Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved

That … is Sonnet CXVI by William Shakespeare.

Shakespeare yet! I had no idea he could write such beautiful poetry, when the language in his plays is too bloody hard for me to understand.

This one is now by far one of my favourites. Beautiful poetry Mr Shakespeare. I applaud you.

I’m not capable at the moment of expending the brain power and effort on writing. I just don’t have the headspace. I’m on a cusp at the moment … and needing to do a lot of thinking about where to go from here, plans, goals, how it is I will have to go about the things I know need doing – as hard and as painful as I know some of them will be. I’m kind of stuck until I work these things out. This week is one of revelations, warmth and beauty, but also sadness about decisions I have to make. So it’s hard, too hard, to get my head around thinking about anything else.

So I’m cheating again  and sharing a couple more of my favourite poems. This time by Bukowski. Both a little poignant and sad at the end… making them quite delicate pieces of work. The second is one of the saddest, if not the saddest, love poem I’ve ever read.

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Hours. I’m spending way too many hours awake lately LOL! Last night I had about 2 hours sleep. The night before I pulled an all nighter, and got a couple of hours in the morning. Insomnia – I cannot wait until this bout passes. It will, it always does. But I’m feeling pretty good regardless.

Hours. I spent 3 of them last night replying to a most beautiful piece of correspondence. Can you believe that? (yeah I know what some of you are thinking haha!). It wasn’t THAT big. I was not capable of blogging last night. No indeed 🙂 No my mind was totally involved elsewhere.

And I’m still not in a space that I can write that entry on abuse. I’m too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, though a bit spacey considering how little sleep I’ve had ! Too soft, warm and fuzzy. Mmm 🙂

So instead I’m going all nostalgic again and evening the scales – reminiscing about stays at my maternal grandparents’ house. I’m enjoying getting the memories down, as much for the memories themselves as the process of getting them in words for later on when my memory starts to decide to slow down 🙂

Grandma and Grandpa lived at Port Macquarie, reasonably close to where I currently live. These days, it’s only a 3 hour trip from Newcastle (the town where I grew up) to Port. In those days it was considerably longer, because the Pacific Highway has had a lot of rebuilding and rerouting since then. As a child it felt like it was an all day trip, but I’m sure it can’t have been any longer than 5 hours. We always knew when we were close to our destination because of the brilliant red volcanic soil and the lush emerald green of the grass. Port always had a feeling of exoticness about it when I was a child. With the soil, the greenery, the patches of rainforest, the palm trees in town and the Norfolk pines at the beaches.

 

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Summers at Terrigal. I don’t have a clue how old I was here.

Some of my most treasured childhood memories are of summertime stays at my Nanna and Poppa’s. They lived at Terrigal, on the Central Coast of NSW. In the 70’s, it was a tiny, quiet beach-side village with houses made of fibro. Now, of course, it is a much larger tourist mecca. Gone is the village feel. Now it houses multi-storey resort-style accommodations (sigh). Ain’t progress great?

Nanna and Poppa lived on a little street that ran off the main beach road. It was a steep street – a very hilly area. The land fell away from street level on Nanna and Poppa’s side so steeply that you had to go down cement steps to get to the front door. The back of the house was held up by tall stilts. That block of land was quite big, and to me as a child, it felt lush and rainforesty. Covered with trees and vines and morning glory and lantana. Even inside the house, it felt cool and shady because of all the greenery enveloping the building.

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• I believe that life is sacrosanct.
• I believe that the brain is more powerful than we understand.
• I believe in the Wheel of Life.
• I believe that porridge is a form of torture.

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Lately … in case it hasn’t been obvious  … I’ve been operating on a pretty high frequency. Up and down with the ebb and flow of simply dealing with people. Either … I’ve suddenly lost all instinct I had in regard to people and their intentions with interpersonal relationships and interactions, or I’m becoming even more finely tuned in this regard and it is causing me to doubt what I thought I knew about me, about people, about what they want from me …

So I think of ‘perceptivity’ which was one of the five qualities listed in the initial ‘gifted series’ blog, ie the ability to see and understand people on different levels. What is hitting me at the moment is “The more discrepancy between the inner self and outer face, the more uncomfortable the gifted adult may feel.”

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My friend Martijn. Really sweet guy. Asked me today whether I lived anywhere near Gippsland. “No”, I replied “Gippsland is down in Victoria … a long long way away from me. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I found something on the internet … ” And so stupidly I asked him to share. And he did. And I will NEVER be travelling anywhere NEAR Gippsland. EVER.

Yep .. nice guy Martijn. No .. seriously … he is a sweetie  … despite telling me this …

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