busying the non-escape

#writingtherapy

Is there a feeling-name for that constant urge to run away from your own self? Every few minutes it’s like I want to just, drop everything and escape. I feel like I am constantly distracting myself so I don’t end up at a station or an airport or just on a million buses. I feel ungrounded, I feel a strong pull from the spaceclouds, I feel that pull when I stop distracting myself like it’s reaching and beckoning and I’m worried that if I stop, I will be zoomed away – though maybe more worried that I’m actually not worried about the zooming-out-ness, because it’s so appealing, so… so, whatever the word is when it’s like magnets and when it makes more sense than whatever this jumbled nonsensical figuring-out stepping stones life is that I must engage in instead. It feels like I am trying to hold water, it feels like I’m trying to swim through candyfloss, an unsugared tongue unwoken, overspoken, it feels like I need to abandon my own inner oceans, it feels like if I just walked and kept walking I could wander out of the gamesphere into the grey, the reassuring grey, and I could hold the grey, then Be the grey, and then nothing else – and then nothing – just the ghost-essence of dead stars waiting to be glimmered. and so I write and type and sing and pace and repeat the soup round and round and round like an alphabet-circus of shouty number-shapes which refuse to stay in any one place – but even the sugarclowns are bored, their abacus-bead faces round and polished as they roll down forgotten hillsides which we no longer choose to climb. Productivity is a jellyland mountain through which my sense of purpose trembles. so again, I write and type and sing and pace and repeat the soup, throw the soup and splatter, like shattering liquid platecrumbs hurtling through a zero-gravity ceiling. and once again, I stand up, sit down, change the order of the pillow-pile, flip the duvet over, touch the wall, clap, stretch, tap, gather imaginary butterflies from the corners of runaway shapes… and force myself to stay.

arrive with me; arrive, and let us be yoghurts on the floor.

More writing-therapy from the ghosts of me – because I have to, because I want to, because I don’t know else how To.

I’ve been well the last few weeks, which, after unwellness, feels like a gift from the sky, and aside from the custardy guilt of being very aware that other people are unwell when I am well, I have been trying to absorb every moment, like collecting sugarwater before a planetary drought. Being well has meant joy and love and wonder and universe-sparkling magnetism; it has also meant anxiety, panic, stomach-tangling sadness, voices, unwelcoming thoughts, as of course these things don’t just disappear – but all of these things through Wellness is a difference I haven’t learned to describe yet. A Grateful Difference. It is Light, it is Life. However, with me still trying to manage on my own I can feel the spheres shifting and I’m currently at a stage of KeepMoving KeepBusy, because when I stop, I feel everything crashing down at a faster rate than I know how to catch all the pieces. and before the influx of We All Feel Like That arrives, like a parade of smug hankies, just – well, if we all feel like the things I try to describe which I long for support for then why on this planet earth is it so difficult to find a way of being helped.

I am aware of all of my luck, I am over-awared of that – I am also aware of my ability to begin each day in a complete mess trying to perform human tasks such as finding keys or trying to put on pants or remembering how to drink or trying to stop saying numbers aloud or trying to curb spontaneous clapping habits because it hurts my hands and people won’t want me to do that, or trying to exist without things shouting at me, trying to hide from the umbrella-lamps of expectation. Trying to understand How Much I Can Manage Today without thick guilt for accommodating my own basic needs. I feel like I’m living every day under the strange guise of a person who can manage on their own, whilst living a private life of being a yoghurt on the floor. yet most of the time, I refuse to unveil the yoghurt. I understand that I am pushing myself with all of my luck in the world, and I want to keep doing so. but how to maintain self-managment in the yoghurt-speheres? admitting yoghurtland to others means admitting yoghurtland to myself, which distracts me from my quest to the outer-land universe. and what do I want from the outer-land universe? more portals to the inner-land universe. to Dissolve.

i hide the yoghurt; i lose. but, how else? what would I gain by showing the yoghurt? There is no magic towel to transport me to space. I would seep through the floorboards and travel up to the skies via tree-water. so… I get up. a walking, wandering, rolling, bumbling yoghurt-ghost and scream raspberries until the world makes sense. and the world doesn’t make sense… which makes sense. Why would it? It is not mine. I am not mine. I do not belong. Be long. long to be. longing. for belonging. must I continuously remove myself in order to belong? belonging in not belonging. must I continuously rely on the close friendship between my face and the floor? where are you all? must we all remain in the private lands of fall? the silence comforts: the silence pains. the silence is loud in emotion, busy in buzzy-still motion. the limbo-vacuum travels still, still travelling, still travelling still. arrive with me. arrive, and let us be yoghurts on the floor.


a traveler in the realms of me

I was on the tube and there was no one else on it and I thought I was dead and I was having a lovely time, yes I was having a very lovely time and then people got on the tube and I was like HEY, what you doing in my dead, but then they didn’t say anything so I thought maybe they were dead too, and it was quiet, and there was no one else on it, apart from us, and me, and me and us, and then the tube train stopped and the doors opened and no one else got on it and then it was quiet and then the tube train stopped and the doors opened and no one else got on it and –

