Tuesday 26 April 2011

Mouse

I arrived home from work the other week to find a dead field mouse on my living room floor. It was a perfectly, beautiful sandy coloured mouse with dark grey eyes. I immediately felt a sense of overwhelming sadness and reverence, that it had died at the cruel, but natural nature of my pet cats. My cats were very proud of their success and positively strutted around the appartment for a week afterwards! (they are indoor cats and only had the opportunity to kill flies and the occasional spider previously.) Anyway, I felt disgusted that they had obviously tortured the poor creature to death and have included 'Thomas' poem below, which captures the essence of how a little girl felt upon the death of a bird.

Snow

In the gloom of whiteness,
And the great silence of snow,
A child was sighing
And bitterly saying: 'Oh,
They have killed a white bird up there on her nest,
The down is fluttering from her breast!'
And still it fell through that dusky brightness
On the child crying for the bird of the snow.

Edward Thomas


A Mouse

Nature is such, whether cruel or
just.
You have no need for me, but my
soul -

A plaything I am to you:
But your greed would have me,
a while longer.

The lion in me is the mouse, and
the mouse - the lion;
Fearful and brave, in differing
amounts.

Reverence! you have not, for
these things.
Your very nature is satiated, by
my suffering - justly so.

Longing, longing - to drift
I am not doing you well.
Sorry - but not much longer now;
There; my last breath...

LB



















Sunday 24 April 2011

Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis is a miraculous process, whereby an insect or animal transforms from one form to another i.e. caterpillar to a butterfly. Derived from the Greek language, it's definition directly translates to, 'change form'. In terms of human life, it can mean the process by which one changes their attitudes, beliefs or behaviour. One cannot always recognise a change when directly in the process of transformation, but one becomes aware, succinctly once that change has been made.



Metamorphosis

As the cloak withers;
Shake off its dust.
See the gem underneath the
mask -
Revel! in its transformative
nature,
The miracle of change;
Juxtaposed with the illusion of
stability.
A chrysalis becomes a butterfly;
It may only spread it's beautiful
wings for a short while,
But it embraces the wonder of
life.
How can it not?
Be the changing river of life
that you are,
And love that we never step into
its waters twice.


LB





Thursday 21 April 2011

Carpe Diem

'The paradoxical situation with a vast number of people today is that they are half asleep when awake, and half awake when asleep...'

Erich Fromm 

In 'The Art of Loving' (Erich Fromm) explores how our relationships with our parents have a direct impact on our relationships with our partner, friends and acquaintances. Few people get through their childhoods unscathed and many of us carry these wounds into future connections. He describes how loving itself is an art, a skill that requires some mastery through lifelong discipline, concentration, patience, supreme importance, objectivity and faith. In other words, should we apply all these conditions to every part of our life, our relationships would grow, mature and elevate to a place of intimacy and constance. He talks about the how the present moment liberates us from our internal considering of being in the past or future and it is this state that is precisely the condition, of the ability to love.

But what does it mean to be in the present moment? It can be such a vague concept! Fromm describes this present moment as being in a constant state of awareness, alertness and activity. Be active in thought, feeling and state and operate always from a place of truth, authenticity and integrity. And ironically one will be fully awake when awake and fully rested when asleep!


Carpe Diem


Own the moment -
In its entirety

Seize it's essence,
Or you will fade
As a rose withers with each passing
day,
From ground to vase;
It blossoms and gracefully -
Accepts, its inevitable demise

Love - and appreciate all
That is your creation,
Whether done blindly or
consciously!

Be the lantern in the storm,
Step into the eye;
With courage -
For there you will see clearly,
And clarity, is life's true guide.


LB














Tuesday 19 April 2011

Binds

'How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought'

Sylvia Plath

I only developed an interest in Sylvia Plath's poetry quite recently, I preferred Ted Hughes' style of writing. But after revisiting some of her work, I found myself appreciating her genius in a completely different light. The imagery that resonates from her words is powerful, evocative and thoroughly unique. She has the ability to exude an intense rawness in her images, paralleled by a sensitive vulnerability that leaves you with a mishmash of emotions. I'm sure countless numbers of people could break down her words to a thousand different meanings and still not reach their true depth. I include part of 'Ariel' below (written about her horse), because it inspired a poem from myself that was stylistically different.

Ariel

Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.

God's lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees! - The
furrow

Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,

Nigger-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks-

Sylvia Plath

This poem was inspired by the thoughts of love and how the state of love can hold us prisoner.


