Too swift for those who fear

  Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.”   Henry Van Dyke

It's now 14 weeks before I'm off to China. The training programme is recommended to start this week, the fourteenth week before I go.

About eight weeks ago, I'd been increasing the amount of walking I was doing, but had not really pushed myself, thinking that I still had tons of time. The trip still felt so far away.

Time flies however and my motivation has waned somewhat! That ticker is here at the side of my blog reminding me, each time I log in, of time passing. All of a sudden the trek is only three months away!

I tell a lie, the problem is that I am not simply "less motivated" but that I do have less time.  Part of the reason why is that life is changing again. I started a new job last week. This involves quite a long journey to get to the office everyday and I am currently feeling low in energy.

While waiting to start the new job, the fear was running riot, telling me that I wouldn't have enough time to do the things I wanted to do and needed to do - walking being one of these. In a way as I sit here tonight I am thinking to myself that I am allowing this to happen.

I've always been someone at war with time. I resented all the time snatched away from me by work and other commitments, and had never been able to quite capture the art of living in the present moment. I always used to say I would like to be able to stop time. To be the only one typing just now, or reading or listening to music for a while, everyone else frozen until I set time in motion again! It has always felt like there was never enough of the stuff!

Last weekend I was wanting to write something here, but felt stuck. I was aware of a degree of resentment towards both of the activities I needed to do but didn't want to do, and also towards the racing forward of time. All of a sudden it was 6pm and I felt that the day had just gone nowhere, I felt I had achieved nothing! However when I look closely, I had meditated, showered, read, written morning pages, fed the cats, walked for an hour, downloaded an album and listened to music, done the shopping and cooked a meal for the family.

Now as I have started a new phase in my working life this week, I have to continue to observe and not to struggle with the fear of time passing or time wasted. 

This is going to be a challenge in itself. To maintain the progress I have made in learning to nourish myself. This is so new to me and is fragile right now. I am tired and cross with myself, I am worried I have made the wrong decisions.

 I'm keen therefore to explore again some learning from a course I did last year, in order to nip this negativity in the bud. It was a course based on a book by John Cabert Zin Full Catastrophe Living: Using the Wisdom of Your Body and Mind to Face Stress, Pain, and Illness . The particular session that stays with me, was about "the edge" and included reference to this book Bodymind. It really struck me at that time, and I was reminded of this today, of how I had been living my life by blasting through my limits. In the end, the way I was living was only causing myself pain and suffering. This reading from the book advised me to approach my edges gently and "explore your limits in a caring and adventuresome fashion, you will expand and grow in a vital fashion."

How do I do that? How do I explore the limits of my body, mind and heart? Why have I chosen once again to make a long daily commute? Have I even learned to deal with work stress in new ways? Can I avoid the old damaging patterns of how I treat myself and others? Can I make time for the things that will make me stronger? Can I shut out the fear and step into the present moment?

I think I can if I go gently and with compassion. Why is this so easy to forget?

These are some reminders:

1. Cherish yourself:

There is only so much clock time but by worrying about this, fearing it or wasting it we are trapped in survival mode and in blasting through our limits. Buddhist teachings point out that, as human life we are rare and precious. Our human life is a precious gift. We do not know what is next either in our current life situation or (if this is your belief) in subsequent lives. So the only time we have is now - this moment - it is vital and precious. We need to cherish the clock time of the human life we have been given by treating it as a precious gift. I need to give some time to continuing The Artist's Way as it encourages me to play and create and nourish myself.

2.Make friends with time:

I can use time, but need to stay aware of when I am straying into regret, guilt, worry or fear. That same old war with time that clouds the present moment and drains my energy and joy.

Ekhart Tolle in The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment writes:

"learn to use time in the practical aspects of your life - we may call this clock time - but immediately return to present-moment awareness when those practical matters have been dealt with. In this way there will be no build-up of psychological time which is identification with the past and continuous compulsive projection into the future. Clock time is not just making an appointment or planning a trip. it includes learning from the past so that we don't repeat the same mistakes over and over.Setting goals and working towards them.Predicting the future by means of patterns and laws, physical, mathematical and so on, learned from the past and taking appropriate action on the basis of our predictions.But even here within the sphere of practical living, where we cannot do without reference to past and future, the present moment remains the essental factor: Any lesson from the past becomes relvant and is applied now. Any planning as well as working toward achieving a particular goal is done now."

