Friday, 31 August 2018

Durham we 29.8.18

Over the weekend I took a small rug from my previous house to my new house. At first I stared at it not knowing where it had come from. After a couple of days I became more sure that it was the rug my parents bought me when I started at Durham University a long time ago.



Seeing a video just now on fb about a refugee welcome project in Durham put the very stones of the city and the cathedral in front of me. I recognised it so much.

So I looked back at my rug and wondered how much I want to be pulled backwards in time. I have put so much effort into moving forwards. Will that all be negated by one rug which I have brought into this new house?

So there are some deep fears about the past and the future. Deep down I prefer the new. I want to destroy and then recreate a new thing. I like the impermanent. I like making things up. I like using what is at hand rather than having a big complicated plan.

I don't want to be the guardian of a museum of objects where each one ties itself round my neck and MUST NOT BE THROWN OUT. I want to be totally free to move on, bin or give away.

The obvious answer to this is - keep the old rug for a year, then donate it and mentally move on.

Saturday, 25 August 2018

I can't find a poem - Sa 25.8.2018

I know I wrote a poem on sadness. It was on the left and right hand sides of a note book. But none of the note books I have flicked through contain it. So where do I look now? I can't have written it on this screen either as a draft email or as a draft blog post. I really want to read it again because I speak to sadness and find out why it arrived in me and what it was searching for. It gave me a new understanding of what I am. Maybe the poem has done its work and I can leave it behind me now. I have no choice, it has gone.



In its place I have a poem about clothes, sharp rocks on a beach and being eaten while being drowned. I will have a go at editing it, a process I have not gone into for a long time.



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