Saturday, April 29, 2006

Devon knows how they make LoserBaby so creamy

it's probably not very wise to blog after an evening of steady alcohol intake but ah well, let's see if i can type out something of coherence, to mark the end of a day of some significance...


nope. it's not gonna work... so here's some words that held significance in my conversation with sigmund today...make of them what you will...



some thanks for today,

to willow - thank you for your encouragment and opening up your new home... yup, you've done good gal. i stand in admiration of your courage. may it be the first of many visits.

ricky - for an oh so early morning pact successfully achieved, for level 5 as ever, and for an evening of persistant comedy and laughter you have my sincere appreciation. it was a tonic after hard work done with sigmund. (btw, your comrade chloe has chosen right now, for first time ever, to sit on my lap... just as i'm about to be parted from her she goes all soft on me... go figure...)

jayne - for unedited randomness of expression and knowing oyu can get away with it with me... and for the confidence that i might have something worthwhile to express on "the wall"... can't wait to start on the LoserBaby installation as it shall heretofore be known...

jonny - for hospitality and infectious enthusiasm, encouragement and inspiration.

to paul - much love, my friend. every day this week i've thrown thoughts of you skyward and asked for the benevolent force to make its presence felt. a mighty grace to you...

shirley - i look forward to a coffee sometime. colour me truly humbled. i'll be writing to you...


have a wonderful weekend friends,

the summer is a comin' in

LB, x

p.s the title is a link...

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

what's the meaning...?

my dear friend said, "i discovered the meaning of life a couple of weeks back"

for whatever reasons that there, and now, i choose not to explore, i did not want to hear the revelation in truth or in jest...

but it pulled me up all the same...compelled me to write define pin down catergorise seek tell remember my own...maybe i did not want to know because we can never tell the meaning of life to another, it can only be known to the self..

this is what i wrote...and as i wrote i saw in my mind paul's blog post of earlier today, In the arms of the angels ... with its starkly powerful image, which at the time provoked in me pretty much this same emotional surge that i ended up writing about tonight... i'm leaving this pretty much unedited, so forgive any sloppiness, this is the gut of the heart speaking, not the rational(ising) mind...


What is the meaning of life?

Is there any meaning? he said he found it a few weeks back. i was afraid of the answer...i’m not sure i even believed him, but i don't know why... yet it sparked in me... my precious this mystery of meaning is... am i afraid of revelation that might rob me of meaning?

I’m not sure we ever find it definitively. we are given but mere glimpses. through a glass darkly we squint and peer...

it must be something to do with:
To respond to the pain of others
To value ourselves and each other in our humanity as equal

Maybe in the face of apparent meaninglessness, the meaning of life is the very act of finding meaning – of not being defeated by despair. Of seeing beauty. Not the outer beauty, but the inner...

or maybe the meaning is to believe there is a meaning. Reason to go on...

or, is it to love rather than hate?

the meaning is in recognising that this life is precious and to see it as something to be cherished. that others are to be cherished... love your neighbour. love your enemy.

the meaning is...
to see a photograph of a figure suspended in falling, and find meaning
to see the life that is being lost
to see the soul and heart and the tragedy of the loss of this person before their time
not because they are American, not because they represent democracy
because they were a human being, born of a mother, who had the capacity for love and was loved. Cherished.
for them not to be a stranger. but a person. valuable. priceless.

The meaning of life is to love. To recognise our capacity to love.
The meaning is to cherish this life.

Life is beautiful. is meaninglessness born of action that contradicts life's beauty...?

the meaning is:
Not to seek power.
Not to want more than you need.
to never put ideaology or self interest before the other...

