Monday, January 30, 2006

an x i'll mark

the words that follow my own are a poem by Padraig... he read it at ikon last night.
i am back in insomnia mode. i didn't reach sleep til 7 this morning.
having read through the words i wrote during the night i then turned to these lines.
sacred words. echoing more than i can countenance.

broken memories shared. a poem. a prayer.
which one of these things is not like the other?

he said hope and longing
lie in the gaps...the spaces
between our wounded words.
when our confessions reach out
to touch each other,
are we speaking to the Other?

LB, x


by Padraig Twomey

a reading from the book of exile
chapter one

there are no chapters

a reading from the book of exile
chapter two

he has been moved beyond belief

a reading from the book of exile
chapter three

and he is inching toward glory
with only his story on his back
he has patched up holes that opened
where his coverings have cracked
and some shoes were never meant for hiking so
he left them far behid
there are simple things he needs
on journeys such these
and a bag that's small enough
to carry all the failures and the idols
that he's picked up on the way

there are some days
he only moves
an inch or two

this is the pace of glory here in exile

a reading from the book of exile
chapter four

there are some things too meaningful for talking
and even feeling leaves us full of grief
at all we touch and need
and can never speak of

we are living lives that we can't state the name of
we are loving things that
we can never bear
we attempt belief in things that we can not explain
and we rest uneasy in this

and we rest with tension so
its heartaching

a reading from the book of exile
chapter five

he has grown older here

the body speaks it own
and he has started listening

a reading from the book of exile
chapter six

there is no ending
everything is here

(so pitch a tent that you can live in
and find a friend to whom you'll give in
times of telling
times of testing
times of listening
times of resting)

there is no ending
everything is here.


Friday, January 27, 2006

in praise of silence and leaps of faith

Or, a story of 24 redemptive hours told out of sequence in which i faced an old enemy called solitude (and survived to tell the tale)

So, with a job intact for February and March, back at my old stomping ground in Public Achievement for 3-4 days a week, today i had a truly inspiring day of green-ness.

got to visit the art college and see the glass-work-in-progress of heather wilson and work in fabric, branches, metal and paint and porcelein by some fellow MA students - wow! - and then went and got some bits n pieces for the current creative projects i'm working on, encouraged along by the gracious and ever-wise jayne.

whilst i ended up not having enough time to be further inspired by seeing Rize as planned with jayne, charlie and ella, i did eat a big plate of stew and got to chat with danielle louise.

dani told me that she knew some folks in new york. on september 11th, with all hell breaking loose, 2 of them contacted 2 others, each one professing their love for their friend, each one believing they may not survive the day and wanting to die knowing they had confessed their hearts' romantic desire for so much more... needless to say, they lived to tell the's amazing how bad things need to get for people to take a risk of the heart... and dani said if you knew that you'd call someone in the face of death, then you should do it today. dani's into bold gestures. she has an aussie's gutsiness. she was making a powerful point about the fear that binds us as humans...and as i drove home i was listening to the sigur ros track ::hoppipola:: (which translates as jumping into puddles - what a feckin' amazing language, that one word could describe that!) and i thought that it was very much the soundtrack to someone making such a bold gesture...jumping in to make a's the sound of an arm outstretched with a big bunch of roses beyond caring if they get turned down... of someone running through the pouring rain and shouting romantic poetry up to a window at 3 in the morning...of a first kiss leading to shared laughter of mirthful, surprised and gratified delight... or indeed the sound of the universe applauding the bravery of lost and wandering souls to keep going and to dare to have hope when all seems lost...

but i must backtrack. i made friends with a demon.

last night was significant...with gareth off to guernsey for some quality time with Paul C., i faced what in many ways i considered my first real night alone in the that i knew it was coming and i that i had to meet it head on and confront solitude and silence...i got through it...i sat in total silence for longer than i think i ever willingly have by choice...something i find deeply discomforting...aloneness has always been a dragon i was too scared to slay...and in between the silences i poured words onto the page...
and then... so that i might feel connected to my fellow sojourners in tuesday group, who are all going on parallel and entwined journeys of their own (with instruction from ignatius of loyala, inspiration from john o'donohue, conversations with the women of luke's gospel, and guided by padraig) and too are discovering contemplative space and what it means for us each to be fully alive, i listened for the first time with real intention to ::takk:: by sigur ros (from which hoppipola is third track), which was playing at our meal this past tuesday...
and then wrote some more... and cried... and smiled...and cried and smiled at the same time for good measure... and finally allowed the aloneness to be released from confrontation into consolation...finding that in the powerful long quiet that followed the music i didn't feel the disconnection i feared...