I glance up and around at all the other dead-me s
I want to squish their fleshy faces and lick the shiny buckles on their bags
like a creepy squirrel

I pull up my socks and wonder if they felt it
I listen to the essence
I wonder if they meant it
I wonder if they want it
ungraspable
floaty
blissful
deadness

…..



and then the tube doors open
and people get on
and it is loud
and the tube doors open
and people get off
and people get on
and it is quiet
and the tube doors open
and I get off
and in all of my dead-ness,
I have never felt so alive


*+*+*+*+*+*

follow your alignment

Find your alignment
Summon your alignment
Dream your alignment
Follow your alignment

The pressures of interpretation aren’t always nutritional
The energy-umbions feed from the oomblets of surroundedness
Floating groundedness
Folded and carried
Wounded, healed
undug, unburied
Opened and shared
Re-awared
Heard
Felt
Dispersed

Filled with past purpose, free from present meaning
Only un-mined feeling:
These are someone else’s seedlings.


I am transport
I am traveling bowl
Upside down
Unmilk the bowl!
Release the foal!
Feel and echo kindness
Follow your alignment
Summon your alignment
Dream your alignment
Find your alignment
True treasure’s not to have or hold
,
to claim nor own

The beauty and the unbowled soul:
untangled at the gate,
unstorified by fate
.

Will you follow your alignment?

I hope and trust and feel and fear a chance you may not take… but it’s not my choice to make.

To do, to do, to do………

HELLO. Here I am. (“Here I am! Where’s The Spill?!” exclaims the brain-echolalia, covering the place in imaginary paper towels).

Did you ever watch ‘Get Your Own Back’ where there was a game on there with giant foam toast and people had to crawl through a toast grid breaking all the toast-boards, and it used to look like it was so satisfying, or at least made a satisfying sound? Well I’m in the mood to do that, apart from, walls hurt your body parts because they don’t want to play, I do not recommend. Unless you have a toast-board… or toast-walls… in which case it’s probably okay. Instead, I threw my face (and the rest of the body it’s attached to) into a big pile of stuff which I just took out of the dryer, which was quite good – it was warm – but, it wasn’t the imagined toast board so obviously it didn’t make the noise I keep expecting to EXPERIENCE. toasty).

After hours of clapping, swinging things around and shaking about for all the times I didn’t when asked to do the oaky koaky (is that even the word? this is going to be like that song lyric thing, isn’t it, where it’s something really obvious and I’ve just heard it as ‘koaky’… OH I just googled it and I’m laughing – it’s Hokey Cokey, apparently. Nothing oaky about it. It’s also bringing back terrible memories of small-child-me feeling pressured to do the same movement as everyone else on demand – never was one for audience participation. or any participation… when made to feel aware of the Participation Part, anyway). ANYWAY – – – I can’t remember the end of that sentence because my attention span is




My rucksack looks like a happy axolotl
(or one gasping for breath)
(a bit like me swimming last month)
(before I discovered how much goggles help me breathe even though I do not breathe with my eyes)

You know those rugs you get – well, which you CAN get – of fake animals lying on the ground, as a rug? well I’ve been impersonating one of those, in between sudden bursts of getting up to spray some SURFACE CLEANER on a chosen bit of surface and wiping it to keep the monsters away. It doesn’t keep any monsters away. or maybe it does and I just don’t know it, because They are Away.

I wish I had a swing. Why don’t I have a swing? well, there’d be nowhere to put it so having one would be useless but, I wish I knew a swing. Why don’t I know a swing? The last time I found a swing I noticed the sign that said I wasn’t supposed to be there unaccompanied (because I didn’t have a child with me) and then I was too scared to go back there in case the SwingPolice took away my swing-rights, for not being accompanied by a child. Number 1 reason for having a child: TAKE ME TO THE LAND OF SWINGS
actually no, I don’t think I want to go to that land as there’d probably be too many people and a high swing-collision probability, but, just one swing would be excellent

OK BACK TO THE TO DO LIST TO DO TO DO TO DO.

and on that note, whilst I’m on this note, before I go to write the other note – Here’s something I wrote a few days ago and FORGOT TO PUT HERE.

Sumita +.+



To do, to do, to do………

to do, to do, to do……… to do it I’m falling.

I feel like I’m taking on the world and failing. and I’m not. I’m not taking on the world, it’s only an assignment. and I can’t fail it before I’ve done it, and I haven’t done it, so I can’t be failing. to do, to do, to do, to do, to do………. am i failing doing it, by failing to do it? to do it I’m falling.

I’m tinier than a dead star. I’m tinier than that dead rock-debris fragment that I can’t see in the sky. I am more insignificant than dust. but dust travels. and like dust, any significance i do have travels. and if I can guide the direction it travels in, then I have to care. or I don’t have to, but I have to choose to. or I don’t have to choose to, but I maybe want to? because, there isn’t a because. (BECAUSE OF THE WONDERFUL THINGS HE DOES!, screams the inner-brain-echolalia, into the absence of done things.)

