be within myself and to prepare for this new life. People have said 'I bet you are impatient to get it out now!' but that is not the case. It has been an amazing journey that I have taken with this little soul - one that has taught me so much about love - through joy and through pain. It has taught me about vulnerability, about strength and opened my heart wider than I thought possible. And now we take the next part of the journey - where my baby and I journey through birth, through transition from togetherness to walking side by side. It scares me, yes. Sometimes recently I have woken with this terrible feeling that I am not pregnant any more, that somehow there will be no baby - a side effect of losing our last child in pregnancy, and also, perhaps, a way of preparing me for 'letting go'.

But mostly, I feel a calm sense of saying goodbye and giving thanks for the gift of the journey so far, and welcoming this strange voyage of coming into being through birth. The birth pool is filled, the candles lit and the car full of fuel to get me to the hospital if it comes now and there are no midwives!

Which given my online tarot today found in my Inbox...

The Eight of Wands

This card suggests that my power today lies in climax. It has all led up to this moment of anticipation and "there ain't no stopping it now."

well, who knows? Look out for the star...

and whatever you are doing this Christmas, light a candle and let the love in your heart connect to the love around the world. It can be a cruel and strange world at times, and it can hurt like hell, but it is full of magic and wonder too, that is tied into the human spirit.

Merry Christmas...

love Vik, Adam and the baby B

A very Jungle Book Christmas Baby

Click to Play

Yes It looks like Vik will give birth to a human baby any day now. I am checking the sky's for a stork hoping that this is really how it happens and the birth pool is just a place to keep the storks favorite food safe - like frogs and insects and apparently small mammals. But I know that the scans have shown a very human mammal wriggling inside Vik tum and the pronounce bump was hard to miss.

Have a Happy Christmas everyone and see you on the other side of the new year.

In Memory

My Sister Sue

"...Life is life and love is love and we cannot be part of either
without risking also the pain of loss...".

I wrote this on my blog entry a couple of weeks ago, when I shared with you the joy of our discovery at being pregnant, expecting our baby at Christmas. These words have become painfully relevant in my life and it leaves me confused and splintered. On 19th October 2007, my eldest sister Sue died, suddenly and shockingly in an accident. She was 47.

All my life, Sue has been there - sometimes at the forefront and sometimes in the background, but always present. When I was a little girl, she seemed magical to me - always making things, creating things, singing, playing music, dancing - a real free spirit. As a young girl of 9, I visited her in London and she took my midnight swimming, for a moonlight picnic and to an all night party! She introduced me to feminism and showed me how not to be afraid of breaking the rules. Wacky, wonderful and a total original, she could be hopelessly annoying at times, but still, the love never ran out.

Over the last few years we had struggled to find time in our lives for each other, each of us busy with our passions. Sue was always turning up late and saying "I've been meaning to call - I'll get in touch soon"...now she never will.

Sue was part of me, part of who I am. She helped form the way I see the world. So much of the woman I am now, the woman I am proud to be, has grown from the seeds Sue planted and nourished in me. Her spirit is in the very breath and bone of who I am – so much so that I never imagined her not being in my physical world.

I still can’t comprehend her absence - the hugeness of the space she has left is filled with such a bright light that at the moment, it hurts to see it, but in time, I trust that it will soften and glow like the autumn sunlight, adding beauty to all our lives, reminding us of the magic and wonder and precious gift of life and love, as Sue constantly reminded us to see. She made the world we live in a more beautiful place to be, and now she becomes part of that beauty.

As for me, and for all those who loved Sue and were loved by her, our days continue. Most days it seems the world moves much too fast as we try to come to terms with the loss. The part of me that is grieving wants to curl up and hide and not come out until I feel whole again.

But the part of me that is a mother, that is expecting a child, has to continue. This baby is here, within me and is coming. Initially, the shock brought on contractions and complications, and I found myself being rushed to the delivery suite at Lancaster. Luckily, modern magic has its place and labour was diverted with drugs. As I lay in the maternity ward, babies being born all around, my breasts producing milk and my tears streaming down in grief and shock for the loss of my sister, I acknowledged the brutal and beautiful reality of life, death and birth, of our mortality and transience, and of what is truly important in life - the love and the moments we have on this earth. Even if I cannot feel it now, I know there is a gift in this life moment.

I am back home now. I am on bed rest and awaiting an appointment with the consultant to see if they feel it is necessary to induce an early delivery, as there are some complications with my kidneys. I am also disabled by chronic Symphasis Pubis Dysfunction, which causes constant physical pain and means I am very dependent on the help of those close. I am reminded daily of the importance of good friends and loving family. I watch as those I love try to pick up and paste together the pieces of their hearts and make sense of life. We all grieve for Sue, for the loss and try to recover from the shock of the randomness. The only word to describe the feeling is SAD, which seems too small but is the right word ( I have noticed recently that so many of our biggest emotional experiences come packaged in the smallest words). Not sad as in how you feel when you don't get your own way, but a heartfelt, deep sadness that seems endless. Within this, every moment brings with it a different emotion to ride.

Grief and birth strip away the many illusions of life, and I am left looking at my life with new and often painful eyes, but as I sit in the late Autumn sunshine, feeling the baby kick, I know that there is a certain peacefulness that comes with grief, when the monkey mind stops and we are placed in the moment of our sadness, and in this moment, though the heart is broken, it is also opened to a deeper, wider, stronger love.

I wish I still had my sister on this earth with me. But I don't and the world is less for that loss. But if I had never known her, I would not mourn her leaving now, and so I know in the heart of it, the gift is the joy of love, and that is really the only thing we need to remember in life.

My baby will come when he or she is ready and when they do, I am ready to receive them in love, and to share with them the love Sue had within her.

My sister was a beautiful woman and I will always love her.

Love’s Wild Angels

These angels are not for staying.
They will never gather dust
Or watch their hair grow thin
In spider-webs of grey and gold.

One day, long before we see
The shadow approaching,
They will know, begin
To scribble long into
The ink-well night,
Leave us messages
On static-crackle
Answer-phones,
Spend hours
Watching

Aware, at last, of a sudden memory –
A place they were meant to be leaving.

Let them go.
They were never meant for staying
And the weight of earth-clod love
Binds them back to the soil below.
So, hush your heart and listen:

That sound you hear between the sounds
Is the whisper of one departing.
Let them go.