the track that really spoke to me last night in the dark hours of the night was ::glosoli::

as i began to feel fear turn to peace unfolding into hope becoming gratitude and wonder, i wrote the following...

it is the sound of
a hand opening
a bird stretching its wings
of icicles melting
of moments cracking with grace
the sound of someone stepping up and out into nothingness to fly

i sent this, and pages more of darkness, heartache, doubt, fragile hopes, memory and thankfulness, that had spilled out over many hours, and sent them out into the night to a fellow traveller still bravely slaying dragons of fear of their own... and today this came back...

...there is something about fear that has the potential
to turn into excitement. hope can guide it there, a
good thought, an inspiring word from another, can
allow you to move toward looking out at the vast
expanses with excitement. a glimmer in your eye, the
adventure, the fascination, the inquisitive child that
must know what lies beyond those hills, like having to
look to see what is on the other side of the hedge at
the top of your garden.
there is a whole world of healing delights

a night. a day. two songs. side by side. in turn, feeding me. inspiring me. expressing the universal...and the shared journey and the love and the inspiringly beautiful thoughts of people i love...all entwining...connecting me safe harbour despite the solitude...

i have no idea what the lyrics of either of those songs mean and like steve said at tuesday's dinner, i'm not sure i want a translation... the beauty of a language like icelandic is it's unrecognisable and unfamiliar... like sigur ros' usual self-created language, it is mystery... it can mean anything... and so it becomes universal...restricted only by our imaginations...

i know that i have faith in a kingdom where we run and leap, and open our hands, and make big splashes in joyfulness, and express our hearts without fear...

in the celtic tradition there is a beautiful concept of a thin place...where that kingdom is so close you can feel its presence. i always imagined that as another plane. a parallel universe rubbing up beside us...but today i'm thinking it's maybe inside...

for every difficult day to come... today i feel anchored...grounded...

and i am surprised and gratitudinal beyond measure to feel something that might have the embryonic hints of what it is for me to be fully alive as me...

friends, may our journey feel like adventure more days than not...i offer my fist and open my palm...a small gesture... but sincerely meant...

oh... and i'm guessing the romantics amongst you will know doubt be heartened to know that those brave new yorkers were rewarded for their turns out the feeling was mutual. as far as i know those two couples are both still happily entwined. let's hope so.

but please don't think this gives you permission to start quoting in my presence any movie that stars tom hanks and meg ryan. i may have faced a demon and been inspired by a tale of romance, but i did not have a lobotomy.

off to go exploring...

LB, x

Thursday, January 26, 2006

God is Now Here

a little while later...

feeling a little more connected, having joined some dots that put a smile on my face in the reminder that there is never coincidence, just threads we don't notice.

been catching up on all the latest at Harbour of Ourselves. if i've been suffering blogger's block, Paul C. certainly hasn't.

and lo and behold, he too has been drawing on Coupland, from
::Girlfriend in a Coma::

"If you are not spending every waking moment of your life radically re-thinking the nature of the world - if you are not plotting every moment boiling the carcass of the old order - then you are wasting your day."

so, Paul, or indeed anyone else, if you have a copy available, here's joining of dots... another track from ::sell sell sell::, which was playing as i read your blog and contains a beautiful symmetry to both Paul's musings and GIAC. you might like to enter into some passionate adolescent behaviour, like listening to this with every muscle you got...

this is nothing short of anthemic.