3.Enjoy the journey - each step upon the path:

I found this article about our quest for life balance by Danielle Laporte , which I keep re-reading. It's all about the passion. Such enlightening ideas! I like what she writes about the "full on life" which she says "includes full on productivity and full on stillness."

I am late to bed now and still here chasing ideas, in this space I made for myself.


No more worries about being tired in the morning or regrets for not using the time for this or for that.
No more fear of time passing or of not having enough of the stuff.

I have given some time to myself tonight to be here in this moment but now it's time to say goodnight.

A Lullaby on Father's Day

I was going to write a post today about how my preparations are going for the trek and more fundraising efforts. However I got sidetracked with it being Father's Day.

On this blog that has at it's heart my Mother's memory, I am writing about my Dad and listening to a Lullaby today.

I really wanted the next blog entry to be a more upbeat post.Joy and laughter are what I need to be creating in my life right now not dwelling on the past or what might have been. Writing about my family lends itself most easily to feelings of sorrow and regret, however. So let's just say that this will be a brave post. It is here in my heart and my finger tips and so it must be written.

My Father was brave, though I know my sisters would argue that he was in fact a coward. The truth was that he was both light and shadow, as we human beings are. I loved him just the same of course as a little girl and young woman. Later I was angry with him and sad for him, all at the same time when I came to understand him more.

When I am off on my walks just lately, I sometimes think of Dad when he was younger. Apparently he liked to take my sisters out for walks or so I am told.

My sister, the one who these days most likes walking, tells me stories of Dad marching them for miles, on walks around the local area. She tells the story of a Dad who was not kind, and from her words I picture him like an angry sergeant major, who trampled all over his wife and children's hearts.

It is hard for me to see him that way, although I know that his behaviour at times was frightening and bullying. I cannot minimise this but my view of him is distorted, I only saw the light for many years, just as my sister only saw the shadow.

I love it that she likes walking so much and music too. Maybe those marches through the countryside were not all bad? Much of her memory is clouded by all the dark events that happened before my Mum's death. Maybe I can be comforted that my Dad was trying to share a love of walking with his daughters. Just trying to be a Dad the best he could, when his own experience of being parented had been a poor one.

I saw a different side of my Dad than the rest of my siblings. This must have been the person my Mum fell in love with, when they were both so young. A young man who loved music and art, who liked painting and reading, who was articulate and charming. Then an older man with a thirst for knowledge, someone who had never really fullfilled his potential. A compassionate person who understood the feelings of others, liked watching animal documentaries, loved children, travelling and history.

Nothing he could ever do would put things right for my sisters. I can't share him with them now, as the pain and bitterness is too raw for them.

I don't make excuses for much of his behaviour as a husband and father, but I understand something of how he came to allow his shadow to overwhelm his life.

Empire Of the Sun was his favourite film. He was born in 1930 and so the second world war affected him deeply on many different levels. He lived away from his mother for some of his very early childhood. These times were some of his darkest memories but he shared little detail about what happened to him. He remembered evacuees coming to stay with the family during the war but spoke little of his step-father or other memories of that time. He only once mentioned to me the types of discipline he suffered at the hands of the adults who were in charge of his upbringing. He never knew his own father as his mother was unmarried when he was born. I think he carried a great deal of guilt and shame about this, as of course, he would have been a child to be whispered about back then.

The song from the film is a Welsh Lullaby - Suo Gan - quite beautiful. Jamie sings it I think to comfort himself and the young Japanese pilot he had previously made friends with.

I can't watch the film without crying! I think my Dad would have identified with Jamie in the film and he would also have felt for the young Japanese kamikaze pilots sent to their death. What madness is war? I know my Dad would feel the same way I do about the continuing attrocities happening to children throughout the world. He would shake his head in disbelief at how we are still watching countries continuing to send their young people to fight and die and the choices that governments continue to make. All this damage!

Father's day thoughts, love and strength sent to Dads everywhere and to "Dadless" children today.

Dancing Lessons

This song speaks to me today and I am listening.

I feel I am having dancing lessons these days. It's such a joyful song!