Copyright. Victoria Bennett

The Road to Whitehaven

Click to Play

Adam and I go over the top of the Wrynose and Hardknot passes that lead to Whitehaven - quite an adventure! The last invasion of the British Mainland occurred in Whitehaven in 1778 when John Paul Jones, father of the American Navy, invaded the port

http://www.rediscoverwhitehaven.com/interesting-facts.htm

As we travelled over, I told Adam about my grandfather. I don't know much about my extended family, as my Dad doesn't talk about them - but I do know that he used to work in the Lowther mines near where they lived in Frizington. When the mines were closed down, the family had no money to eat and no work so, being a bit canny, my grandfather used to walk up the Pass and stand in all weathers to open the gates for the landed gentry as they passed by, earning a tip as they went. Not much and in the end, not enough to support a family on. Eventually, the family relocated to Tilbury Docks, where he took up work.

Hence why I was born a southerner. But in the end, we started drifting back. First a couple of my sisters, then my parents, then myself and Adam. 6 (nearly 7!) of my father's grandchildren have been born in Cumbria too, despite his working all his life to 'escape it' (it held little but memories of extreme poverty for him, something he wished to spare us!)...

funny thing is - when I came up here in 1997, I remember thinking very clearly "oh, here is where I am from - people look like me" - and I had never had that before, having spent a life travelling around.

So - in a way, this is the road home!

Lumiere - The Field (re post)

Click to Play

I just reposted this because it got stuck in some servers craw and wouldn't work.

ho hum - start again.

I made this in late summer and have only just found the time to post it up, I have really enjoyed other peoples videos using these rules and obstructions.

 

Lumiere Rules

• 60 seconds max.
• Fixed camera
• No audio
• No zoom
• No edit
• No effects
• Read manifesto »

 

 

Forensic

Click to Play

This is a little experiment I did yesterday. Not feeling much like going out in the cold weather, I decided to see what I could create using text from a recent poem, found vlog clips from the commonpeople trashcan and an hour or so exploring garageband. I have long been fascinated by the relationship between poetry and film, and I am quite pleased with this initial creation. Plus, usually I have Adam on hand for technical guidance but this time, I tried it out solo. Which seeing as my techie-ness goes about as far as a pen and paper, was a challenge in having the confidence in simply letting myself explore, make and play. Hope you enjoy the result.

The poem is part of a larger body of work, exploring the idea of erotic imprints - how our sensual memory is 'written in the skin'', and how a lover becomes part of our own body ... here is the poem text in its original form for you to read, if you want to.

Forensic

Some mornings, I wake with the taste of you
knitted into my skin, echoing through cells
until I am clawing at this body, tearing
to reach you, my eyes flashing silver
panning the reflection for yours.

Everything spells out your name.
Like the wind, my fingers seek you,
each tip alight, electrified, following
the earth of your body, the slow, hot
softness of your kiss, the dig of nails
as they paint blood effigies in the dark.

Before seizure they say you can smell
something different in the air: nutmeg,
aniseed, amber, thyme
and something bittersweet –
cardamon and heat, blood;
my own need.

In the dark I have dreamt you
and here, in the dawn light
my body convulses with sleep-drawn desire.

c. Victoria Bennett

In the quiet breath

It has been a while since my last blog on Blissfool. Time has been doing strange things of late, partly because of my altered state. I haven't wanted to write here for a while - feeling increasingly introverted, but today I thought I would return and put down a few words.

After the last few years of journeying through grief and the painful dissolution that comes with all 'enlightenment', I finally reached a place of peace within myself, in which I began to come to accept the possibility of not being a mother in my lifetime. Unexpectedly, I found myself able to understand the loss of my baby in a different way. Nothing could take away the love, but I realised that I no longer felt like the victim anymore, no longer viewed it as what had been taken from me, but sensed it in terms of what I have received through the experience. Through the loss, I have come to understand myself on a much deeper level, and come to understand love and the nature of life in a more connected way. I also realised I had something I could give in turn to others, through words and through understanding. With this new acceptance came new peace. It didn't mean I wanted a child any less, or that the loss was less, I just knew in my heart, I had finally healed from the grief. It took 4 years.

The next month, I had a strange metallic taste in my mouth, and I let myself think that perhaps, just perhaps...but my period started on time, so life went on.

A while later, I had a dream in which a small girl appeared and said, quite matter of factly, "Hello, I'm Beatrice".

That week, when I was in Boots with my husband, I pondered over tampons, as we were about to start swimming. He asked me quizzically "Why do you need those?" and I replied "Because I am not sure if my period might start"...normally, I am regular so Adam looked at me and then said, pointing at the pregnancy tests, "well, do you think maybe we ought to be getting one of those instead?" I didn't really think it was necessary, but I did and I did a test.

It came up positive.
So I did another test. Which also came up positive.
So I did another test. Which also came up positive.
So I went to the Doctor. Who confirmed it.

At first, I could not believe this. Each day I woke up, went to the toilet and checked I was not bleeding. And I mean, every single day. At 6 weeks, I did this and discovered blood. My friends, Ruth and Gill, were here with me that day - we were celebrating the start of summer and enjoying the ripeness of it all. Happily, I went to the toilet and my world started to dissolve. I howled from a place deep within, my heart wrenching at the thought of losing this tiny life. For the first time since finding out, I let myself acknowledge how much I wanted this baby to hold on.

We went to the hospital for the scan. Holding my husband's hand, we watched together as the radiographer pressed the ultrasound scanner onto my belly. I don't think we were breathing. And there it was...a tiny heartbeat, so fragile but still beating. It was all so reminiscent of the last time and we left the room both reassured and tentative. They booked us in for another appointment.

Time passed and we shared our nervous joy each day, not daring to think beyond that. At 12 weeks, we went to the hospital for our scan and there, infront of us, was our tiny little baby, wriggling around - arms, legs, head and a strong little heartbeat. We both let out that breath and walked around the rest of the day, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.

Together, we have shared that joy with a few of our close friends. Together we have watched in awe as my body changes. Together we have felt the first kicks and wiggles. Every day I am amazed at this miracle, and scared too by the love that I feel, how besotted I am with this little spirit within me. Who has changed my life, even without 'meeting'.

Some days, I find myself crying when I think of our last little baby who didn't grow - we both acknowledge that loss, which is important, alongside celebrating this amazing gift.