The meaning of life is to feel in order to act...with compassion in every waking moment. or at least try to. we can do that.
to live with compassion is to never willingly harm yourself or another it is to embrace the beauty of the human... to always believe in the possibility of love, peace, care, kindness, truth and beauty being present in every moment if we choose to see it... and where it does not exist... to do something about it... to change our lives, our world so that everyone has that chance... from the starving child in Niger to the falling in see them as priceless as daniel, or chris, or ewan, or jude, or padraig, or ricky, or paul, or mo, or willow or any other person that i love...

the meaning has to be we live to live out this kind of Love...the kind of love that costs us something...the kind of love that has true weight...value...honest meaning...the kind of love that lives in the place deep within where there are no more words... the same place that holds the well of tears within us... when we love we feel when we feel we hurt


and this too was running through my mind...from American Beauty, spoken by ricky fitts (no stranger to coldness, brutality, and sadness), as his eys brim with tears. it is not the video i remember when i recall this scene but his face... his humanity... his capacity for feeling...

It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. And this bag was, like, dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. And that's the day I knew there was this entire life behind things, and... this incredibly benevolent force, that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember... and I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in.

and i find a year on since the good friday i designed my tattoo, that despite so much disconnection from what i thought was belief, that the eternal mystery remains... what is the difference between the divine and love?

alpha : YHWH : AMOR : omega

the best i can ever seem to do is just feel the meaning... the mystery... the meaning that gives (my) life and the people in it "the patina of the cherished"... is that enough... does it make me a believer?


post-script: i am not quite clear why, but as i've been browsing back through ::the harbour of ourselves:: these past few minutes (paul - your words have moved me much of late my friend, so many images and thoughts i have not been able to shake off), this quote, from a few posts back, struck a chord in me. i have no clear sense of what dots it joins with the post above, although i think it may resonate with the last ungrammatic but heartfelt last line i wrote in the splurge, that is probably about as honest as my woundedness gets, when we love we feel when we feel we hurt but anyways, fwiw,

How strange that we should ordinarily feel compelled to hide our wounds when we are all wounded.'
M. Scott Peck, A Different Drum

my friend

not much left to say today, or at least not enough energy to say it all... so instead i'll just wear a wide appreciative grin to the thought of young daniel. commonly known as DF. what a kid. he damn near melted my heart beyond the point of reconstitution tonight.

so, committing to memory to save for a rainy day or monday:

stepping through the door... dan leaping to his feet and climbing up into my arms... to feel his soft face against my own... telling me in eloquent detail the whys and wherefores of getting to play on the 'little beach' in wexford. it is an epic holiday tale involving damaged and impassable wooden steps caused by falling rocks. why? because 'the mountains are falling down!' but the family being undeterred had a special route onto the beach involving climbing. oh yes, climbing! and he paddled every day in the sea. was it cold in the water? yes. it was cold. but he paddled all the same.

life is an adventure when you're 4. or at least it should be. i'm so glad he gets to enjoy the thrill of it all, knowing he is loved, higher than his dad can jump.

bless him as he blesses me... he is priceless.

LB, x

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

and we grow

with a shit but allthesame welcome cup of coffee in hand i'm back at the sinking ship known as work trying to do something that looks like catching up on the backlog, whilst trying not to feel "inadequate", having opened an email inbox containing over 50 spam ads for viagra...

wanted to (b)log for the record that this is something of a red letter day:

tonight tuesday group reconvenes after our easter break, but with the addition of two new members: keli and stu, those gems collectively known as the mullingtons. colour us all a little excited at the prospect of our (ahem) enlargement, and the enrichment we know they will bring to our collective. i hope we can make them feel at ease, truly welcomed and at home from the moment their feet are under the table...

well, no rest for the wicked...

be well

LB, x

and over...

after a day off sick in bed, resulting in some zzzzz, and despite no caffeinated coffee since sunday lunchtime, i find myself awake at nearly 3am...

but at least i find myself returning to a more settled state of mind and being... gone is the hormonal turbulence...

but something of the disbelief remains... that i still persist in not quite somehow being able to believe that i am alone here now... moments continue day in and day out, when out of nowhere, when i am not paying attention, i will find myself caught up with, shaken like a rag doll: left, left, left...

who can ever guess what goes through the mind of another at moments like these? i try to make sure no one knows. when it strikes, i just sit there head buried in a newspaper, book or journal, or typing on these very keys. or turn my head away, unable to look others straight in the eye, always taking a deep breath and swallowing down the desire to collapse beneath the weight of reliving the moment of abandonment over and over... of the grief which remains so vivid... so overwhelming...