Tuesday my heart is brimming
I'm a child in the wild wind
Dead leaves and daylight dimming
No beginning and no end
Inside a candle of defiance
A river of pearls

Cause we're gonna need more
Than money and science
To see us through this world

You say it can't be done
You'd rather die of fun
Get out the way
For me for you for everyone
Forever is tomorrow is today

Shut all the windows
Shut all the doors
We're keeping it all out of sight
We're keeping it all
It's tearing us apart
You don't know your good
From your bad from your black
From your blood from your wrong
From your right
So you can camouflage your heart

I don't want no other distractions
There's too much here to see
Faint hearts or jaded reactions
Contraptions of history

You say it can't be done
You'd rather die of fun
Get out of the way
For me for you for everyone
Forever is tomorrow is today

Shut all the windows
Shut all the doors
I'm keeping it all out of sight
I'm keeping it all
It's mine and mine alone
Corrosion collision
I need a vision
To tear off the cloak of the night
And shatter eyes of stone

You say it can't be done
You'd rather die of fun
Get out of the way
For me for you for everyone
Forever is tomorrow is today
Forever is tomorrow is today
Forever is tomorrow is today

trash the future
violence doesn't suit ya
open your eyes wide

:0) that's the mojo coming back...
i remember now. it's been too long since i turned it up to 11.

or as paul c. would say, life is meant to be lived. and i've been doing far too much just getting through.

never stop rocking...and you'll never be mediocre.

LB, x.

God is Nowhere

one leaves
one stays

solitude comes to me
rapping its knuckles on the window pane
wants inviting in
maybe clarity is waiting by the back door
won't enter til it knows i am alone

still those things most present are those that are absent

::trust is risk masquerading as a promise::

can i trust that alone is not just another word for disconnection?

daring to stop and confront the silence so that it might console the mess of words, so many of which i'm too afraid to speak, and the things beyond words that are swirling beneath...

::Here:: is where the soul's need for solitudinal reflection and the heart's fear of aloneness converge

in the meantime, as i stumble toward clarity and articulation of what matters most right now, this has been the song of the week and gives voice to the frustration...if i could put it into words i wouldn't fear it half as much. in the writing down there is an affirmation of living. i voice, therefore i am. is that true if no one is listening? why do i need the ear anOther for it to make sense? to matter?

a blog. a name whispered into the dark when nobody's there. prayer.
is any one of these things not like the other?


Hold on to nothing
Hold on to coldest steel
It chills you down inside
When you see just what is real
Paste it up and tear it down
Move it on along the rushing road
Seventeen fahrenheit
Feel the winter grow

There's nowhere to write it
There's nowhere to write it
There's nowhere to write it down
There's nowhere to write it
There's nowhere to write it
There's nowhere to write it down
Nowhere to write it down
Write it down

Step down the alley
Walking against the stony crowd
Trying not to listen
Oh but they shout so loud
Chew you up and spit you out
Crush you 'tween it's finger and it's thumb
This world in all it's anger
Oh and there's always more to come

There's nowhere to write it
There's nowhere to write it
There's nowhere to write it down
There's nowhere to write it
There's nowhere to write it
There's nowhere to write it down
Nowhere to write it down
Write it down

- David Gray, from ::Sell Sell Sell::

::Wherever you are now is Here::


Tuesday, January 24, 2006

hey peeps

sorry for lack of posting.

something coming soon.

i promise.

there's been a lot going on in my little world. haven't had time...

be good. be kind. be truthful. and be free.

LB, x

Thursday, January 19, 2006

like a cat at 4am

i've got a blurry little bundle of thoughts, on vulnerability and the hazardous risk and healing of love, sitting on the periphery, so in the meantime, while i try and bring them closer so that i might articulate them, here's the words of adam duritz, one of my favourite lyricists. this is track 9 on counting crow's hard candy album, which is a decidely mixed fare. but this one is beautiful...

feel compelled to post this. i can't explain why, save for this album was playing on the car stereo as gail and i drove back across scotland. i don't recall hearing this track but the refrain ::it's all inside of you:: has been running through my head for the past 24 hours on constant replay. i wasn't even sure what song it came from and had to do a little digging to be reminded.

wondering if it was scratching at my door because of theme of the inner child needing security and the adult fulfilment of it in the arms of 'someone' (for which i wonder if he's really meaning 'anyone' and that the object of the song is the person that really matters to his heart)

but not sure if this song was beckoning to me, or to someone else... sometimes our stories intertwine... so i'm putting this out because maybe it's trying to speak to more than just me...or perhaps this gives voice to that which i don't yet know how or dare to express...