At 20 weeks, we had another scan and again, we held our breath. I think really it will be like this every day. Gradually, I am starting to allow myself to imagine the future, though it is still with resistance. I am though, able to enjoy the days we are sharing now, and I am surprised daily by the peaceful love that I feel.

I don't know if this being is a girl, or a boy, or if the dream was connected, or simply a premonitory instinct...We are almost two thirds through the pregnancy now. I know that things can still go wrong. Life is life and love is love and we cannot be part of either without risking also the pain of loss, because all life is transient, and none more so than the fragile life of life emerging. I am glad that I am able to take each day as it comes, to be here, in the present moment, held in this union.

I am blissfoolly in love...

Brittany, September 2007

Poem 24.5.07

Life is created in the moments
between time,

in the quiet breath of sleep

and dark, in the rhythmic rise

and fall of the heart.

I hide it
beneath my swelling breast
and sing, sing, sing...

c.Victoria Bennett (In the Quiet Breath)

When will they ever learn...

I followed this link from Gill Hand's blog, because I couldn't quite believe what I was reading. Alas, it is true...the Rt Rev Graham Dow, Bishop of Carlisle - our local bigot - oops, sorry, I mean bishop - has declared that the floods are not just a result of a lack of respect for the planet, but also a judgment on society's moral decadence...(he continues)

"This is a strong and definite judgment because the world has been arrogant in going its own way...We are reaping the consequences of our moral degradation, as well as the environmental damage that we have caused...We are in serious moral trouble because every type of lifestyle is now regarded as legitimate...In the Bible, institutional power is referred to as 'the beast', which sets itself up to control people and their morals. Our government has been playing the role of God in saying that people are free to act as they want...The sexual orientation regulations [which give greater rights to gays] are part of a general scene of permissiveness. We are in a situation where we are liable for God's judgment, which is intended to call us to repentance."

Having had the pleasure of getting to know many wonderful people from the Franciscan religious communities over the last year, and having had the chance to talk deeply about the nature of God and the Spirit, I am appalled by such judgment from a man who declares himself a religious leader. It reinforces my dislike of Religion per se - but this kind of attitude has no place spoken for God. If there is any truth in the words of the scriptures, it is Love - that god is Love, that we are equal and connected. The notion of a condemning God can only increase the risks of fundamentalism. And we wonder why we live in a time of 'terror'.

So - Bishop of Carlisle - I may not be a Christian. I may not be baptised or go to Church. I may believe in freedom of choice and in self-responsibility and in Love. I may support the flourishing of multi-dimensional relationships and sexualities, so long as they are loving and consensual, but I can tell you this: your judgment has nothing to do with God or God's Love. I suggest you go back and read your Scriptures. And whilst you are at it, maybe read some information on climate change and a little bit of historical data on the wealth of the Church. Our willingness to blame 'another' detracts us from acknowledging our own responsibility for the care and welfare of our environment and for the promotion of social justice and the fair distribution of wealth. Acceptance and tolerance and open-mindedness and love do not cause floods...

And if you want to read more on this, you can go to the article in The Daily Telegraph on http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2007/07/01/nflood201.xml&CMP=ILC-mostviewedbox

Wild Women, Wild Birth...pass the howl on!

Wild Women

Creative Pregnancy Courses


Creative Pregnancy Course for Women
A course of 10 Saturday workshops, plus 1 weekend
July –Dec 2007

Make space in your life to celebrate your pregnancy and connect with other women sharing this amazing journey!

Pregnancy is an intensely creative and intuitive time. Through gentle guidance and supportive inspiration, this is an opportunity for women who are pregnant to explore and celebrate their natural creativity, as well as learn more about natural pregnancy and prepare for birth. Held in the South Lakes, this is a Women-only course, lead by Victoria Bennett (poet, creative guide and founder of Wild Women), Helen Bebbington, (holistic therapist and birth Doula) and guest wild guides. Course includes:

Connecting to the Wild Creator – using various creative approaches (journaling, artmaking, movement, dream-work) you will be guided and encouraged to connect your wild woman in pregnancy;

Holistic Pregnancy & Birth Support – learn more about holistic therapies and their uses (Aromatherapy, Massage, Homeopathy, Natural Remedies) as well as discovering more about Doula childbirth support and other non-invasive approaches;

Times/Dates: 10 – 3pm on Saturdays: Jul 14th, 28th; Sept 8th, 22nd; Oct 6th, 20th; Nov 3rd, 17th; Dec 1st, 15th 2007 plus 1 Weekend: Sat/Sun August 18th/19th 2007.

Price: £360 Full Rate; £240 conc.
(we may have places available at further reductions for those unable to meet this cost due to personal circumstances – please discuss)




Natural Pregnancy Course

A course for women and their birth partners
A 2 part course, 5 evenings each, Summer & Autumn 2007

Through gentle guidance and supportive tuition, this is an opportunity for pregnant women and their pregnancy support partners to creatively explore and learn more about natural pregnancy and birth. Held in South Lakes, this course is open to women and men and will be lead by Victoria Bennett (poet, creative guide and founder of Wild Women), Helen Bebbington, (holistic therapist and birth Doula) and guest guides. Complete course includes 2 x 5 workshops – can be booked separately:

Creative Connection – using various creative approaches you will be guided and encouraged to connect with your shared pregnancy journey;

Holistic Pregnancy & Birth Support – learn more about holistic therapies and their uses in pregnancy (Aromatherapy, Massage, Homeopathy, Natural Remedies) as well how to prepare for a natural birth using non-invasive approaches;

Times/Dates:
Weds 7 – 9pm

Part 1: suitable for those in early/mid pregnancy
(July 11th, 18th, 25th; Aug 1st, Aug 8th 2007)
Part 2: suitable for those in the last trimester of pregnancy
(Nov 14th, 21st, 28th; Dec 5th, 12th)

Price: £100/£75/£50 per course for woman and partner includes Basic Remedies Kit
Total Cost for Part 1 & 2: £200/£150/£100

Enquiries for all courses contact: vik@wildwomenpress.com

Acquire the courage...

And then the day came, when the risk to remain tight in a bud
was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

Anais Nin, Danish diarist

I am reminded today of this truth. That there comes a time, I believe, in every person's life, where the risk of staying safely wrapped in that bud is much more than the risk of letting go of the control and discovering the truth of who you really are. When I was a small child, I remember seeing a sadness that surrounded most adults - a kind of suffocation that settled on their spirit, behind their eyes, that said "This is life, this is all I can expect". Even then, I knew this was not the way I wanted to walk my life.