are there others walking these streets sitting in the same cafes and restaurants across the cinema aisle in the same traffic lane behind in the supermarket line even alone in their rooms, swallowing down the grief? there must be so many... so much sadness... not wishing to be burdensome, not knowing how to express their pain in accordance with good conduct, too afraid to express vulnerability for fear of letting go it will never cease... but swallow down we many come by way of sorrow...

i look back on the months gone since and i remember the moments that i swallowed it down just as i recall the moments i could not...and then i try to relive those moments when my knees would no longer hold me straight or my eyes refused to hold back tears when i was not alone... and i remember the words spoken and the arms given and i try so very hard to live with gratitude for them... and here on days when i've been tucked away by myself, there are always reminders, messages left even here in these pages and i learn to treasure them as if they were spoken words and bodily gestures...

look. first person. no buffer tonight. no swallowing down. but still typing words that affirm the getting through.

i look forward to a real coffee tomorrow. gonna need it. it's past half three already...

LB, x

Monday, April 24, 2006

reality hits over

30 december 2005: i remember that i wept. my knees buckled and i whispered, "i am so tired of keeping it together. i feel like such a fucking loser and it takes so much energy to reinvent myself everyday..."

there are days when you think,

this cannot possibly be my life...
how the hell did i get to here?

this is one of 'em...

the kind of day when your hormones refuse to play nice... and let your heart out of the bag to rise up and catch in your throat...

when aloneness feels like lead and allows you no one else to convict but yourself.

thinking in the third person becomes the buffer when you realise the painful truth that keeping up the pretense you don't need is not only exhausting but a futile lie.

gonna sleep some.


Saturday, April 22, 2006

home, part deux

it's all about the collectivity...

just arrived home from a pretty cool friday: companionship and artistic processing (of i know yet not what) with jayne, cosmopolitans and level 5 chat with keli (a long overdue embracing of 'our' favourite 'tipple' and in practise what i fear/anticipate may become an all too regular 'cocktail hour' in our collective abode) coffee and realness in beautiful evening light with the mullingtons, jayne, willow and john p, and dinner at dao on dublin road with a bottle of wine and level 5 with willow, with keli's instruction that we should spend the evening being 'the ladies who dinner'. ha.

and so i return home with a multitude of thoughts swimming within me - but all tied together, as i have written of often on these pages, that this city, which, if we let it would drive us to despair, is the setting for committed relationships.

i have really missed the rootings of my week - i have had neither tuesday group or session with sigmund this week, and yet i enter another saturday knowing that i have an incredible bunch of people in my life. all unique, not always in agreement on everything, and with often vastly different experiences, but with the commonality of wanting to be 'real'. we often express that differently, and each bring our own sets of 'issues' and hurts to the table, but the commitment to one another is palpable, and as i told my step sister the other day in dublin, i wouldn't move back even if i could afford it, i have too many good friends here - i choose these people to be 'home' to me, to allow my life to intertwine with their's.

this season sees many of us moving into the same area... many of my closest friends
will soon be in a mile radius of me... and as i write those words it strikes me that this will be the first time in my life i've been able to write those words... ever.

this city is not always an easy one to live in. but then, where is? well, asides from vancouver. but even it has a heroin problem. and switzerland has a shocking suicide rate despite being able to time your watch by the bus timetable. this place, for all its fucked up-ness has a heart. a deeply troubled one maybe, but as i said to paul c on his last visit here, there's something in this place that you can sharpen yourself on...

LB, x

Thursday, April 20, 2006


jayne took this photograph on the last night by the fire when the wee bro was back here last month...

feel the love...

he passes on the following for our delight and delictation... podcast link on RHS of homepage

mogwai podcast

as you'll see i altered the way the postings are archived. i've been browsing back through them... there are dates of such significance here and so much left unsaid. for second time today my face is wet. so, it is with glad heart that today i have already been, and will continue to be, in the company of some of my best friends.

you just keep writing on and it proves you are making it through...


not a bad place to spend a weekend, huh?

i've just realised that posting photos to this thing is very simple on the mac version. it was ridiculously complicated from my PC. so, here's where my bro went camping for easter: the rather awesome killarney, ontario.

photos from my own easter trip to follow at some point. and no doubt random shots pulled from the archive.

