It's all been said...

 ..before.

Nothing new.

Nothing to say.

Lots to do, but what?

What would make a difference?

Plant some trees, collect plastic from the polluted beaches, protest?

Arghh!

How about: be prepared to stop (HT to Stephen Jenkinson)? By hook or by crook, to stop doing what we're doing for fear of or the near certainty that we'll annihilate everything, everybody and all of nature in our pursuit of growth.

It's all so depressing, right?

I mean, here we are in the midst of a pandemic and if that doesn't make us realise and appreciate the fragility of the human race then nothing will. Nothing.

Does this mean I'm misanthropic?

It would be easy to think that but, as the old saw goes, it's us, the humans, who got us into this mess, and it's only us who can...[fill in the blank].

The truth is - always mine and mine alone - I've little faith that for all the good words and deeds we'll ever see the light and only at the time when things are bad, real bad, will we finally stop long enough to say: 

"Sh*t look what we've done". 

What then?

Well, we won't so much have the luxury of choosing to stop as to be brought swiftly to heel by the gods of misfortune who will make it clear just how little we did to avert the ensuing chaos.

Of course, within this piece, there's much to ponder not least when I'm going to seriously change my ways, not for the benefit of my oh-so-insignificant conscious but to show that I cared. 

I really cared.

Much love,
Julian 

All in

When we want to, we can achieve great things.

I mean life-changing things – for us and others.

Of course, we're not superhuman or robots and it's understandable why we're not always inclined or inspired to act this way. In fact, just as often we'd rather live a nice quiet life.

Don't ask me why – perhaps it's my continued rumination on death and dying – but at the moment I'm drawn to consider those people who have done great things in the arts or otherwise but have died young. I was going to say well before their time, but as someone bordering on the edge of fatalism, when our time's up, our time is up!

I'm not suggesting we lose ourselves under the staggering weight of expectation but I do think it worth allowing the thought to hang in the air when we achieved our greatest things and invite the question: "Why or how?"

Anyhow, back to the coalface.

Have a good one.

Blessings, Julian

When life passes you by

Right now, one day feels much like the one before. Hell, even the weekends have bled into the week, and it's a wonder I can remember what day it is.

And if this Covid19 thing has its continued way, I don't see this mesmerising routine letting up anytime soon.

But I digress.

Life.

'WOW' and 'Meh!' in equal measure.

And it goes by at such a pace that before you know where you are, you wonder where the hell it's gone. At the time – deep in the trenches – it all feels so real, so alive but in hindsight (at least for me) it hardly registers on the life and death scale.

I'll be honest, right now, there's a sense, a blessed one that I'm going through the motions. And that's not me; I'm very much of the school that likes to have a purpose or at least a settled meaning to my 'doing'. The only thing that's keeping me in the game is a sense of responsibility and not wanting to let anyone down. And that's fine – honest it is – but (and I've said this a zillion times) it's not forever. Not at all. And sure, I can have plans galore – the untravelled road and all that heady stuff – but I'd prefer to ride out the slightly sullen storm and wait to see what happens...day by day.

I've got an inkling that I'll still be peddling my legal wares, working with a more eclectic group of clients and helping those who most need my help, and alongside that, there's the creative thing. It's never left me but what shape it will take, I'm still not sure. I like all forms of art and to say that I want to do this or that seems so life-limiting.

Anyhow, perhaps the message is that life will pass you by, but not to worry too much because as long as we suck the marrow dry of this moment – not in a head-banging, frenetic way but in contemplation of the suchness of the moment – then in truth that's all we need to feel or be alive. Or at least that's how it's been for me some 53 years down the weather-beaten track.

Blessings friends.

Julian

Our truest self

"Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life." — Pablo Neruda

We thrash around trying to find out what makes us happy -- blissful even.

Occasionally, for a fleeting moment, we're alive inside, but it never lasts.

Of course, this is pure conjecture but how many of us have set out to find ourselves or rediscover something of our old self, only to find that we're chasing another chimaera?

I certainly have, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

What then?

Indeed, what then?