A child asks "Why can't I?" to most obstacles he or she meets. And slowly, we are taught, all to often, the answer "Because..." But the real truth is that there are no limitations to the depth of one's true spirit and this journey always leads to expansion, not restriction.

Sometimes, life can hurt. I know this. My last real hurt came when I lost my child in 2003, and my relationship hit the hellish lows. At the time, I could only see what I had lost, what had been 'taken from me' in my life. And for the second real time in my life, I doubted the truth of the above quote, of the Fool's Path. When life hurt this much, why open your shirt to the sword? It took a long path of night, good friends, Love, courage and the willingness to listen to the spirit beyond what we see, for me to get to the place where I woke up and found myself feeling in the pain the abundance of what had been given to me.

If someone had told me when I sat with my heart breaking that this was a gift, I probably would've given them a bloody nose, yet something inside me, even then, knew that I could not, would not give up, that I would keep walking the path.

Yesterday, sat atop of Garsdale Head with Adam and Simon, eating banana and yoghurt, the only sound the birds crying around the hills, we fell into laughter so deep and silly it made me weep. A simple, beautiful thing. And something I thought I would never feel again.

I would rather live a thousand times of tears to feel the true bubble of joy that comes with love, that comes with being within my own skin, in my own life, walking my true path, than live always safe, neither hurt nor happy.

My mother always said "save me from a grey life" - for years I thought that meant it had to be dramatic. It doesn't. It can be as soft and small as sharing stupid laughter in the silence of a Sunday picnic. And that moment can burst into life in a myriad of colours, because at its heart is love, and truth and freedom.

"Acquire the courage to believe in yourself.
Many of the things that you have been taught were at one time the radical ideas of individuals who had the courage to believe what their own hearts and minds
told them was true, rather than accept the common beliefs of their day."

Ching Ning Chu

there are signs...

Is this a sign of the strange things to come?

Welcome to the real 'wall of weird'...next will be the bird-headed man, as predicted by Gill Hands...

Story courtesy of:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/somerset/3534361.stm

We can't stop here. This is Wild Women country.

Inspired by the wonderful Dark Blonde (aka Gill Hands) I thought I would waste some of my own rainy day time on playing with the quote gadget she found...here are a few of my favourite Wild Women lines...

They're here already! You're Wild Women! You're Wild Women!

Which movie was this quote from?

Get your own quotes:

Of all the Wild Women joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.

Which movie was this quote from?

Get your own quotes:

With great power comes great Wild Women.

Which movie was this quote from?

Get your own quotes:

Go on - have a go yourself - you know you want to...

and here are a few more of my favourite ones...some sound spookily true...

ahh, blissfool day of rainy day play...

Love means never having to say you're Wild Women.
Here's looking at Wild Women, kid.
I've got a feeling we're not in Wild Women anymore.
It is too late, my Wild Women is in your veins.
The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world Wild Women didn't exist.
All work and no Wild Women makes Jack a dull boy.
When there's no more room in hell, the Wild Women will walk the earth.
They may take away our Wild Women, but they'll never take our freedom!
We are indeed drifting into the arena of the Wild Women.
Get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty Wild Women.
You've got Wild Women on you.
Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the Wild Women Room!

Beautiful people, they go the same direction as you do...

Byron's first outing on the tube...capturing the art in action! (Melanie & John)

All that talk about London reminded me that back in April, Gill and I had a wonderful jaunt to the city to share our poetry at Loose Muse, a monthly women's writing event hosted by the fabulous Agnes Meadows. The evening was really interesting, and the audience attentive and interested, and the hostess full of energy and warmth. Only women read, but men are welcome in the audience - go along if you get the chance. It is held at the Poetry Cafe, 22 Betterton St, London - details usually found on their site.

Gill, perfecting the 'poetic gaze' at the nearby pub as we take in our liquid refreshments...

Poetic gorgeousness in the form of Inua Ellams and John Challis...
who came along to support our London debut!

Anyway - like I said, we were invited down to read our poetry and talk a bit about Wild Women Press. What was fascinating was that in our audience, there were 5 women who had originally lived in Cumbria, but who had moved to London for work or because, at the time, they had felt there was no support for women writers up here - a situation they were glad to see had changed with the spirit of Wild Women Press!

We also got a chance to catch up with some fellow wild friends and enjoy the good old poetic connection - what better life is there than that of the BlissFool? The money may be little but the love is immense!

John shows us how he has sold his soul to the Devil at the Crossroads...
naughty boy, his soul was ours!

In an english country garden...

Rural Art?

I recently discovered that there are still people from that there city of London who think of us poor rural folk as being a bit backward, a bit slow on the old uptake an' all...so I thought it be fitting to say something on this here tinternet about how I feels about their comments.

The other day, I unwittingly subjected myself to 2 hours of pomposity of the highest degree, in the form of Nightwaves, the Radio 3 "arts and ideas" programme. The live debate was around the question:

Is the countryside more English than the city? Where is the heart of English culture?

I suppose I should have known by the question what to expect. That, and the fact that the only actual 'rural' person on the panel also happened to be the only person from Cumbria, and the only woman. And the other 4 panelists had made long careers from the male-dominated arena of reviewing, editing and criticism (though some were now authors), whereas the one woman, rural Cumbrian was a practising artist. I also noticed that, throughout the discussion, every time Matthew Sweet (the presenter) turned a question to Sarah Hall, he jabbed his finger accusingly at her - a physical gesture that was absent when he addressed any other of the panel members. Now, why was this? Of course, being radio, listeners will not see this - but I found it fascinating and a little bit alarming.

However, in I went, bravely going where no wild woman should stray. And luckily, in the company of fellow wild woman, Gill Hands (who has also written on this in her blog, should you wish to read more!).

What followed was a very confusing debate about Art, art, Culture and culture...with little clarity given to exactly what was being spoken of. But I won't spoil the debate for you here - you can listen in on Thursday night, Radio 3, around 9.45 pm I think.

Now, I am a reasonably erudite woman, but I found myself thinking, in broad Cumbrian, "eh?"
listening to a lot of what was said, which amounted to not very much, in my opinion. What really got my goat, (or should I say sheep, being Cumbrian?) was the comment made by a certain Tim Lott, who obviously has a phobic distrust of anything not London. Namely, that there has been no real or significant art to come out of the countryside in the last 100 years, and his reasoning for this was that the artists are simply 'not good enough', that they lack the 'competition and conflict' of urban artists that is, in his opinion, necessary to create "Good Art", and that, at best, all rural artists are happy amateurs, knitting doilies for toilet rolls.