LB, x

you excelled at being free

breaking news...

following sightings by several bemused commuters, LoserBaby admits truth in the rumour that as she listened to take that performing live on chris moyle's radio 1 breakfast show whilst driving to work she was moved to shed a tear. indeed to several.

LB, best known for her confessional blogging, was 21 and studying journalism in dublin when back for good was released in march 1995. never having bought a take that record during, or after, their hey day LB admitted, however, this was her favourite single.

When asked to comment on today's public display of emotion, Ms Baby responded, "colour me moved by the poignancy of superb songwriting beautifully performed. had i put on my eyeliner before i left the house it would have been a far messier affair."

she refused to comment on which of the band members she found most attractive in 2006 but as she entered her office she was overheard asking a colleague, "how did angels by robbie williams get voted best UK single of all time? back for good is a far superior song on several levels. pop is a fickle game in which there is little justice."

take that begin their UK this week. it is believed LoserBaby will be unveiling a new blog posting later today.

in other news, tom cruise was overheard telling his adoring fiancee katie holmes he believed his newborn daughter to be an incarnation of an ancient alien being and one day she would rule the planet. a source close to the star...

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

it is dark, but also not

nothing is gonna happen til i get some coffee in me...didn't get much sleep last night...

now. that's better.
first up a thank you to claire for serendipitous emailing that was sent before the easter weekend but i didn't receive til i reached the office this morning... i fell into my bed last night with a pretty heavy heart (well, to be honest, there wasn't much that was pretty about it) and awoke to find nothing much had changed...

claire, your words were a tonic. thank you for continued encouragement. it means a whole lot.

tried posting the link below to timebeing but alas the system seems to be down... in the past 36 hours i've been listening with gratitude to dj shadow live! in tune and on time, which came back into the collection just the other night after a holiday away...

anyways - check out details here for what for some of you will be a gig of the year, if only ya lived in LA...and for a good cause too...the line up's somethin' else...

anyways, i have work to do. i'm playing the aforementioned album here in the office. a spoonful of sugar....

loosen your seatbelts, let's rock and roll.

more later when i get the chance...

LB, x

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

you were meant for me

i was going to tell you all about bird watching and other nice things from the weekend but i got to watching a movie, which always makes me cry (i'd tell you what it is but you'd go thinking i had a heart underneath this cynical exterior) and then got ta chatting to jude in a long overdue IM session. yay for french holiday. yay for a belfast visit in the offing.

so that news will have to wait for later. in the meantime, the following was typed by easter without any help from me:

xc vvvvvvvvvvvvvvv


beautiful. he's one talented cat.

LB, x

chiff chaffs

am on IM with the wee bro and he's giving me an education in electronica... it's very like bird spotting... more on that later. for now enjoy some great AV.

he saw these guys play live in Toron'o last night... check out the link for a stunning bit of animation:


info on the band themselves at

and here's what the bro calls 'a psychadelic old spice ad' - the latest from BOC

then check out ::adem::

over 'n' out, for now...

LB, x

a mighty grace

suffusing the pores of every creation
seeping into every nook between the rocks
her shadow sweeping across granite
glitters in her wake
weaving between buildings
under bridges
she sees apples in grates
and messages in broken bottles
spirit wrapping round every tall reed
beating her wings
showing heron how
angel wants
amps turned up full
strumming til fingers are bleeding
draining the bottle
marlon's gone skating
cans are spraying
stencils stating
pen is moving
with violent beauty
attention! ecoutez et repetez:
forget product
love is reason
it's for kicks
play rebellion

Saturday, April 15, 2006

it feels like this...written for Chris

i'm on easter break from therapy til the end of the month and sigfield kindly didn't give me homework...but i have a growing box of tools to work with in the interim.