More of the same, anodyne routine? Or do we simply pull up the drawbridge on connecting with true self and accept our lot?

Again, that's a damn good question.

The truth is -- my truth -- I've no answers, lest still a gold-plated solution. Instead, perhaps it's time we got used to a degree of ennui or at least to the extent where we celebrated what we've got, rather than wishing for something immeasurably better.

Much to ponder.

Blessings Julian

Here again

But for how much longer...will I be doing my thing?

It remains an open question.

I'm lucky of course — blessed you could say. 

I mean, here I am with time enough to write the odd blog and with the benefit of a full-time job. What could be better?

Then again, much like that felt sense I've experienced all my life, I know that there's an unlived part of me waiting to find its place in the world. I don't just mean a better job ("Hell, no!"), or become an artist or anything in particular. No, I mean to say that there's a road less travelled that's waiting for me somewhere out in the future — assuming I make it of course.

Don't worry, it's not that I'm lost in the reverie of my new life or I constantly daydream but there remains this insatiable draw not to let the habit of today dictate what's to come. 

Does this mean I'm hopeful? That's not really my thing — i.e. trafficking in hope. There's only this day and if lived fully (as if we've got a choice) that's more than enough for me. What I am is someone who's not afraid of letting go, of free-floating in my anxious self and having no plan. Now (of course) when set against all the productivity gurus and the regnant order of the day that behoves we must have everything nailed down, my non-expectant plans look chortle worthy, but I don't care. Honest, Guv. I'm at that stage in life where I really don't care one iota what others think about my plans or the like. In any event, it will be what it will be and there's no one I need contact for permission. Does that sound selfish? A tad I suppose but in the end, do we make these plans or are they made for us? 

Anyhow, it's Monday. Time to take Alfie out for a walk. And then I'll get suited and booted for another day of Zoom/Teams madness until it's time to call time whereupon I'll indulge myself with a second walk before settling in for the night with a good book and whatever else tickles my increasingly titrated fancy.

Take care, and have a good one.

Much love,

Julian

A new beginning

"Why grief, fear, and despair? Certainly there are other emotions we call “negative.” Envy, guilt, shame, and anger, among others, account for a great deal of human suffering. But in my thirty years as a psychotherapist, I’ve come to believe that the inability to bear the core triad of grief, fear, and despair is the source of much of our individual and collective emotional ills." — Miriam Greenspan, Healing through the Dark Emotions 

I wish we could share more of our true self. 

Instead, we live in the shadows.

It's conjecture I know but perhaps there's a reason; namely, dealing with repressed grief. Not just the grief that enters stage left on the passing of a loved one but all those things in our life that we've never come to terms with; and I include in that the death of mother earth and the pandemic, which I know contorts so many souls.

What am I advocating for?

Space, openness and a way to show all of our humanness without being torn asunder.

I'll be honest, I'm not sure (in practice) how this might work but, right now, I'm starting to tentatively reach out to a few people to explore our literacy around grief, death and coming alive to true self. I've no formula, less still a programme to offer and am absolutely not selling anything. Instead, I'd like to invite a question that can't be annihilated on the anvil of our desire to cross the Rubicon between where we are and where we wish to be. This is something I've written and spoken about before and if you've the time you may want to watch the first few minutes of Stephen Jenkinson's talk below, which elucidates the point about question-making so beautifully. 

In the end, how we choose to embrace grief though is personal and to many sacrosanct, but if I could find a way of making the connection through conversation, listening and even a modern-day ceremony, then that's something that requires more than a passing few words here or elsewhere.

Much more work to be done.

Blessings, 

Julian

 

Growing old

 It's Friday. 

The end of another week.

And by my reckoning, given my date of birth, that's 2,776 weeks and 3 days since I was born.

Is that a lot?

It sure feels like it. 

In fact, only this week did I conjure up from the abyss of my reckoning the fact that I'm officially old.

Now we can debate the passing from middle age to old age but it's not the years that are important but, to me at least, a felt sense of belonging or should I say acceptance.

Yes, that's it: acceptance not resignation.