The panel, it appeared, collectively hinted towards a feeling that whilst rural art contained some talented 'folk art' and 'craft-makers', the "real art' of social significance came only from the city.

...because obviously we in the countryside are too narrow-minded and inward-looking to ever consider the wider social, political, cultural, sexual or economic implications of our existence, or our art, not to mention ever fall in love, break hearts, get ill, experience grief, feel isolated or be prey to any of the other many shared connecting experiences of being human. We can, at best, knit well and write about nature.

Only urban artists can make ART.

At which point, I really wanted to shout "WHAT A LOAD OF BOLLOCKS!" and leave.

But I manged not to do this. I did however, wonder what we were debating, since it seemed to be straying away from the original question.

Thing is, I know of a lot of rural based artists of all disciplines, who are challenging, intelligent, controversial, political, fresh....and I know of a lot of urban artists who are hackneyed, over-influenced, over-intellectualised and exhausted. And of course, I can happily acknowledge the opposite too, before anyone accuses me of being 'anti-urban'.

Surely, together, our collective experiences make up the 'art' and 'culture' of this country and English-ness is about diversity and connection, instead of division and prejudice?

There are some things though that maybe, just maybe, play a part in the reason rural artists are not so widely known (to Mr Lott). Perhaps it is because:

a) the urban (london) centric media thinks, rather like Mr Lott, and as Gill said at the time, that if it doesn't happen in London, it doesn't happen;

b) whilst people in rural areas are more likely to go to London and other urban areas to experience art, how many urban based artists come to rural Cumbria, or other rural areas, to do the same? A person in Cumbria is likely to travel up to 150 miles on average to take part in art, whereas when I lived in London (yes, I did, for a short while!), I often found that people would rather sit in and watch telly than go the extra tube stop to see and exhibition/listen to poetry etc - which in effect means that we experience a wider diversity of art and culture than the average city dweller;

c) rural based artists are getting on with getting on with the art, instead of talking about it...

d) many rural born and raised artists move to the city believing the claptrap that the only way they are going to 'make it' is by living in an urban sprawl - thus, they get labelled 'urban artists'...if there was more support from funding and media for rural based artists and art networks, they wouldn't feel this need...

Of course, with the increase of citizen journalism, none of this will matter in 10 eyars...viva la revolution! And for the record, this is my potted Cumbria history...

My father's family were many generation Cumberlanders but moved to London during the Depression to find work. At this time, with the mines shut down, their area of rural Cumbria starved, literally. I grew up in rural Oxfordshire, but also lived in my adult years in various cities, including London. I chose to move to Cumbria in 1997 because I felt that there would be greater freedom to create up here. I was right.

Anyway, we are now busy collating a list of rural artists to have come about in the last 100 years, just for Mr Lott...more soon on this.

Right, best get back to my crocheting now...

We can be heroes, just for one day...

Recently, Gill Hands and Ruth Snowden nominated me for an Art 07 Award. The awards aim to recognise the contribution an individual, project or organisation has made to the arts in the NW region, and fall into 4 categories. My lovely wild sisters put my name forward for nomination in the "Unsung Heroes" category, in recognition of those who have worked behind the scene to make something possible. They put me forward for the work I have done with Wild Women and Wild Women Press. On Friday 8th, I found out that I had been selected as one of the 4 finalists for this award.

I was really thrilled to find myself chosen, especially as I am the only Cumbrian based finalist out of 14 in total. It feels somehow fitting to be in this category, as the journey of Wild Women has felt more of a quest that an art project, with its shared journeys of discovery, bizarre twists and turns, fellow adventurers and magical talismans. Of course, it ought to be Unsung Heroine, but there you go.

When I decided to set up Wild Women in 1999, I did so based on an intuitive hunch, a thread of a scent that told me this was what I needed to do. For the few years before, I had suffered with depression and anxiety, so the setting up of a group was a challenge, but as soon as I made the decision, people came along to support me, and pretty soon, I was standing infront of 12 other women, encouraging them to release their wild woman! And 10 weeks later, when I read the poems written by these wonderful courageous women, I said to Adam "We need to publish these" and so, with his help, we set up Wild Women Press, even though neither of us had ever published anything before.

That was 8 years ago, and it has been a wild and wacky journey, and a great success too. The point is...it began, literally, with a dream, and a willingness to follow that dream. Through it, I have met so many amazing women, and men, and have had the honour of sharing the journey with many of those original Wild Women. However hard things have got, and they have been hard (as life can be when you live it without artifice!), the Wild Women, and I include myself in this, have kept creating, kept loving, kept courageous and often, kept laughing. As much as I have given inspiration, I have received it.

So, I just want to say thanks to all the wild women, and men, along the way, for being brave enough to follow their bliss - and a big thanks especially to Gill and Ruth, for putting my name forward for this award. A big Wild Woman howl for you!

http://www.wildwomenpress.com

And if you want to see the announcements, you can go to:

http://commonpeople.blip.tv

Art Strike 07!

On June 8th, I took part in the Art Strike at the Art 07 Day in Kendal, Cumbria. I was there with fellow poet, Gill Hands, taking part in Art Strike - where I got to wave banners and encourage people to deface naff art in the name of action. Actually, it had a serious message - namely that artists receive no support for their work, and do a great deal of work for no pay. I have often wondered this - especially when reading governmental brochures about how fantastic this country is artistically - what exactly would happen if all the artists in the UK stopped doing all the stuff they do for no payment? There would be a hell of a lot less grassroots activity, for one. Which would mean a lot less variety and a lot less community access to creative participation. And huge sections of our society under-represented, stripped of a voice...Of course, we wouldn't stop creating, because in the end, as an artist you get faced with a choice: to create or not to create. I for one, always choose creation, because I am an activist. So, big publishing houses do not represent poetry or women's real voices enough...my response is to rally around other wild women and set up our own press. I look at my community and I think: there needs to be a space where women can feel free to create and feel supported in that...so I set one up. That is the way I am, I guess. That is also why last year I worked for an average pay of £1.73 per hour, instead of the minimum wage of £5.52, and why my bank manager does not like me.