One story about grief

Yesterday I came across this blog-post, about the writer's relationship with her mother and about her mother's death when she was in her late teens. As usual I had been reading a series of blogs, exploring the words and thoughts of others. As usual I was on a journey of discovery, and then I finally arrived at the lines the blog-writer had quoted from a poem by Sharon Doubiago. This is where I stopped reading and started to write here on my own blog, about my own mother or rather about the loss of her.

When I started this blog a few weeks ago, I knew that I wanted to give some space here to the issues that are close to my heart. Naturally one of these, is to share information about how adults can help children who are grieving for someone. I also intend to write about children who have suffered trauma and the work that goes on to help them recover. Both of these as much for my own learning as for anyone who may come here to read what I write.

Today I am not writing about these things though. Today I am writing about me. And that's ok.

Notice that I have had to justify writing about my own grief. I still have to justify this, even though I recognise that it may be an important milestone in my "growing up" process. I also realise that I am dancing close to danger here too, the danger of staying stuck in a particular story about how my mother's death has defined me.

I hope that I am breaking out of that story by writing some words about it, I don't think it is making the story stronger. If anything it is softening the story, reshaping it and offering it as a gift to be shared.

There is some guilt and fear still here however, as I try to make a space here in this blog for my authentic voice. Clearing away that clutter is not easy is it? In the confusion of looking outwards and looking inwards, what do I trust now? What is real?

First to go, is that old familiar fear and guilt about showing my emotions, and of appearing too needy. On that day 40 years ago I did not know anything about being needy or not being needy. I didn't really understand what had happened and so felt very little, except an urge to look after my Dad who was crying as he told me what had happened to my mother. I must have felt slightly uncomfortable at seeing him cry, I instinctively tried to comfort him and make him quickly stop. Perhaps this discomfort with emotions and vulnerability was already part of our family culture? Much, much later, I always wanted to be seen to be coping ok and I think I actually believed that I was.

I think I have been trying to be "grown-up" since that day my mother died. In the process all I managed to do was to simply grow a massive amount of neediness inside, which eventually had the opposite effect on my external life than intended. Part of becoming "grown-up" I am starting to know now, means being comfortable with emotions, your own and others.

Now I am starting to really look at the process of grieving I went through, maybe I am creating a new story about what happened? However I still have to justify giving space to this process. I still reassure any readers that it's ok, I am really not so needy, I am together and worthy and will post more useful and grown-up stuff later.

The good thing is, that being aware that I am doing this makes me smile, fondly and kindly at my self. I shake my head and say "ooh you rascal there you go again!" The judging, critical voice is not far away but thankfully it is not my first reaction!

Anyway, when I read those four lines of that poem, and recognised that for a long time I only ever knew the first two lines, it was like a light bulb switched on. This was my story. The end. My mother died. She died. I was seven years old. "My mother is a poem I'll never be able to write". That was it. I gave my story power. It was over. I didn't want it to define me. I was sensible. I was strong. I was ok. I could look after my Dad and myself. No-one talked about what had happened. I wasn't sad. I saw few of the emotions of others. I didn't attend the funeral, I didn't get the choice, someone took me out shopping.

My story was silent but strong, and it did define me. It went through small changes, and gained momentum through the different stages of life. I became a teenager. "My mother is a poem I'll never be able to write" and that's ok. I'm ok. It happened and I'm used to it now. It's over and my life is just beginning. When people asked and I told people that my mother was dead, they said they were sorry. I told them not to worry and it was ok, I couldn't remember her anyway. It's ok, I reassured them. I can remember as I said it, that I didn't really want to move on from it so quickly. Now I wonder if I was afraid of the emotion that might bubble up if I stayed in that place or perhaps I didn't feel that my story was one other people would want to hear.

A little later. "My mother is a poem I'll never be able to write" and it is all quite terrible. I don't know how to be a mother. I don't know much about anything. I don't know much about myself. But it's ok. Let's just move on. I'm ok. It's nothing to do with my mother's death, it's just me. There are other voices I can listen to.

Then, "My Mother is a poem I'll never be able to write" and I am angry. It's not fair that all this happened to me. This is why my life went so wrong, it's all the fault of that event. I have no control. I have no voice. I have no power. I am ashamed. I'm angry with the people who didn't help me grieve properly. Why me? It's not ok and I'm not ok. I need others to help me. I can't deal with this adult world. What is wrong with me?