Did I think this time would come? Not really. As a wee kid, growing up in a small seaside town in Devon, England, all I ever wanted to do was escape. Get the hell out. I did. And I ran and ran until, well, I not so much found myself as I felt I'd put some hard yards between the old, underwhelmed me to someone slightly happier in their skin. But the trouble was I never quite escaped the need to do -- to always be on the road of 'doing'.

And (sadly) I worked so hard that my life disappeared by with hardly a mention. 

As I've written about ad nauseam, it was only when I suffered a little bleed on the brain that was I brought to my not very enlightened senses. For a while, I took my foot off the work pedal but it didn't take long before I was right back at it.

Why am I telling you this or any of it?

Because it's so easy to forget that in the middle of all that is us -- a fallible, sensitive human being. And if we're not careful we miss so much of our lives. That's not to say that we should ruminate ourselves into a solipsistic stupor but taking time out -- no, not to retreat -- to contemplate life and all that it offers is not only sensible but, I think, mandatory in these anthropocentric times. 

"Oh, please Summerhayes, not all of us can afford to lounge about doing sweet FA."

Perhaps you're right, but my overriding sense is that if we're not careful, even with all the planning in the world, our lives accelerate so fast that before we know it, it's over, and given what's at stake that would be a disappointment of the highest proportion. 

To be clear, I'm not exhorting any sort of change programme, JFDI daily routine or some molar-grinding presentation of be all you can be right up until the bitter end but I am asking or inviting a slightly different purview of growing into old age.

The truth is -- my truth -- I'm pleased to think of myself as old, if only because I'd like to think that with it comes a little more insight, a little more wisdom and patience for what lies ahead.

Have a wonderful day.

Take care,

Julian

Poem of the day

 Caged Bird

BY MAYA ANGELOU

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind   

and floats downstream   

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and   

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn

and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams   

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream   

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied   

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings   

with a fearful trill   

of things unknown   

but longed for still   

and his tune is heard   

on the distant hill   

for the caged bird   

sings of freedom.

Little pockets of sanity

Life is a marvellous thing -- no, really it is -- but right now, betwixt a global pandemic and likely mass unemployment, it's hard not to get lost in a desperate wellspring of misery.

"Why me?"

My shtick (if I were to market myself!) wouldn't be premised on offering yet more advice, answers or even a cool sense of vulnerability to what ails you (I long ago dropped the 'coach' badge), no, instead, I'd invite us to wonder. I don't mean to daydream, although that might be in the mix. No to think about and ruminate on the notion of limits, endings, grief, sorrow and love. Especially love.

Of course, this sense of "What if?" isn't going to (inter alia) pay the bills or necessarily pull you out your funk, but then again, don't you feel that what we've done previously -- if not personally then certainly collectively -- hasn't really allowed us to see a more beautiful world our hearts know is possible (see the book with the same title by Charles Eisenstein)? I don't mean to suggest that you're the author of your own misfortune but perhaps, just perhaps, more of the same isn't where we now need to turn our gaze.

What I'm hinting at though, more than ever (and hence the rubric to today's meagre post), is in those fleeting moments of wonderment, we might find ourselves more lucid, more upright and able not only to fully comprehend our situation but to see it through a new vista.

But then again, in that heady state of wonderment, we may not be hopeful of anything more than our eventual demise. (That's a given for all of us and always, for me at least, puts things in perspective.) 

Here again, that lonely feeling of despair might not be what the doctor ordered, but sit with it for long enough and perhaps out of the cesspit of your orphan self might come a new take on what it means to be human. And in my book when comfort is so often the only show in town, I'm not sure that's such a bad thing.

In the end though how you approach any situation is a matter for your discernment but going (again) for the tried and tested option might not be the best way to navigate these choppy waters.

Blessings,

Julian

Photo by Federico Bottos on Unsplash

Poem of the day

 A Month of Happiness

- Robert Bly

A blind horse stands among cherry trees.
And bones shine from cool earth.The heart leaps
Almost up to the sky! But laments
And filaments pull us back into the dark.
Night takes us. But
A paw
Comes out of the dark
To light the road. I'll be all right.
I follow my own fiery traces through the night.