I need to write more lists – nothing is getting done around here. ‘THAT’S SOMETHING!’ shouts a sugarclown. I thought I told them to leave after they insensitively laughed at my baby dream and punched me in the stomach. I squash its tiny plasticine face and lick the candyfloss out of the sky – today we shall be grey-flavoured. I like grey. ‘I don’t’, mumbles a squashed sugarclown, but I’m not listening to its whiny non-joke, they were squashed ages ago. UNSQUASH YOURSELVES, commands the orange-juice-escapee sun, having runway from the recycling-press from the juice-box it was homed on. What do they know, they were 2D in the first place. and what does that make me? I close my eyes and try to sense my ghost-D presence more presently. Nope. Still stuck in future or past limbo, or some sort of amalgamation of the two. I must resume the future-past. I must do to be, and be to Be, and be to do, but mostly Be – not do to do to do to do to do. I fall but I’m supposed to. I be because I am. how else am i supposed to? how else would i do? not being would not do, for me. yet here i am, neither be nor do. Time to fix that. OPERATION ENERGY CONVERT!

With this I must listen; From this I must Be.

The sun streams down onto the duvet, in a little puddle of warm glow – like it does when you’re in the sea, glowing on little underwater sand-islands as it moves position in the sky – or at least, how it appears to be moving from our on-this-planet perspective. My body fills up with September-feeling, as I count 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 strawberry-shapes hanging on a string on my cupboard. I like how objects travel and carry. Essence. Was it the porridge? Maybe it was the porridge. It shouldn’t be a surprise that basic nutrition helps the brain. No, I think it’s more than that. Something is aligning, or has aligned, or will be aligning – or probably all three, considering the time thing. Light has already traveled before I’ve looked at it. By the time I experience it, it’s already gone. I reach out my hands and watch them glow and fade, glow and fade, tiny triangles smiling as they morph and grow, fade and glow. This is not just another sugar-sphere: This is important. This I must carry. This I must absorb, and from this I must form. Internalise and expel. With this I must listen, From this I must Be.

‘I Wish You Knew’ with Pablo – share your stories!

Hello!

As you may have seen (as I am a few days late with typing this up), the social media team of the show Pablo have been encouraging people to join their #IWishYouKnew campaign. What do you wish someone knew about you, that if they knew, might have helped them to be more understanding towards you or someone else with a similar experience?

“Share your #IWishYouKnew stories and let us come together to welcome and embrace our differences!” @PabloTVShow

(Here is a << link >> to Pablo’s campaign video)

Do you wish that teacher knew that when you were drawing it was to help you focus, not because you were bored or not listening? or maybe you wish you they knew how much you appreciated something they said or did that still motivates you now? #IWishYouKnew

Do you wish that family member knew you missed their party because you were too anxious and overwhelmed, not because you didn’t want to go? or maybe you wish they knew how much it helped to be given the option not to attend? #IWishYouKnew

Do you wish your doctor knew how much you need help when you look like you’re coping fine? or are you glad that they made you feel comfortable enough to be able to communicate with them? #IWishYouKnew

Do you wish that friend knew you were excited by what they were saying when your face and voice didn’t show it? or do you wish they knew how much a small gesture changed your entire day, even if to them it might have seemed like such an ordinary or unnoticeable thing? #IWishYouKnew

It would be great if you could share your stories and use the tag #IWishYouKnew or tag Pablo’s social media pages in it.

People often treat others based on what they know, or what they think they know about people… but a lot of the time, it’s what people don’t know which causes misunderstandings – even the most well intended people make mistakes and misjudgements. We probably all have, even without knowing. I know I’ve often thought, ‘I wish that person knew’ – something about how I was feeling, or about something that was happening that I could not explain in the moment… and other times, I’ve thought, ‘I wish I knew’ about other people, because it might have meant I could have approached a situation differently – what works for one person doesn’t work for everyone (and what works for one person in one scenario doesn’t mean that is what will work in every scenario! Life is morphily experiential, we can’t know everything).

I like finding out about the way people think. I find it interesting to consider which things are the same and which things are very different (and which things are the same but different but the same) to the way in which I think. It also helps me to try and be more considerate about the way I am towards others. This is useful when thinking about my own needs are alongside expectations of others, which isn’t something I used to think about so much… though I do often get stuck in what I currently call ‘social riddles’, where something that is helpful for someone else is being unhelpful or interfering for me, and something that is helpful for me is probably unhelpful or might make things difficult for someone else. Some of these social riddles are easier to solve than others, it’s often a bit of a tangly guessing game for everyone.

(People, learning to be people, among other people, who are not the same as them but who are also people, learning to be people, among other people who are not the same as them…)

I think there’s less of the tangly-guessing the more we’re able to reflect on what works or doesn’t work for each of us – that way, we can learn from past experiences and make things better for each other. Even if we can’t change those past situations, voicing those experiences can possibly change future situations – for us, or for others.

It’d be great to turn some of those ‘I Wish I Knew’ s into ‘I’m Glad I Know’ s! By sharing stories we can help each other to communicate our experiences and gain insight to the different ways we think.

Sumita