the interplay between image and word is fascinating and sigfield is teaching me how to listen to intuition (you'll find it in the :sixth sense: aisle in B&Q)...we're being playful and working where i'm comfortable but it's proving productive for the time's like we're getting the lie of the land...i'm working so hard at it. trying not to hold back. it feels like morpheus and neo in the virtual martial arts training room...don't try and hit me... hit me. or whatever that line is.

then there's my sketch pad, which i'm enthusiastic to keep allows my analytical conscious mind (it too a tool in itself - a hungry student that is engaging itself and is proving to be useful) play around with my unconscious without it being too emotionally scary. some of the book contains cartoon strips and it allows me to treat my inner emotional world like a character - perpetuating dissociation for a while longer but in a useful way... using a defense mechanism to ultimately turn on it... it's early days and there's a pandora's box rattling inside. opening it will be a scary and emotionally difficult process... this is like listening to the sounds coming from the box and getting comfortable with the idea that letting it out will be disruptive to my life and potentially life changing...and gradually we're going let the analytical brain give way and let the things in the box come forth and speak or indeed scream like a banshee... but it's like we're getting our game plan together...

ha, i was thinking it's like a sherriff and his deputy crouched behind a saloon bar in a classic western shootout - "how many of 'them' are there?" "cover me!" "i got your back." but that's too easy. no, and you'll get this... it's more like mulder and krycek in a face off with the bounty hunter or a Syndicate heavy... can mulder trust krycek to watch his back and cover him? or will he turn double agent and shoot him in the back instead? the trust is fragile and the stakes are high. krycek's exotic... mysterious, who the hell is he, what's his story? but he holds knowledge and uses it ruthlessly. mulder wants to beat him up or maybe beat him off. now there's a (figuarative) freudian fine line. but he needs him to survive. yup. sigfield is like krycek to the mulder of my inner world. a troubling ally or a trustworthy enemy? mulder reacts violently because he has no choice but to trust him to get to the truth. but one things for sure... this is a profoundly powerful relationship.

which brings me to my dreaming, which i am gonna combine with my my scribblings and scratchings by writing and drawing dreams are becoming so vivid...and where my 'violence' toward krycek comes out... we're seeing a pattern... i'm resisting sigfield's intrusion but drawn to it's like the box knows its gonna be opened, or, at the waterline surrounding the iceberg the waves are getting choppy, underneath things are moving, jostling, getting restless, uncomfortable... so last night on waking at 3am i wrote my dream down: therapy as disruption to my life...and ironically, literally.

but sigfield knows it. and he smiles that krycek smile and says, "so i'm intruding aren't i? so come on, let's play. trust me."

LB, x

Thursday, April 13, 2006

look closer

ha. so my brother has been reading the preacher. well whaddya know? and that it should be wee ben, glenn hansard's most sincere fan, who introduced me to it only adds to the splendidness of the synchronicity. beautiful.

pay attention and it's happening everywhere.

i hope wherever you are that you get to see the face of the full moon in all its melancholy and infinite sadness - it's like a torch beam in the clear sky over belfast tonight.

i don't know whether it's the arrival of my new spring/summer coat - jude, you will LOVE it sweetie, SO much - or an amazing 50 minutes of level 6 communication (level 5 but with breathtaking insightfulness breaking through every crack to cast healing light upon persistant questions) with sigmund over my sketch pad scratchings that left me affirmed and inspired, or reading the first few essays of julia cameron's wisdom, which left me feeling free enough to write in the moment earlier tonight (see previous posting below) and wanting to write more until i my fingers bleed, or telling jayne about l'isle sur la sorgue and the evocativeness of how we spend our days there... but something tonight is making my heart sing... when i step through my back door into the kitchen i reach out my hand in the darkness to feel for, and switch on, a socket on the wall...this simple act causes fairy lights to twinkle above me and the stereo to start playing... this week it's been takk. this is how i am welcomed home each night... but tonight, for the first time in a while, this was not needed to invoke a mood but merely reflects how i am feeling... touched by a simple grace of the smallest moments...i feel alert...