I believe in being the change I want to see in the world, as Ghandi once said. But that doesn't mean that I don't feel that this society is poor in its recognition and support of the contribution that art and artists make to our culture, and it doesn't mean that I don't believe that there should be adequate social security support, accessible funding, pension schemes, low cost insurance etc etc etc.

The french are very good at revolution. When the government tried to cut the social security support it offers to working artists (yes, you can sign on there in between paid jobs without having to declare yourself unemployed, and without having to go and clean toilets), all the artists got together and actually went on strike. They closed down the National Opera. They closed down Avignon Festival. They cost the government millions in tourist revenue. They got their complaint listened to and answered.

Whereas on Friday, I was surprised to find that people actually shouted at us "well, who do you expect to pay for it?" and "why should everyone pay for poetry when it is only for the chattering classes?" and so on and so forth...

urm...well, for starters, what about the billions the government spends on war? Trident? Government official expenses? The Olympics?

After all...without art and creativity, the world would be a very, very strange place indeed. Without war, well...I think I could do without mass killing, don't you?

Anyway...that was what I did in the daytime...you can see some of the strike art videos if you follow this link, including the ones The Common People (myself, adam) made...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vxy3vwsVrIE

For now... here something to consider next time someone says

"But you do it for the love of it…"

Man kicking ball about on a field:
average annual UK salary
£676,000.

Author writing to enrich our world:
average annual UK salary
£4,000

Poet writing poems that save lives:
average annual UK salary
£… too small to be listed.

Support the strike!
Vik Bennett 07

One Simple Act of Love

Sal and I cheer on the other women at the finish line, having completed the race...

(Picture from left to right: me, Helen & Jane from Humanum.org.uk Free Homeopathic Cancer Care Clinic, Sal - we did the race!)

Today my sister Sal and I ran the Race for Life. Well, my sister ran and did it in 35 minutes. As for me, I came in 10 minutes later, complete with gloves, pink brolly and 1950's rockerbilly skirt. Well, you have to make the effort, darlink! I have done this race before, and I am always struck by how moving it is. As I went around, I passed women who were running in memory of their children, parents, siblings, friends, partners and everyone who ran had a smile to share. And a few tears. I couldn't help but think how amazing women are - the way they come together and take action to make change happen for the better. How powerful that is, and how uplifting. Just think, if every woman turned out on the street to race against the war and conflict and greed and tyranny and abuse happening in the world today - each single person, united, could change the world for better. Right now.

We didn't have to run far. We didn't have to race fast. The person coming in first and the person coming in last were equal. Some raised 1000's of pounds for Cancer Research, some raised £10. Women of 80+ and children as young as 6 months took part. Oh, and a dog that seemed to know where the finishing line was and promptly collapsed and wouldn't be moved!

So - how about it? Race to heal the earth. Today is International World Peace Day. The sun is shining. And I know for certain each one of us has the power to change this world to love. It is worth more than a passing thought.

Thanks to all those who sponsored us - we have raised £230. Our target was £300. But we are pleased with our contribution. Today, 1050 women raised awareness of the need for adequate cancer care, and we also raised £120,000. So, all of you who sponsored us helped make that possible. And if anyone wants to sponsor us online now, and help us reach our target - we just need another £70 - just go to:

http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/wildwomenpress

Thank you xx

Converging Streams

Recently, I have been engaging in an on-line creative dialogue with a film artist, Jenny McCabe. I first met Jenny when working as a poet in residence at Beaumont College, Lancaster. Whilst I am not working on that residency anymore, I have continued to enter into this 'visual conversation'. The premise is simple. We give each other a quote or question, relating to a creative thought, and we create short videoblogs in response. We called it Confluence, because it seemed to us that it was the merging of two creative processes. What is fascinating is that as a visual artist, Jenny is having to respond to a written statement, and as a word-artist, I am having to respond in a visual format. Anyway, I think it is interesting to see what is developing, and what it is revealing about two women artist and their divergent and convergent practices.

My favourite self-made videoblog was in response to the question: Sensationalist or sensualist? I loved making this film and I feel that it really does capture the spirit behind my creativity and my life view. I love to play. For me, that is the heart of creativity.

You can watch it if you want, and others, by going to:

http://confluence.blip.tv/file/180223/

I'm not afraid of storms, for I'm learning to sail my ship. (Louisa M Alcott)

"I am an artist and a political being as well. My aim has been to forge these two concerns into an integrity which affirms language, art, craft, form, beauty, tragedy, and audacity with the needs and vision of women, as part of an emerging new culture which could enrich us all".

(Robin Morgan, poet, activist, woman)

I have been enjoying some illustrious company of late. Thanks to the funding of the Women's Arts International Festival 2007, Cumbria has been paying host to artists and thinkers such as Germaine Greer, Jo Brand, Marianne Faithful, Stella Vine, newcomers Bat for Lashes and my all time favourite, Patti Smith, as well as many more famous and emerging women artists. I am glad this is happening. It cannot help but be inspirational to all the women, and men visiting the festival. Such energy is the instigator of change.

But ask yourself, why is it so unusual to see so many women artists in one place?

Five years ago, when I approached funders with the idea for a Wild Women Festival, I was met with stony disregard. At the time, I had a vision for an international celebration of women artists, in recognition of the amazing energy, passion, talent and inspiration women all over the world are giving to our communities. This was very much in line with the Wild Women ethos. So, 5 years on, I am glad to see it happening, and I am enjoying the experience without having to be the one who organised it!

I was very disappointed at first to have not been included in the month-long celebrations. I believe that Wild Women, as a DIY collective, has contributed much to our area through our art and through bringing women artists from around the world into our community. Over the last 8 years, I have worked creatively with over 1500 women, published 11 collections of new poetry, set up many creative projects, taken the work of Wild Women out into the world and brought over 40 women artists into rural Cumbria, to inspire and instigate change. In additon, the group has always been about celebrating and supporting all creative acts - whether that be the act of baking bread, singing songs, having sex, writing poems or building houses. Every act is creative. And we have done all this from my living room.

One of the reasons given for our absence was that the festival did not have a feminist or activist agenda. Which struck me as odd, given the line up!