Just recently I started to think and talk more about my mother, and look at images of her. I am on the path to being grown up or to wholeness. I felt this momentarily during the Unravelling course. It was fleeting and precious, I want to feel it so much more often. I am perhaps only a few steps away.

This is one of my stories and it has hope, it is not the end. I am both free of it and I claim it.

Now as I write this, I can feel the anger and rage and loss of that seven year old girl and am so grateful that I was brought to this place to write and make a space of safety, where I can take steps. I can take that small girl's hand and show her the next two lines of the poem, "though everything I write is a poem to my mother".

I feel familiar regret that I never read or recognised these lines earlier in my life, but I choose not to stay in this place. I take the small hand in mine and I make sure she knows that it's ok to be sad, it's ok to talk about our mother, look at pictures of our mother, to mourn what was lost to her as she grew and what is still lost to my adult self.

I take her small hand and smile as we recognise together that, yes this event defines us but we can take the power back. Yes these things happened at this point and at this, but what happens next and each everyday action can be defined by something else, something whole and calm. Now we know it is there and we start to know how to reach it!

I shake my head in wonder at how I never knew these two lines and I smile that at last I hear them.

Touching Base

A few months ago while having dinner with one of my older relatives and some of her women friends, one of them mentioned Gladys Aylwood, a Protestant missionary to China in 1930. Gladys Aylwood was at first thwarted in her goal of becoming a missionary to China, she was told she was not clever enough but saved up her wages in order to buy herself a train ticket. Gladys ended up staying in China, learning to speak the language and becoming a Chinese Citizen, she died and was burried there. The woman I was speaking to, remembered when Gladys came back to the UK and gave a series of lectures around the country, one of which this elderly friend of my relative had attended.

This conversation over dinner, reminded me of watching a film about Gladys Aylwood in my childhood. The film, The Inn of the Sixth happiness was Hollywood's 1958 interpretation of Gladys Aylwood's life story as written by Alan Burgess. I had not realised until I started looking a little more closely and reading some accounts of her life, that Gladys had been unhappy with how the film portrayed her. Gladys didn't like her romantic involvement that the film suggested, and she thought that the film focused less on her missionary work in converting the Chinese to Christianity, and more on her heroic actions.The title of the film was also changed as the inn was in fact called The Inn of the Eighth Happiness, I haven't managed to find out why this was thought necessary.

As a child however I was simply inspired by the story of an ordinary woman who travelled across the world on her own and made a difference to the lives of orphaned and abandoned children in China. The film also focused on how also she was part of the enforcement of changes in the laws banning the practice of foot binding


Looking at why Gladys went to China in the first place, it is hard for many of us now, not to judge harshly the negative aspects of the legacy of missionary work, and to separate this out from Gladys Aylwood's heroic and important actions, which took place out of compassion for her fellow human beings.

This article from the New York Times following the Haiti earthquake, explores the motives that different modern day missionary groups might have had at the time. There is also an interesting discussion here that highlights the tension that must exist for religious groups in providing aid/development work without their main aim being about conversion.

Well this blog post seems to have run away with me! I wanted to post about Gladys Aylwood because my first encounter with China was through the film about her life. This blog has a place for stories of inspirational women, and to my child-like eyes she certainly was that. From a child's eye view the answers to the problems in our world can seem much more simple. Claiming your space in the world as an adult brings with it a huge responsibility to "do no harm and leave the world a better place than you found it". (Patricia Cornwell)

This past month the news has been even more heartbreaking than it usually is. In our world today there is always so much to be anxious about, feel angry and sad and powerless about. It's all right there in our living rooms, just a click away. This week we have had the shooting of peace activists by the Israeli Army, the shootings in Cumbria by an angry, isolated and disturbed man, the ongoing reports about the Gulf oil spill and countless other tragedies going on throughout our world.

We rarely hear about the massive amounts of positive action, taken by ordinary people all around the world everyday, we have to look for them. Small actions or big, they go on around us, often unnoticed and it's on days like these that we really need to notice each small voice. In these voices we are reminded of our true selves and are inspired to come together with others to make a difference and stand up for what we believe in. Touching base with individuals past and present, strangers and friends, who are inspirational in so many different ways, is one way for us to find some hope and peace again in a troubled world.

This is just one of these inspiring individuals Rupy Kaur. I am waiting to read about how she got on with her sky-dive yesterday. Hope all went well Rupy.