Keys to unlock Self Love

It is wasteful and demeaning to ignore beauty or to pass beauty by on the other side of the road.
It is befitting and constructive to allow beauty to enter the six senses.

All living things are superlative in their own right. All sentient beings attentively and compassionately witnessed reveal their superlative core.

Yellow Buddleja just happens to be more superlative than itself!

 

It is nourishing and revealing to meditate attentively on those elements in my own heart and soul which beauty touches and resonates with.

Here are the secret – and not so secret – keys with which to unlock Self Love
~ Love is present EveryNow

*Meditation on Nourishment*

*Meditation on Nourishment*

It is the need of the warrior to be nourished to perform the rituals of survival.
Those who are in the glare of the warrior’s Sun, take courage, another form of nourishment.
The warrior beats the drum alone in a big green place, and nourishment flows back to the centre from the edges of the big green.
We are the living embodiment of the nourishment created by the Sun, our loving and beloved star.
Nourish the mind and the heart and the Soul will gladly shine. In gratitude, it will simply open mine eyes to the brilliance of the green, and the love that sparkles in the watching eyes

He understands. He is angry. He knows he is now the only one who knows.

In the eight years before the Greater London Council was abolished, I clerked for the Clerk of Works at the Major Technical Problems section of the GLC’s Housing Dept.
The modern building our children called the Chocolate Layer Cake overlooked a desolate area overgrown and rampant with butterflies feeding on budleja. It was totally surrounded by a high wooden wall much favoured fly-posters.
Now it perches at the junction of Parry Street and Wandsworth Road next to the major public transport hub, Vauxhall Cross. It’s still there, and it is still overlooked by much taller nearby buildings.
At lunchtime in high summer, an inquisitive soul might note the siting of the air-conditioning machinery shed on the roof provides an excellent modesty screen for said soul to eat his sandwich lunch while full length sunbathing naked.
Ken Livingstone mobilised a willing army of tireless volunteers (I was one of many hundred) to fight Mrs M H Thatcher’s dastardly, and to us incomprehensibly counter-productive plan to “Abolish the GLC”.
Abolish who? Ours was an establishment with lineage. Its valuable activities were rooted in the welfare of almost every facet of the life of Londoner and London. Its great-grandfather was the LCC. Worthy, buttoned up civic souls had established the London County Council in 1889.
I see now where my inspiration came from to write such an action drama. Broadside after broadside was fired at County Hall from the Mother of Parliaments across the Thames. I wrote these opening taster lines at the time as a form of escapist release (1986).
What follows is now no longer inside of me, but I throw it open to the public
It is here. It is up for grabs.
Only draw out the plot, build an international cast of characters, set up the historical diorama, and you will be ready to sell the film rights to the highest bidder!
I note with pride one scene I sketched has since appeared in the opening sequence of a recent action film.
—>
Music of a menacing beat is carried on a simple melody in a minor key…
The opening scene is set on Lambeth Bridge.
We see our Hero walking east along the bridge, on the north pavement, just after dark. His steps are short and hurried rather than purposeful. His features are a picture of puzzlement, frustration.
He is rehearsing to himself the events he has just observed when walking past by the House of Lords Victoria Tower. He is linking a name to a face. His questioning look gives way to alarm and immediately to a prickly panicked fear.

As he breaks step and begins to jog, he reaches the solid stone where bridge meets embankment.

This is what saves his life.

The complex of Gothic-Revival buildings that comprise the Mother of Parliaments, Lords and all, erupts in a silent sheet of white-red flame.
Our Hero is sheltered from the first inaudible shock wave by the sad grey stone blocks. He lies flat. Next to his nose, he sees the grains of dust on the paving slab brilliantly lit by flashes from the final chest-splitting explosions.
He understands. He is angry. He knows he is now the only one who knows. He exhorts himself to fill and then with an effort to refill his sore lungs with air.

Weeping with wordless rage, he lopes steadily east, aiming for his ‘drop’, not three hundred away, in Old Paradise Park!

When he recovers his safe deposit box keys, he will drive to Lydd Airfield in the clothes he stands up in. From there he will fly the country in his Cessna 150, never to return.

For all his covert ops experience, for all his uncanny ability to apply decision tree prediction under battle conditions, even he could not have forseen the catalytic role in world events that he was to play out, and which in a few days would bring him home – in the spotlight of national attention.

Wild lamentations of personal grief 

There is a field of human endeavour identifiable by the vocabulary of its skeletal airtight constructs, its conceptual legal abstractions.