At first, I was angry and then sad, but later, sitting in the audience of a panel discussion with Germaine Greer and Stella Vine, it occurred to me - why is 'feminism' a dirty word now? I am proud to be a woman artist, and the words are definitely in that order. I do not see that I can remove the political from my creative action. I choose to DIY my work because I choose to have freedom of voice away from the cultural patriachy. I believe in direct creative action to create positive change. I am happy to call myself a feminist - because I wonder how it is possible to be 'woman' and not feminist? I find increasingly that there is this desire to coat in saccharine, make palatable, the political edge of women artists. A kind of 'now, why do you need to keep going on about that for?' attitude. I agree that the days of anger are replaced by celebration - Wild Women has always been about celebrating our creative voices and spirits, rather than apologising.

Is it possible to remove the political from the very act of standing up and speaking out? And should we even try? I don't think so, myself. The most powerful act of revolution is to celebrate in the face of any oppression. But that is not to ignore the still present under-representation of women artists in the mainstream, or the inequality of pay, opportunities, social status etc etc etc. Nor to cover up the very present stereotypical media representation of 'woman artist' - words like 'mad' or 'selfish' come to mind, and I am being polite. One only has to look at the media willingness to brand me, during last years BBC2 documentary The Convent, as "lunatically free spirited", and "out sleeping with different men every week, whilst her poor husband is at home, heartbroken" (which, incidentally, is not true!), or "self-obsessed".

Anyway, I raised the point and was approached by the director of the Festival (a man) and told that the reason they have put in their own publicity that the festival is has 'no political agenda' was because they wanted to make it 'accessible' to everyone, and that some artists, and audience would not come if it was overtly referred to as 'feminist'. Which seems strange, not just to me, but to the many men and women who have supported the 'feminist agenda' of Wild Women Press over the years. Yes, that is right, men can be feminists too (i.e. the advocate the equality of women and men)

Hmmm. I wonder who it was then who did not want to be sullied by the 'f' word? Or who it was who was afraid of all those political women? I can't imagine Germaine Greer, or Patti Smith saying that, can you?

Which reminds me. Germaine asked

"What does it take for a woman to declare herself an artist?"

For me, it has been the willingness to be an outsider at times, to struggle with the notion that I can either be 'artist' or 'woman' - woman being the person able to have a relationship, family, home. It has taken the strength to assert my own voice and perception and creative vision into the world and to say "this is valuable and valued". It has taken embracing the women who have gone before me - the ancestors who sang the songs and wove the wools, and the women like Germaine Greer and Patti Smith, who stood up and said "hey, this is the way I see the world, and express it, and that is something you will listen to!" It has been about finding and building a creative community - something women do well I find. And finally, it is about celebrating my creativity, my power and my woman-ness. I do not want to be a 'man' artist. I am very happy to be a woman artist. It is something I have fought for the right to declare, and my sexuality and creativity cannot be divided, because they are expressions of each other. I wrestled for years with the label of 'mad' because I was creative, because I would not 'fit in' or conform. The turning point was when I woke up one morning and said "I am not mad woman, I am wild woman!"

So, here it is: I am wild woman. I am artist. I am feminist. And I am proud to be all these things, and much, much more.

Run for your life!

Like many women across the UK, I have decided to take part in the Race for Life in aid of Cancer Research into cancers affecting women. Over the last 10 years, myself and the other Wild Women have lost too many relatives, friends and creative colleagues to breast cancer and other cancers, as well as seen others struggle and win their battles. All these women have shown great courage and spirit and creative fire in their journeys and it is both an inspiration and a great loss for the world at large to witness such strength and beauty.

Because of this, my sister Sal and I have put our names down to run the race on May 20th in the Lakes. 5km may not seem much to others, but to me it is a LONG WAY!

So - if you can support us on our Wild Women Howl for Life pledge to this race, please do! Help us to help them make a difference, and raise awareness too of the gross unnecessary loss of life to cancers that are detectable, treatable and curable, if only the research, treatments and a more holistic way of healing were supported by the government and the hugely wealthy industries behind our 'health system'...

Thank you so much for your support - I will keep you updated!

Keeping the stillness...

The Un-Becoming

It is strange, the way the ground
disappears under your feet,
becomes open space, prairie land,
the grey swill of all unknowing.

Here, we are alone,
born again
into our true becoming,
all paths leading into one.

Here, it is terrifying, the way
the calling haunts the shadows.
O – there are a hundred ways to flee,
to take the spectral hand and leave.

Give in, give in – they whisper
and it seems easy just to leave
it all behind, your heart so tired
after all that trying, all this walking

and for what, for this? Turn back.

Yes, yes, the harpies hiss
and hesitating, you almost do
but wait – listen to what sings
within the shroud of mist;

this too will pass, and this and this
and all that is the un-becoming
will exist anew, and all that will remain
is the beautiful, becoming you.

(From Book of Days, a life's work in progress)

"Hers is the mystery of rooms..." (Murray Bodo, OFM)

The troubadour tells the story of the bliss and the letting go. It is the union of spirit and body, of divine and being. The troubadour wanders the world free of fetters, singing their song.

I am no singer, but my song can reach around the world. I slip-slide around because every time I think to myself: I have this journey to tell – I hear a harpie in my head saying: why would anyone be interested in you?

And of course, that could be true. Maybe that is why I tentatively embrace the blogsphere – because it claims the right to tell the daily story across the world? But what is the story told? What do I include, and what do I cut out? How truthful is truthful, and how much is protection.

My story is about me, yes, but also about the not-me. It is about the journey towards the magic. Ah, the beauty and frustration of reaching the gate of impasse!

(it is never too late to step through the gate)

So – the last few years have felt like a stripping away. And once everything gets stripped away, I am left clinging on to the habits I have accumulated – a strange and not to comfortable feeling of being empty of purpose, absent of personality – like shells on the beach, picked clean of inhabitants. Thus becomes the duel of automaton v. free-thought creativity – a kind of repetitive malfunction of idea and fall, idea and fall.

Yet, even though I recognise where I am, the idea of letting go of those habits is terrifying, because all around is a grey mist, swirling, thick as glue and wild as thunder – and most of the time, you don’t know if you are on solid ground or suspended in mid-air. If you let go, you might find there is only space to swallow you up. But let go I must, and I am scared to let go, and scared again not to.

I understand that this is where I am to meet myself walking – this space of dreams and freedom. At this time, I allow that small breath of belief to surface, the breath that speaks the name of all that supports and guides me. I open my arms to embrace the destiny that is my own. I chose the Fool’s Path and now I am being asked to jump into it, and to do that, I must believe in the magic, because that is what follows the jump – even (and this is the trick) even if I land flat on my face and get bruised. I feel like I could do with someone creeping up and saying BOO! when I least expect it, so I jump without thinking. A bit like the turn away and rip it off technique of removing an elastoplast!