If anything
it should have been
a better thing
From underneath you
staring at the ceiling
There's another world
of chocolate bars and baseball cards
That hides inside of all
this tension that I'm feeling
But It's all inside of you
Yeah, it's all inside of you

Surprise surprise
I miss your hair, you miss my eyes
And all this solitude
is my confidence eroding
So we slide inside of
someone's mouth and someone's eyes
Until there's a sound
of something intimate exploding
But it's all inside of you
Yeah, it's all inside of you
It was all inside of you
It was all inside of you

I wish that I was anesthetized
and sterilized and then
we wouldn't have this evidence congealing
Surprise surprise,
another pair of lips and eyes
And that is the consequence
of actually feeling
It was all inside of you
It was all inside of you
It was all inside of you
It was all inside of you

LB, x

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

slow down to live your life

::take a good look at my face::

If you are in Edinburgh between now and march 12th might i recommend you check out the Scottish National Portrait Gallery on Queen Street in the New Town, specifically to see the BP Portrait Award 2005 amazing collection. i met one of the artists, david martin, at a party our host, the delightful Wendy, threw. he said he thought his portrait, ::the end of the festival::, was "pretty shit" beside the other pieces. it wasn't. it was incredible.

in addition to the lovely coffee for good causes, common grounds cafe is also featuring portraiture for good causes this month. ricky has a selection of beautiful photographic portraits from his wanderings in south east asia on the walls. profits from their sale will go to charities in the region.

::the sublime::

sometime in the coming months i'll be moving. as i struggle to articulate the overwhelmedness that provokes this morning, this is bringing solace...a slowing down...

i am currently listening to the new dennison witmer album, are you a dreamer? thanks to Jude for spreading the love. i said i'd pay it forward so this is it.
buy it here. you will not be disappointed. beautiful. haunting. blessing. dreamy.

here's how the album ends...

Finding your feet again

this is what it's like
finding your feet again
the part of you that couldn't
finally thinks you can

you're taking off some time to do this
a small aprtment bedroom rearranged
to know that you are loved
you're finding your feet again
the part of you that couldn't
finally thinks you can

a brownstone lines a street in brooklyn
the lights here flash from temperature to time
and people do the same
you're falling asleep again
part of you is dreaming
and part of you is dreamt

go now in the light of your God
go now in the love of your God
go now in the peace of your God
go now in the joy of your God

(sufjan stevens and the unmistakable sound of karen peris from the innocence mission do backing vocals)

as with all this wonderful guy's work, it's blissful and nurturing and tender, with chord changes that crack the heart however many times you hear them. i always think listening to his music is an act of kindness to yourself. you'll never regret it.

::the ridiculous::

i got this email today from peteR:

"OK one of my worries over the years concerns what happens when I am raptured and my Pagan friends are left behind - well I know you have worried as well. So check out "

::the journey::

tonight ::tuesday group:: opens its arms to welcome Padraig into our midst. at greenbelt he was our chef. for the next five weeks he his our guide. we are taking a walk through Luke's gospel to meet 5 women of wisdom. and along the way we will be exploring Ignatius of Loyola: his way of prayer and being fully alive, in all its simplicity and specialness.

may it help us unfurl into who we truly are.


for friendship, beautiful intention, empowerment, graciousness, and chuckling, on what could have been a far harder Monday than it turned out to be:

jayne, ricky, michael, and willow... you have my gratitude.

be still. be at peace. let go. live. and love.


Monday, January 16, 2006

struggling together. keep the faith


for a real treat in some beautifully constructed self expression, please go visit the newly opened Harbour of Ourselves... this man is capable of far more than saucy postings in my comments box. his writing is as much a joy to read as it is humbling in its eloquence. although saucy comments are just as appreciated for their light hearted levity on dark days. yes sir, i have the Vicks, thank you.

harbours... i have one or two, i know. and i know i have been a harbour myself on occasion.
i was struck while travelling in Scotland of my sense of intense need. for security and care. of the place within me where fear and fragility sit. of how long a journey we must go through to get to a place of freedom and peace.

Here be Monsters.

it's a scary out here in this vast open plain without the apparant security of my fortress. when i think about all the change that is to come i am so overwhelmed. sometimes thinking two days ahead is too much. but to find inspiration in small things, moments and people, that can sometimes be all we can do and hope they will be enough to keep us going into the next day. and that they will all somehow weave into a new life... i think when we express ourselves we are showing each other our maps... i am so thankful to be able to stumble alongside... real honesty is when we show even those bits of the map we drew in so that we wouldn't feel so scared...might we dare to rub them out and journey with the unknowness...