There are entities, such as the Law, and Organisations and Companies, which owe the basis of their existence to definitions alone. Their state of being rests on highly polished words with small areas of meaning embedded in permissive agreements, which themselves hang uninfluenced by Newton’s law of universal gravitationin the air of abstraction.
Read rejection into redundancy? Read earthquake into termination? Most illuminating it can be to read post-holder into employee!
During the 80’s and 90’s, I was the subject of five redundancies.
My first was a revelation. It was a blue-sky day in May. I returned from Iunch hour to my desk punctually at 2pm. I had had many praises for my work in sales, a new departure for me. I was summoned to the boardroom. At five past two I was served with a notice of redundancy. It was to be the first of five in the next couple of years.
I was struck by the wild lamentations of personal grief of other work colleagues at the sudden shock of receiving their own notice of redundancy. They regarded their company as a second family, and ascribed familial affections or aversions to some of their co-workers.
I knew a couple of people who were never able to deal with this technical act of Letting Go, and I saw them descend into abysses of mental torment, sometimes compounded by alcohol or drugs. I was appalled at the sight of their spiralling loss of financial freedom, family breakup and isolation.
Within three hours on that lovely spring day in May 1988, I had fulfilled my desire to drive to Cannizaro Park and make a photographic study, in serene solitude, of the fabled display of Golden Rain blossom. I had had a consultation with a lawyer to verify the validity of the terms of my redundancy, and I had arranged my first job interview!
I call myself fortunate to clearly see an employing company for what it is, an abstract legal construct. I see myself, an employee, simply as the holder of a post. I was never family, I never had the right to any other reward for what I did when I occupied that post beyond the narrow boundaries of the definitions which proscribed me there.
In the technical jargon, the word redundancy is rinsed of all human connotations, such as hugs or kisses, and signifies the point when two parties are deemed to agree they have arrived at the point when they no longer are bound by their contract of obligation to one another.
It was sad to see such quantities of unnecessary emotion expended when the lives of some of my office friends were uprooted in this way.
Woe to people who mistake the abstract definitions of others for the reality of their own existence, for they waste their time sleepwalking blind, eyes open only to their illusion!

What is

What is, is not the unitary and oblivious carelessness of what is, but the glowing strength of the is-ness animating it.
This insight is what moves from inside of me to share. It is the inside of me. I am inside all humanity because is-ness comes dancing and skipping before any question like, “Is it?”
It is the same for the inside of every one of us, we knowing it, or it all unknown to us.
Only make visible to others what brightness makes visible!
Here are the wonders of the mirror!

Delight is up side down side inside and out.

All the world loves a lover.
Therefore be love!
Be love! Float and glow with tides of the foamy briney stuff of which your life and my life is made and which makes all life loving and alive
~ Love is present EveryNow

*I am a time traveller*

*I am a time traveller*

Crises shake me awake, so that I have little choice but to pay attention and attempt to understand the storms, conflicts and extremes of opposing emotion that roil and boil inside me.

I know that the stirrings in me which crises cause are like clear waters suddenly made muddy. I know the transparent calm where all was clear and simple to see is gone.

The plateau of my heart’s ease, where grass is green, and no wind ruffles, is a gift to be accepted. The calm of uneventful days is like the sunshine on a jet – I trust revolutions of power beyond my ken are churning on the inside.

I accept the days of nothing doing like I down the first drink of cool water in the morning. I absorb bright colourless refreshment certain it will reach into my darkest roots.

But I also know to stand back from insisting to myself that I must thrash out sense and meaning out of turbulent emotions. Death inside, or at the very least continuing ignorance, is the reward for panicky reactions where I fight with my own shadows.

I know that the swirl of sediment that now blinds my view of where I am going is composed of mysterious particles!

These are the smashed up, mashed up micro fragments of old certainties.

They are more valuable than gold dust, more alive than my own breath, because, unlike mud which petrifies into rock on settling, I know they will reform into brand new beauty.

My road was secure. It is blazing into a lava flow. My tears explode as they fall! It will rearrange and recrystallise to recreate – like resolidified titanium – my new spiritual bones.

I know I will give myself the gift of time, waiting in faith and trust. My roots are active, though I neither hear nor see the least motion.

This is how trees await Spring, and birds the Sunrise.

I will have stood aside and observed the swirls of pain in my chest. I will have felt them retch up my throat. I will have committed to memory the dried tears I see on my own face.

And, at the end of all of this, I will see walking towards me, with the magical mutual smiles of recognition spreading over both our faces, myself and I, as we fall into an embrace for the first time.

~ Love is present EveryNow