"For most of us, the seductive and unstated part of, "if i had enough time" is the unstated sentence, "to hear myself think". in other words, we imagine that if we had time we would quiet our more shallow selves and listen to a deeper flow of inspiration... this is a myth that let's us off the hook - if i wait for enough time to listen , i don't have to listen now, i don't have to take responsibility for being available for what is trying to bubble up today... if we learn to write from the sheer love of writing, there is always enough time, but time must be stolen like a quick kiss between lovers on the run. as a shrewd woman once told me, "the busiest and most important man can always find time for you if he's in love with you, and if he can't, then he's not in love." when we love our writing, we find time for it. the trick then with finding writing time, is to write from love and not with an eye to product. don't try to write something perfect; just write. don't try to write the whole megillah; just start the whole megillah. taking the time to write in our lives gives us the time of our lives. as we describe our environments, we begin to savour them. even the most rushed and pell-mell life begins to take on the patina of being cherished."

- Julia Cameron, ::the right to write::

my instinct says we can replace ::write:: with ::create :: in those lines and it all stands, whatever our medium...painter, photographer, graffitor, cartoonist, musician...

there is not a single unconnected thread under the sky...and so much beauty in it all, making the moon's heart break...

LB, x


He passed...walking with long strides, a bounce in his step and an apparent sense of direction. Telling us he has somewhere to go. Whatever was playing on that iPod, he was walking in time to it – so that his gait had the flavour of a dance. He was moving lightly on the pavement, and at speed. Not hurried, but with the quickness that comes at ease with length of leg and step. But it was his face that said the most. How hard to believe it was the facade of one projecting confidence to strangers. No, his smile was as if he were sharing a quiet joke with himself. No, not that...something had made him happy. One can only presume it was the sounds in his head connecting down into his core. That smile was... unselfconscious. True contentedness. Whatever might come, here in the now: this is him... in the moment: happy with his lot on this planet. And he glowed as he smiled.

Sitting staring into the street I find myself smiling, with a quiet contentedness in the knowledge of a fleeting moment in this day, when someone was simply happy when he thought no one was looking... must be catching...

LB, x


sorry for distinct lack of posting... this is a snapshot of the past 10 ten days, which has been in the writing since monday...
which i guess speaks to what's speaking to my'll probably wander all over the place.. you can pull any themes together at your i type, myself and jon preston are sitting facing each other on the CG sofas and nodding our heads in time to the arcade fire...

let me start by welcoming ben. nice to have you and your dreds in the neighbourhood my friend. i must also apologise that i omitted to disclose that two saturday's ago - the day i lost my wallet, ben treated me to a couple of my 'specials'. and that was before i knew i'd lost my purse. it was an oversight on my part. thank you ben. and thank you too for the gift of 'the preacher'. any comic compared to flannery o'connor has gotta be worth a look.

graphic depictions
sigfield gave me more homework. so this past weekend, brought to you by the word, disassociation, was filled with me drawing in a big sketch pad. jayne's hoping to study art therapy and we are both rather fascinated at the struggle it is for me to uncouple myself from the written word when faced with a task such as i have been given. there is something going in the need to be exacting, precise, to articulate myself in such a way that i can explain what i mean... a desire to not be misunderstood or misinterpreted perhaps? or is it just performance anxiety... words and sometimes images flow so easily when spontaneous, but ask me to write or draw and i battle with it... that's an apology as much as anything to paul for my delay in getting my work-in-progress for the greenbelt website completed... it's getting there my friend but not without a struggle... i was terrified to just find my name on the site...

group mentality
The group therapy session for Chris was a fascinating experience and he and the class seemed pretty satisfied by our performances. taught everyone a lot about the difficulties of building a safe space. the'facilitators' who were, as predicted, terrified, hardly got any of our back stories... none of us opened up any more than our individual characters would feel comfortable with in the moment... i'd definately revist the experience. it was an incredible feeling to feel one's own personality be taken over by that of my character so that i began to respond without my own consciousness worrying what the facilitators thought... there's something highly therapeutic about acting. food for thought indeed.