The Gulf of Terror.

the flip side of inspiration is intimidation. but in my cold-addled brain that is far from a clarified thought. but one for musing... there's something there about the gap between where we are and where we might hope to get to...

His Ears are HardWired to his Heart.

As i understand it there is a very strong possibility that my brother is going to visit for a few days next month. i almost don't want to believe it. it's too good to be true. just the mere thought of it brings so much emotion bubbling up and my knees to buckle. for those who do and don't know him, i hope i can organise some time to hang out with him and for him to meet those who have become so important to me. so that he will know that i am held together by dear and precious people. he is a benchmark for dearness and preciousness. ewan carries a wealth of creativity and care within him that never fails to astound me, and an openess of spirit that welcomes people into his heart as soon as he smiles.

the good dr has just provided me with a restorative lunch. so i'll stop typing and start eating.

more to come later... hopefully more clarity.

LB, x

spread the love, not the germs

don't step too close. i have a shocking chest cold and i don't want you to get it 'cause it sucks. i should've been in bed this past weekend and instead i was mostly driving across scotland and back. which was really good on many fronts. but not for said cold. thus, i am exhausted, so go look at the following and i'll write all my news of edinburgh and other things tomorrow.

May i point you in the direction of a seriously cool website:

this rocks big time. full props go to jonny mcewan and the good dr for the tip off.
i may never leave the house again.

be well,


Tuesday, January 10, 2006

poetry and priceless friendship

Having Jude around was a real blessing. i'm not sure i would know where to begin to describe what it was like to have her around and to talk face to face with her. it was a big weekend for both of us - so much has happened in the months since greenbelt. the mere acknowledgement of that was at moments pretty overwhelming for us both. but she actually managed to relax in my company and refused to accept that that was only because my life is such a car crash that her's seems a dream. apparantly it was 'cause of our quality chat. and it was quality. she is indeed more precious than rubies, that girl.
thanks to Padraig, who had us over for a wonderful dinner with music, poetry and games on Saturday. we were in good company. and apologies to those who had to cope with my lack of wellness and lack of smiles on Sunday morning. happy i was not. and no - it was not a hangover before anyone goes assuming i can't handle my drink. that is not in question. :0) below this is the poem i wrote for the evening. helen steiner rice it ain't. but for that i make no apology.

and hey - don't know if he's around this way much but paul c has at least been here once, going by his latest posting at jude's blog. and he was paying attention. colour me impressed at the eagle eye. mate, jude and spoke of you fondly. an email is on its way. (long overdue i know)

this week i am mostly thinking about producing the vagina monologues. and my tax return. and getting a job. and i won't go on as it's a long list and gets depressing very fast.

on thursday i head on a road trip to edinburgh with gail-the-lovely-poet. i'll be at a family 'do' on saturday. oh. but before that, there's friday. at ikea. and then there will be the wonder that is FOPP. and dinner parties. and journaling in coffee shops. that sounds like the start of a far more jolly list... so let's add the vagina monologues project to this list instead. hurrah.

be well, folks.


p.s gareth just showed me this. so worth watching... david letterman sticks it to the man:


hand said touch
arm said hold

lip said kiss
tooth said bite

breast said beat
hip said grind

thigh said open
cunt said close

ear said listen
eye said weep

chest said breathe
knee said crawl

foot said run
mind said fight

soul said love
heart heard break

Saturday, January 07, 2006

it's a late one...

to see an article that is bound to cause some folk's blood pressure to go up.

it actually led to a rather lengthy discussion between gareth, jude and i on feminism, patriarchy and gender difference. so the lite stuff of life. actually it's been quite a long time since i had a conversation of this type on any subject. it was a bit strange. i forgot what it's like. that's not to say i haven't had any intelligent conversations in recent months but they are of a very different quality. but then maybe that's cause i'm in a totally different place.

if you want a visual to go with the past two hours go to jude's blog (see right). :0)

right it's ten to three and the third pot of tea is ready to be poured and i'm closing this damn beautiful machine. it's been an overwhelming day and i need to disengage my brain....

ah, that's it: i'm getting very used to responding from an emotional rather than a cerebral place - which has been a massive change in my life. tonight i did the latter. like trying on an old coat that's been tucked in the back of the wardrobe... i think having jude around for the weekend will show me how much i have changed these past few months.

go see brokeback mountain. it's beautiful.