Our Binds

Bengal markings,
Charge the day!
Consistent and fresh;
The marbled waves create - an inward smile,
Impressing two hearts, with their constance.
Deep seas of attachment,
And hidden depths -


Not unlike - my cupid's bow,
How far, the arrow tip can slew.
Silver tipped adorns the soul
I mind not its sting -
For depth and sting, are two of
the same
Let it bear itself deeper,
My love knows not its own bounds.
It is limitless!
Profound in ordinariness;
Only a trained eye - of such keeness,
Could discern its vows.


But there it is!
I am both the prison and its
captive.
Make of it - what you will;
For slumber's love is a seeker's
dream.
The connectedness of each cell,
every atom.
And I am slave thus:
For an eternity -
Feel not these chains.

LB













Thursday 14 April 2011

Meditation

I never used to understand what meditation was all about. Whilst sitting there in an upright posture, I would be thinking how uncomfortable I was, how cold the wall was, how long I had been sitting there (usually not long at all!) and I would get a desperate urge to scratch or move an ankle or a leg. And that's before you even consider how noisy and irritating the thoughts are. Fast forward three or four years and now I am finally beginning to scratch the surface! I'm not a consistent practitioner of meditation and truthfully only do about ten minutes every couple of days, but what I experience now is completely different to when I first began. Thoughts or mind chatter is definitely quieter and I get a pleasant feeling of connectedness. It is inspiring to note the changes after some period of time and I would recommend meditation for de-stressing, calming the mind or balancing the body after a hectic day. But I appreciate that for a beginner, they have to overcome their own personal resistance and limitation, to a discipline that slowly helps the mind, body and spirit to blossom, align and re-connect.


In Meditation

The chatter of the mind slows down;
Body is heavy, but so still,
It seems to know it is required
to give space.
The gap between the noises and the
stillness widens;
One becomes aware of a humming,
Behind the eyes is a good place
to rest.
Thoughts are quieter, whispers;
And the breath,
Invisible.

LB






Sunday 10 April 2011

Strength


Having experienced people with mental illness growing up, I now have the maturity and understanding to appreciate how difficult and frightening normal, every day life can be for those with an unstable grasp of sanity. It is very easy to victimise and feel pity for those people inflicted with mental illness, but this does not highlight the incredible courage and strength they exhibit every day of their lives. We feel a sense of connection and unity based on close people understanding us, so for mentally ill people, they feel an overwhelming grip of lonliness, seperation and despair. They are living in their own personal hell and their mind and imagination hold them in a place of illusion that is incredibly real for them. I was once told that it was like teetering around a great, dark abyss. This abyss pulls and threatens to swallow you up, but balancing around the edges takes great strength and stamina and sometimes they slip and fall in. Thus ensues a long, painful process back to the edges.


Lost and forgotten,
A speck on the horizon of life.

Digging at the dirt,
Foraging through the darkness.

Peering nose up against the window pane of others lives,
But limited by the inability to grasp the light in the dark.

Lily Basnet



Sunday 3 April 2011

Origami

My nana's biggest fear was being unable to look after herself and succumbing to pressure to leave her sheltered accommodation (where she was fairly independent) to move into a retirement home. She had all her mental faculties right up to the end and spent her days reading and educating herself. I witnessed her frustration and vulnerablity as her physical health started to deteriorate, up to the point where her small appartment became her whole world. Despite the indignity and pain of losing her mobility, she rarely complained and was graceful right to the end. I remember her as an intelligent, strong, generous and charitable woman who loved to help others worse off than herself and who had a thirst for knowledge and life. When asking her one day - what was the most difficult thing about ageing, she replied that the most difficult thing about growing old, was witnessing your closest family and friends passing on, one by one. Death becomes a normal part of life and she said it was important to be able to let go of all those attachments with a sense of love and maturity.

When pondering of my own older age, I wonder whether I will spend my time with my grandchildren and friends sipping tea and telling stories or whether I would travel the world commemorating my life into the words that I write and the pictures that I take. Maybe I would pass away on a mountain in some far flung place. Who knows what the future may hold? But the internet and all that is beholden gives older people today the option of communication and connection, and that is an invaluable tool to a quality of life beyond any physical limitation.


Origami

She sits in the corner
With gnarled, papery fingers,
Folding clean, crisp sheets into shapes.
On closer inspection, she works with consistent
fervour at her task.
Her back is crooked and folds forward,
As if she hasn't seen the stars in years;
But her hands are elegant and have the grace of
somebody half her age.
Perfect, blanched animals,
Winking in the sunlight.
Oblivious to their fate.
As the sun works its way round,
Her eyes half lidded from fatigue,
Hang heavy in their resting place.
She snoozes and time ticks on,
without purpose.
The paper creations swept uncaringly into the bin;
Another day passes.

Lily Basnet