Been reading zoe heller’s, notes on a scandal. I would have read it quicker but i put it aside for a week so the experience would last longer. but alas it's over... she uses the pen like a scalpel. chillingly cold in her characterisations and dissection of motivations. this is the kind of writing that makes me jealous. not a word out of place. superb economy. i'm not sure i'd rec this for the beach. it's too dark for sunshine. spend a day curled up in bed and read in a one-er. thoroughly gripping from start to finish.

well worth the ticket price


family by choice

enjoyable hanging out time and chat with keli and mccleary on saturday. needless to say i am loving intentional time spent with the former - i think we'll do a more than okay job of this home sharing deal (we're level 5-ing as much as possible and committed to being open and honest from the get-gop about what we need to make it work) and i am excited that the pencil plan for mccleary is a return to his homeland post-greenbelt. it'll be a joy to have him back in the neighbourhood so here's hoping it all works out as he wishes.

the village
if i even start on this now i'll be writing for a week. needless to say, i watched this for the first time on saturday night with jayne, susan and 2 decidedly nervous 12 year olds, ella and julia, and LOVED it. this just might be my fave of night shyamalan's films so far. high girl power quotient. i felt this movie in my gut.

sunday night saw an instalment of club du cinema (what we call the good dr’s sunday night film showings…). Recently music's been a strong theme and we have watched, sweet charity, all that jazz, rent. sunday saw us watching all 3 of the qatsi trilogy. i think the first is worth a watch - found huge resonances with the work of coupland and GenX fears in it myself, but the second and third i don't think i'd bother revisiting, although they had some moments that were impactful.

received with thanks
Danke für das Buch, mein hoher Freund. ich leibe die Fotographien.

highlights in brief
padraig and i pissed ourselves laughing as we had our first league of gentlemen conversation since he bought the first series boxset.

got to talk to jude on the phone. (looks like we're hitting Provence at end of june for some seriously redemptive relaxation)

presmo and me had some intentional level 5. its a cool experience to see someone open up to you. an honour. and today he gave me some fair trade chocolate as a treat in my take away from CGs... sweet. :0)

looking ahead:
good friday to be spent with mark, willow and i hope, the mullingtons
saturday-monday sees a roadtrip to Dublin with jayne and ricky. we're staying with my folks and plan to make liberal use of our cameras

right. that's enough for now. i hope to get back into the swing of posting in the coming few days. this blog in the past, i realise, has been a place for grounding me. now i have sigmund, i think i'm having to reorient myself a bit. it's changed the focus of my week and i've been busy doing my homework. i've filled about 10 A2 pages with images and words. it's been hard work but it's revealing a lot of stuff to me and i've been feeling brighter amidst the transition.

love to all. may this season of rebirth bring us hard core hope and clarity.

LB, x

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

the invitation

(acting as Lynn's offical memory bank:
takk by sigur ros
the space between us by craig armstrong)

anyways, chris read this at tuesday group last night...

::The Invitation:
by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer
copyright © 1999 by Oriah Mountain Dreamer.

i'm trying to complete a draft posting but turned out i had more to cover than i thought. but i determined to have it posted by bedtime tonight.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

5 years, so it is...

'Bout ye!

I’m sitting in Common Grounds and Baby is back up and running with juice aplenty. Although this return to technologically dependent normality is tempered by having forgotten my mobile phone today.

I’ve really missed having my iBook and the concomittent regimen of writing on a near daily basis. I’ve been longhanding in my note book but there is something altogether more therapeutic about sitting cross legged on the sofa here in my local just letting my fingers run across the keys like I am doing now and seeing what comes out.

So: i've discovered the first major benefit of therapy:
you have a shit week, and at the end of it you get to process it and work out ways to have less shit in the days ahead...

half of my homework this week is to do nice security building things for myself. i considered installing a personal portable peace line known as an iWall but my internl armour is already too heavy to carry. so here's wot i done on my weekend...