LB, x

Thursday, January 05, 2006


thank you to the lovely ladeez leaving such sweet comments this past week. much appreciated.

kirsty - i will see if jude or gareth is able to post a photo of me sans long hair this coming weekend to jude's blog, as i don't have a digital camera and posting photos to this blog is typically problematic, i.e. a pain in the arse.

don't tell anyone but i am sitting in common grounds and my ibook has picked up a wireless network in the vicinity, with no password needed. ::sweet::

even the rainiest of days has a little brightness...

LB, x

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

is anything built to last?

Hallelujah! dr gareth has resurrected my iPod. lazarus brought back from the grave.

however, in a techkarmic balancing act: the tv has died.

and so has the kettle.

but dvds can be played on the ibook and i have pulled a stove top kettle down from
the attic that whistles. very retro. we is liking its vibe. sorry. i is liking its vibe. force of habit. still getting
used to talking in the first person singular. (although i've always had the feeling i was called to some kind of regality so maybe i'll start using the royal 'we' then no one will notice my slip ups.)

so ya know, things work out one way or another.

i watched ::playing by heart:: last night on loan from dear, sweet, beautiful keli h - what a lovely tear fest it was. great cast. great script. strong themes about fragility and vulnerability, honesty, and the need to be open to letting love in as much as wanting to give love out. it was healing to watch. i recommend it to anyone who wonders if they won't ever be able to find or maintain a meaningful relationship. it's a tender exploration of that (let's be honest and call it what it is) fear. chris told me recently that adam philips says in one of his books, "Trust is a risk disguised as a promise." it came to mind.

oh. in other news of the wonderful kind: Jude is coming to visit this weekend. methinks a crow bar will be needed to prise us out of our first hug since Greenbelt. i have missed her so much these past months.

right. i have work to do if i'm ever gonna get this production of ::the vagina monologues:: off the ground. so i'm heading into belfast and am gonna settle down in a coffee shop with my iBook...

i hope this finds you all getting something of what you need to make it through the week. be brave.


"He said, "Talking about love is like dancing about architecture... but it doesn't stop me from trying"."
- Joan (Angelina Jolie) in ::Playing by Heart::

Tuesday, January 03, 2006's a long one

first up, i have been remiss in not noting gratitiude to those with whom i shared christmas day and boxing day. ::you rock my world:: the festive sojourn was, despite running out of home heating oil (D'Oh!), a warm experience, thanks to you all.

this week i am busy writing. yes. actually writing. and not blog musings either. but a proper grown up book.

way back on the second week of blogging (March 2005) I said that once i was working just one job i was going to run at a long overdue book project. well, real life kinda got in the way, as it so awkwardly often does, and now that i have no job i am trying to have a go and make real progress in the hopefully not too long interim until i find myself again gainfully employed. i have no idea if i can get it published, although i think it's probably marketable, but i'm writing it anyway cause it's been sitting in my head all this time and i need to make room for other stuff.

this next bit is for Willow who has, has along with other angels, been rather encouraging of my efforts.

so Willow,
this is the comment posted to duchovny's blog that led to me having a blog in the first place. in light of 2005's more dramatic events and my stumbling attempts to share that journey with some kind of honesty on these pages (at least since it became impossible to hide the truth any longer), this is quite poignant. i'm not into prophecy, but you gotta wonder at what we know deep within ourselves. i mean in terms of truths to hold for the journey ahead... anyway here it is for your enjoyment. it's still sitting online at the ::house of d:: blog but the formatting there is kinda screwy. so funny to think that as i was writing this you were on set and meeting the man and talking ordination potential... still making me chuckle.


You have me back reading the Grimm brothers. “One eye, two eyes and three eyes” is still as freaky a tale at 31 as it was when I was 7.
Anyways, I’m backtracking to a comment or two you made in earlier posts. (I hope that doesn’t confuse things) Heck you ain’t using caps or paragraphs, so I’ll jump back in time.

So I’ve been musing about how to be human is to be storytellers. And it seems that those who pursue the telling with commitment and conviction, (be they writers, or actors, musicians or movie directors), in telling stories of what it is to be human, must strive to be honest. To be an authentic witness to human experience. To tell it like it is, as much as how it can be.

