I’ve been feeling some MASSIVE resistance this week to posting a blog entry. I’ve written the beginning of… 6 or 7 of them. About my metaphorical search and poise and the poetry of being twenty and creativity and labels of being and my thoughts on The Book Of Me and my discovery of ShivaNata and my retreat. That’s 8 topics written up and yet I feel I’ve nothing to post. Is this perfectionism or fear? Something’s holding me back, maybe fear; and even a conversation with Kitten couldn’t ‘de-stuck’ this feeling.
So I’ve grabbed a cup of green tea, put in some dragonfly earrings [the symbol of my old blog, a reminder of transformation] and sat, cross-legged on my office chair. And took a few slow, deep breaths.
This weekend I may find little time for myself. This morning I was woken by parents talking loudly in their room. I woke at 5am with pins and needles in one leg. I’m trying to fit in yoga, meditation [pathworking, metta and just sitting], Reiki, physiotherapy, shivanata and blogging. I also want to get back into the practise of watercolour painting. I’d like to outline my next novel and work on some new poems for the rounds contest I’m in. Am I feeling claustrophobic? Two weeks of my four week holiday are over; is that scaring me?
Am I worried that this blog won’t help me? Is the enjoyment of it not enough? Am I so results-focused; like those people in my life who I dislike?
I feel pretty lost. I’m so busy checking the charts and calculating the tides [it’s slack-water and I’m heading into wind; so I’m going nowhere] that I’m missing the view of orcas?
I feel like my yacht is now a dingy and my rudder’s come off it’s hooks. The boom is swinging wildly and trying to duck is difficult when the main sheet’s also thrashing itself around like a 2-year-old having a tantrum.
Sorry if I lost you a bit there. Let’s just say I’m getting hit on the head as I try not to fall overboard. I think I’ve just capsized and I’m sitting on the dagger-board, trying to pull the boat back upright; but the seas are rough and I’m too light.
(that did happen; when I was 8, my weight was less than the optimist’s and I couldn’t right it alone)
The seagulls are mocking me while a little egret flies ahead. And I’m stuck.
So, in English; I’ve got too much to do and I feel if I don’t do it all- if I miss out on one thing, I’m going to end up in the sea without a whistle on my life-jacket.
And now the orcas are circling and though they rarely hurt humans, I’m shitting myself. Where’s a carrot when you need it [the pet-name for the bright orange life-boats]?
I guess I just need a reminder than I can sail. I’m qualified to sail an optimist, a topper or a pico. I’ve sailed a 35 foot island Packet part-way to the Isle of Wight. I’m qualified to blog and to paint and I’m able. I’m a capable woman and I can orienteer these waters. Hell, I spent 2 years as a mermaid. I know these waters; and with such a vast expanse of possibility [the sea is kind of large, you know?] I have enough time and scope to do this. I have the resources to blog and paint and dance. I can be a creative soul and still swim and meditate.
Here’s to being a multi-faceted being; here’s to the gorgeous view. Cheers. -clinks rum bottles-