Truth is, I am afraid. Last time I took that risk, I hurt so badly. The learning that I am about to jump into might hurt just as bad, might be just as difficult to live within, and that scares me.

Yet, somewhere inside, I hear this small voice whisper it might be beautiful…

and that is the point of the leap of faith – you don’t know.

If I want to follow my bliss, then right here and now, I need courage to jump, and discipline to change. If I aspire to create a world I wish to be part of, then I need to first create that world within my own life. I aspire to the Fool’s way: love, expression, magic, freedom. We each have the wonderful capacity to love, laugh, share joy, pleasure, expression, to experience such emotions as to astound us. That is beautiful. There is no restriction on that – not truly. I aspire to a world that is one of Love, peace, honesty, integrity, connection, awareness, beauty…I want to connect to myself and to others, to life, to the spirit. There is too much disconnectedness in this world. Too much fear and shame.

I want to be unashamed of who I am, and express my being fully in this world. Yet, that brings me back to the first question about honesty. There have been times when, to protect or care for others, I have mediated my sexual expression and along the way, it has got twisted up, caused a split and is where I feel most confused.

How do I experience and express love, sensuality, sexuality in the world?

I have always believed there to be an intrinsic union between the

SPIRITUAL SEXUAL CREATIVE

and that this is the experience of the ecstatic spirit, and the union of all 3 aspects sets us free into our natural divinity. A note here though – the sexual ecstatic does not, I have come to understand, necessarily mean sexual activity, but can be a completeness of expression of sexuality, but an empowered choice of celibacy (odd, I know…still working on that one!)

For me, I understand this trinity as being the key to divinity, this balanced union, this integrated whole. Ah – to have the courage and discipline to lead a balanced life! It is not that we have to be perfect, just that to play an instrument to its full beauty, it must be in tune, that is all. First, I had too much in the sexual ecstatic – discovering this release and magic first. Then, I had too much in the spiritual ecstatic, and I became disconnected from my sexual power centre, my wild woman. Now, I am discovering the path to harmony.

March 2007

I am still looking
for that certain place
where all becomes
the ecstatic kiss,
the lift of the divine
that carries us to bliss.
Still waiting, yes,
beside the river fall,
whispering
yes, yes, yes…

(from Book of Days, a life-work in progress, V Bennett)

"Those, too, who love, gather for you: they are the poets of a transient hour" (Rilke)

My life is changing again, and though it feels unsettling, I know it is just another unfolding into who I am...but today it is a beautiful day today. The sky is a perfect blue, the crocus heads have opened to the Spring sunshine, and I have a whole day to spend in quiet reflection. Which is good, because recently life has been full and there has been little time to simply be.

On Valentine's Day, I hosted the Wild Women Love Fest - bringing together poets, musicians, dancers and dreamers in a celebration of love. And what a celebration it was. There was wonderful music from local young artists Rob Heron, Paddy Rogan and Jack Hartley, as well as sensual bellydance from Kara Steele, and the fabulous poetry of longtime Wild Woman and friend, Gill Hands. It was a whole evening of 'making love' the creative way and it refreshed the senses and spirit.

One of the guests at the event was the poet Inua Ellams. We met 2 years ago when we both performed at Glastonbury Festival (yep, in the MUD!) and at that time, his sheer force of passion and beauty blew me away, and I promised to find a way of getting him up here to share his poetry with the people of Cumbria. On Valentine's Night that wish came true. As I listened to him perform, and felt his words move me, I got to thinking about the way our lives cross with others, of how we grow and learn and love more through the connections we make, and how poetry, at least for me, is such an expression of that journey. And I realised again, how important it is to be willing to take the leap into the Fool's Path.

So - what is it I am trying to say? What is it I am trying to hear myself?

Follow your heart and take the adventures with joy. Like Rumi said, Kiss the ground in your own way and seek belonging within yourself, for all else is transient. As we are in many ways.

"I would love to live like a river flows,
carried by the surprise of its own unfolding"
(John Donahue)

Wherever they lead you will unfold something new. But do not get too trapped in the superficial glitter, it is all smoke and mirrors. Remember, imagination is the key to develop your sense of who you are. Give time for your relationship with your inner world, the true who of who you are...Let your own light shine, and fear nothing. Enter the mystery - the mystery that lights your own soul-fire, that brings together lovers, that places the pen on the paper and spills the heart onto the page. Never be afraid to love, never be restricted in your heart or conceal your own infinite beauty. Sometimes we must take the longest journey to arrive at what has been nearest all along - your self:-)

Once you stand on the true ground of who you are, nothing can shake you. I think Nelson Mandela said it so well, in his often quoted speech:


"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. Actually, who are you are not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us... as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." (Nelson Mandela)

I believe our paths cross as part of this - the unfolding of our ancient identity.

No one should negotiate their dreams. Dreams must be free to flee and fly high...(Jesse Jackson)

The Way It Is

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

—William Stafford


I want to thank William Stafford for writing this. I love it when I find a poem that gathers together my stray thoughts and places them all on a neat page. The paradox of my nature - a lover of chaos and freedom, and a fond admirer of the contained. There you have it. The poetic paradox. I try to write of freedom, but I seek to contain it within the poem. Somewhere in the desire to control the shape, space, silence, word within the poem, I am finding ways of setting free the spirit contained. Hmmmm...now that has just taken me somewhere else.

Sorry.

My head has been fevered for a long time now, and I have spent a lot of the last 6 weeks in bed, asleep, dreaming, or awake with a migraine. Literally, my head has been on fire. It has felt as though there was simply too much happening in there. Or there had been too much pouring in, and not enough outlet. Just a maelstrom of words and thoughts, emotions, images, dreams, fears, intuitions whooshing around. That or a case of something knocking but can't get in...

I always figure these things happen because they need to. And now, as I start to stir into the year, and the headache begins to release its grip, I find I am still holding the thread, the same thread I have held through my whole life, despite my losses and griefs over recent years. Sometimes I didn't realise I was still holding it. But I was, and now I am opening up to new and unknown possibilities, following that intuition, that thread of love.

I'll keep you posted as to where it leads!

For now, I just wanted to say hello, to wish everyone is Blissfool 2007 and to share with you the poem. Never let go of the thread. Dare to dream.