Frederick Buechner writes beautifully on this theme. In “Telling the Truth”, where he’s exploring tragedy, comedy and fairytale and reflecting on what it is to be a truthful preacher, he speaks to anyone who wants to tell the story of what it is to be a ‘human being’. It came to mind when I thought about your comment that you wanted to write “a funny, tragic modern day urban fairy tale--that didn't pull punches” and indeed in the idea of “unlikely angels”. Something tells me you’d get a kick out his poetic and beautifully comic musings, maybe in particular his thoughts on tragedy in Dostoevsky.

And maybe his last line in that same book, in which he paraphrases Tolkien, defines your ‘movie movie’. One which tells a “tale that is too good not to be true because to dismiss it as untrue is to dismiss along with it that catch of the breath, that beat and lifting of the heart near to or even accompanied by tears, which I believe is the deepest intuition of truth that we can have."

Telling the truth of human experience, from a place of authenticity and vulnerability is sometimes the best thing we can do with the tools we have. Maybe that resonates with your comment about “pleasing yourself and others will be pleased”. Maybe that’s another way to say, “To thine own self be true”. When you tell your own tales of the world within, others will hear their own story told in the telling. When you speak of healing, others share in the gift. The redemption of a story is the possibility of a happy ever after. That impossibly, detention cells might one day become gardens, without or within us, (loving that idea). But no one will believe it unless first they trust you’ve told it like it is. To hear the hilarious absurdity– that there really is a point to hoping in this world and that sometimes our angels are indeed unlikely but angels all the same, then first the heartache must be authentically given voice. Only then might we be awakened unto hope. Something tells me you may just have got it right with your tale. . I sure hope so.

Very much enjoying this open conversation you’ve got going and looking forward to the European release date. Hope you find restorative time amidst the busyness of getting HoD out there.

That was long. I’m sorry. There’s no doubt a line building up behind me.

Word is born.



well, over nine months on since i wrote the above and i have litle or no clue as to why willow and others drop by here, and i'm still not sure what my reasoned thoughts on blogging are. but, if nothing else, it's a good way to keep writing with regularity and honesty. so, if for no other purpose, it has been worth it.

thanks friends for your encouragement and little bursts of excitement. it means a lot. here's hoping to hell i can complete this and the various other creative pursuits currently sitting on the table. you'll no doubt be hearing about all of them as the weeks and months go by.

when people ask me what i do i have been encouraged to say with confidence, "i am currently between jobs, but mostly i write"...
but any ideas for gainful employment would be greatly appreciated. there are after all bills to be paid. and although the eagles sang, 'love will keep us alive', i'm not taking any chances. i'd kinda like to work in a book store or a coffee shop but last time i tried to pursue that i was apparently over qualified and didn't get a look in. Gen X attempts at mcjobbing are not as easy as you might think. note to self: update CV asap.

and may i finally add some snap shots from the mcewan's new year's eve bash, which was marvellous by the way. thanks to our hosts: you throw a great party. i suggest you respond with a seasonal pantomime approach, i.e. with lots of cheers and boos in the appropriate places:

1. dressed up for once (well it did involve jeans but i was a sight more dressy than
normal) with a brand new hair cut, i saw in the new year unexpectedly
being kissed (rather passionately might i add) by a good looking gay man,
who took pity on my current "lack of action" and decided to start my year off with
a reminder of what i am missing. sweet merciful Lord!
2. i was told by a i was "over-the-hill" at 32. SO not
impressed. i am still smarting but maintained enough of a Christ-like attitude to
applaud his rather good guitar playing and singing when,
3. much of the night was spent at the party-within-a-party in the front room, where a
bunch of us sang the night away as we so often do. i was truly chilled, happy, and
i think, in the ball park of in-tune. but we had all drunk a lot so who cares? by
the way, might i recommend port as a good balm for the throat when attempting to
vocally perform at half four in the morning.
4. i stayed up until well after 6am, and that included still dancing at 5am.
Over-the-hill, my arse, ya young scut!!!

4 days to brokeback mountain... the good dr says it's a sure thing for best picture at the oscars.

and to those who are currently engaged in essay writing, be it on the finer details of health management in the NHS, Christian theology in all its glory, or indeed phenomenological analyses of porn, God Speed(typing)!

LB, x

Sunday, January 01, 2006


on the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
beneath your feet
to balance you.

and when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey windows
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

when the canvas frays
in the curach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

may the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

and so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

~ John O'Donohue, from Anam Cara