A Recipe For Dreaming (from a two dollar book) .
“Take one dream. Dream it in detail. Put it into your own hands. See its final outcome clearly in your mind. Then mix it with a little effort and add a generous portion of self-discipline. Flavour it with a wholesome pinch of ambition. Stir briskly with confidence until the mixture becomes clear, the doubt separated from the resolution. Then bake at an even temperature in a moderate mind until the dream rises and is firm to the touch. Decorate with individuality. Cut into generous portions and serve with justifiable pride. Approached in this manner, life is a piece of cake. Good luck? Is what almost always comes to those who use the recipe for dreaming and, having dreamed their dream, never, never give up until they have it.” Bryce Courtenay.
Find in Clunk & Jam book.
(Reposted from 2008). You will Find Relief here.
Everyone Has Dark Times – A Personal Story…
In relation to the diagnosis of ‘depression’ and the feeling of being ‘depressed’ … I’m uncertain how much of what I’m experiencing are normal feelings and how much is due to a chemical imbalance in the brain? How much of how I’m feeling and experiencing is influenced by past trauma and bad experiences. Circumstance and environment? Belief and perception?While having a diagnosis of depression, anxiety disorder, PTSD and other conditions of mind can help make sense of things and provide a guide for treatment and medication (if necessary). Giving it significance beyond that can further darken our world. It can lead to the perception that, ‘something is wrong with us’. A perception by ourselves and others that we’re weak or flawed. And it can be the entry point into the isolation of social stigma and shame associated with ‘mental illness’.
(Art Harley Manifold, original in colour).
It has been helpful to separate myself from the diagnosis. To work out not, ‘what is wrong with me’, but ‘what’s not right’?
What remains are giant and often unmanageable feelings. A cocktail of emotion. Anger and rage in the mix with sadness, hopelessness and despair. Fear. Panic without a cause. Sensitivity or intolerance to light, noise, stress – people. The world around me. Places I can no longer go. Unrelenting critical head talk. Crippling self doubt. Dominant dark thoughts. Sometimes unbearably intense – other times, blunted. A feeling of nothing.
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If I was made of chocolate .
I wouldn’t be anyone’s box of chocolate, but my difference would be why I’d be chosen by those who feel it too. I imagine I’d be loosely wrapped in fine white paper soft that breathes and whispers the essence of my humble beginnings – melts in mouth. I’d have a centre soft to roll with ease around the palate, and linger long and thoughtful high above the swallow. My shelf life would be preserved for those in search of something true, and those who cherish the longing, the mystery and the joy of not being found. I think I’d rather not be credited as sweet or popular or nice, just simply filed in mind as unusual and very interesting to sample.
And to be a better chocolate? I’d add time to sift all that’s new and stir the bowls of dark and light. Adding a little at a time. And behold. I save the best for last. With a solitary quiet, “Dah, dah”, the moment when my chocolate self settles warm in its new-found form, and the mould just melts away.
Footnote: Image from CD cover of Grace Jones ‘Hurricane’ album. Reposted from 2012. Find in book, Clunk & Jam.
Held tight by a constant hesitation, for a time, Robin’s world remained unchanged – as did he.
Footnote: Robin seems to be a quietly brave lad, who may have undisclosed or hidden doubts and fears. Maybe he’s standing still and taking his own time to work things out? Maybe he’s not ready to go anywhere right now? Do anything?
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The Dancer and The Following Dark .
There is a ship on the horizon, carrying a container that confines a lonely soul, who can’t see where the ship is taking him, only feels where it has been.
There is a dancer, dancing in her own light. Her space glows with a warmth he doesn’t allow himself to feel. She invites him to come closer, to join her, but he feels undeserving of the light she offers – preferring the shelter of the following dark. For he believes his steely space keeps others safe, spares them the pain of who he is yet to become. But his reluctance to join her deals a much sharper blow.
Her efforts to spin him into her embrace, her offering to feel the soothing space where her fingertips touch the soft painted sky that holds her balanced in the shadows, falls into the dark space between them.
She wonders if he misunderstands her offering. For she doesn’t long for him to dance her dance. Her only want is that he allows her dance to hold him in a moment she believes he deserves. And that he’ll step from the following dark, carrying nothing more than a desire for moments – and the freedom to dance in his own light.
(Reposted from 2014. Art journal page by Harley Manifold . Find in ‘Clunk & Jam’ book.)
Robin Small was unbearably awkward in pubic and so began the battle of – what to do with hands .
Footnote: Not everyone sits comfortably in the world or in social situations. Which isn’t a weakness. Simply a difference. It’s brave to explore where you feel you ‘fit’ in in the world. To not deviate under the pressure to conform.