I had the kind of Saturday that even the loss (albeit temporary) of my purse and subsequent (needless) cancellation of all my bank cards could not spoil. Although I was quite impressed that I reserved my response to merely spitting out some forceful expletitives and not a full blown foot stamping tantrum that have so often been a feature when faced with such inconveniences. Is it possible that I am developing coping mechanisms? Or growing up? Or god forbid, edging toward a philosophical stoicism? Walking up to the fall’s road in the aftermath of said loss, ricky espoused the virtues of the latter but what this sermon on foot really came down to was a reminder that I had followed through on my homework, crafted a fabulous day for myself with some great contribution of some loving others and the loss of said purse was surely not enough to tip the balance. He was right. A day that started by buying desserts in st george’s market, segued to coffee and the Saturday guardian, which was interrupted by a phone call to let me know I was being given the gift of an Indian head massage by the good dr at kyle’s salon – now that’s got to be the definition of a welcome interruption, followed by a refreshing walk along the lagan tow path with stu and keli (complete with the unexpected joy of seeing a man cycling along on a penny farthing), and a trip to No Alibis bookstore, which resulted in the reserving of some graphic novels (that's comics not pornography btw and to be purchased when I get my new bank cards) under the enthusiastic tutelage of the proprietor, which led to dinner chez padraig with the aforementioned ricky and the mullingtons and the neverbeforementioned mikey, who is Padraig's housemate. Beautiful company all, entertaining chat across a range of subjects from fundamentalism to bad wedding sermons to weak bladders, and as ever, great food and wine. and port. Stocisim or no, in the balance, Saturday was a secure and nourishing day.

Sunday proved almost as beneficial and featured beautifully open conversation of a level 5 nature and laughter that went off the scale and had me in tears and more walking. Stretching the legs in the fresh air is proving good for my spirits.

Today marks 5 years of living in Northern Ireland. Such an occasion warrants some kind of marking. I couldn’t have ordered better weather and much time spent relaxing, reading and writing here has been appropriate celebration. For however different my life is now compared to this day 5 years ago, and howevermuch some of those changes are tragic and a table of comparison between the 4th april 2001 and today might suggest to the glancing passerby that things have hardly been as successful here as i might have hoped now that i am seperated, about to move home with no knowledge of where i'll end up and with no job security beyond a month at a time, I have so much to be thankful for. As I have reiterated time and again on these pages, i mark the quality of my life in the relationships i have. and i may have lost the safety of the most significant chosen relationship of my life thus far but i have spent these past few days in the company of some truly beautiful people, who shine so much. their persisant creativity and commitment inspires and enfolds me in equal measure.

there is much to look forward to this week beyond the indian head massage... jayne called to say the coat we picked out for me has arrived at the shop where she works - it's called miss loren - is utterly impractical (off white for starters) but it is fabulous and i look forward to playing dress up in it on dry days...

i'll soon be able to go and collect the aforementioned graphic novels,

and i'm going to perform an undercover operation on thursday. i'll be taking part in a group therapy training session for students that chris is teaching in the therapeutic centre where he works... i get to "play" someone with issues that make mine look a lot less scary. wednesday evening will involve going over my backstory and developing a sense of my "character" so that i can react accordingly to the 2 poor sods who are going to be thrown in at the deep end and told by chris that under the watchful eye of him and their colleagues they have to facilitate me and 4 others (all of whom i know in real life) in a 45 minute group therapy session with less than 15 minutes warning. and they don't know we're acting.
and for anyone who right now is thinking this may not be a good idea for me right now given my vulnerabalities of late, please trust that i would not be put in this situation if chris thought it would be in any way harmful to me (he hopes in fact it will be an insightful and beneficial experience), and i am "acting" (albeit without a script) in order to help the students - this will be a hands on experience for them and will hopefully help them develop skills to help others with problems like those on whom our charaters are based. i haven't acted since i was 13 and so i'm quite excited and just hope i can pull it off with some kind of authenticity. and i can't wait to see what behaviours the others are getting to improvise. chris assures me that when i see the terror in the facilitators' eyes all stage fright will disappear. yup. poor sods is right.

i will let you know how it goes.

if you are of the kind who believe that sending good thoughts into the cosmos for others is a good thing to do then would you consider doing so for Willow and Lynn, both of whom are under pressure in work.

peace be upon you. or in the words of john o'donohue... attend to yourself with courtesy and care. you are a beautiful creation. more from him in my next posting...

LB, x