Harriet on Wednesday talking about the importance of memory, Proust, the persistence of the self / identity. I wonder if my attitude to the past is like Pol's to her interior. But what is the point, really, of Proust's obsession with the past? Is that what La Recherche du Temps Perdu is about?
Something Understood on memory and the past.
My belief that there is only the present, and everything, past and future, is here now. Because I can do something about the present. A search for control, and freedom.
I am not frightened of the past - I love its richness. There are really no nightmares there (how can there be? I survived the terrors). Places, emotions, love affairs; people maybe not so much - I've always been so fascinated by my own interior, I haven't given much time to relationships, friends, even lovers. The good thing about mindfulness / meditation / living in the present - it has started to turn me away from myself, outwards. Funny how much I've encountered recently about the importance of the social, relationships, the lower left quadrant, inter-subjective reality. The necessity (and pleasure, being sober) of getting out more.
I am not frightened of the future. Really?
Changing mood yesterday. The mania wearing off, running down. Getting lost in playing with sketchpad and different designs for the table top. Stop pissing about with the table - I can always make another one. Just worried about the weakness across the middle.
Not meditating in the evening. Not going, not daring to go out, to the White Horse, last night. I wanted the company but did not trust myself. Barbara's mindfulness tomorrow night. The lovely poem she sent by Mary Oliver. Dave Gilmour at Pompeii. Lucy by Luc Bresson.
Walk to the Woodland Trust wood. Pound Farm. 179 hectares. Think about volunteering for them.
It seems strange / funny, how near 50 days is. The future seems to be rushing up at me.
The importance of the intentional planting of the seed on Day One. Taking pride in staying sober for as long as I have. Taking control. Setting a direction. All new things, things I have never dared before. The liberating thing about the 7-day challenge, is that it felt like a challenge,but it was one I felt able to take one. I have taken on other challenges (learning to glide, marrying and living with Pol, going in to the ashram, taking on Top Trucks, climbing bens in Scotland, writing Metanoia) but this feels different, fundamental, life changing. Where the price of failure is everything, the reward of success, what? The strange feeling last night watching Lucy, the sense of my power, of the possibilities open to me, that I really can do anything.
The importance of starting small, here, one day at a time. Don't try and change the world, or myself, all at once. Start by tidying my room, sorting out my computer, making the table. Staying sober. It's funny how organised and capable I seem to be being. Have I really been defeated, in so much of my life, by fear; of change, of failure, of not getting it perfect?
Oscar David (7lb +) arrived at last, a little late, at 3am. He did not apparently give his mother too much trouble (she only went into labour at 1am). He looks like his dad, and is very calm. His sister is taking bookings to hold him. I was very tempted to pop down to The Sweffling White Horse and wet his head with some no alcohol beer (if they have any, I suspect Mark wouldn't give it house room) and went so far as to borrow £10 from the Bank of Parsons and Mann, but realised that a part of me probably had other plans, and I decided to stay home, sober and safe.
Something Understood on memory and the past.
My belief that there is only the present, and everything, past and future, is here now. Because I can do something about the present. A search for control, and freedom.
I am not frightened of the past - I love its richness. There are really no nightmares there (how can there be? I survived the terrors). Places, emotions, love affairs; people maybe not so much - I've always been so fascinated by my own interior, I haven't given much time to relationships, friends, even lovers. The good thing about mindfulness / meditation / living in the present - it has started to turn me away from myself, outwards. Funny how much I've encountered recently about the importance of the social, relationships, the lower left quadrant, inter-subjective reality. The necessity (and pleasure, being sober) of getting out more.
I am not frightened of the future. Really?
Changing mood yesterday. The mania wearing off, running down. Getting lost in playing with sketchpad and different designs for the table top. Stop pissing about with the table - I can always make another one. Just worried about the weakness across the middle.
Not meditating in the evening. Not going, not daring to go out, to the White Horse, last night. I wanted the company but did not trust myself. Barbara's mindfulness tomorrow night. The lovely poem she sent by Mary Oliver. Dave Gilmour at Pompeii. Lucy by Luc Bresson.
Walk to the Woodland Trust wood. Pound Farm. 179 hectares. Think about volunteering for them.
It seems strange / funny, how near 50 days is. The future seems to be rushing up at me.
The importance of the intentional planting of the seed on Day One. Taking pride in staying sober for as long as I have. Taking control. Setting a direction. All new things, things I have never dared before. The liberating thing about the 7-day challenge, is that it felt like a challenge,but it was one I felt able to take one. I have taken on other challenges (learning to glide, marrying and living with Pol, going in to the ashram, taking on Top Trucks, climbing bens in Scotland, writing Metanoia) but this feels different, fundamental, life changing. Where the price of failure is everything, the reward of success, what? The strange feeling last night watching Lucy, the sense of my power, of the possibilities open to me, that I really can do anything.
The importance of starting small, here, one day at a time. Don't try and change the world, or myself, all at once. Start by tidying my room, sorting out my computer, making the table. Staying sober. It's funny how organised and capable I seem to be being. Have I really been defeated, in so much of my life, by fear; of change, of failure, of not getting it perfect?
Oscar David (7lb +) arrived at last, a little late, at 3am. He did not apparently give his mother too much trouble (she only went into labour at 1am). He looks like his dad, and is very calm. His sister is taking bookings to hold him. I was very tempted to pop down to The Sweffling White Horse and wet his head with some no alcohol beer (if they have any, I suspect Mark wouldn't give it house room) and went so far as to borrow £10 from the Bank of Parsons and Mann, but realised that a part of me probably had other plans, and I decided to stay home, sober and safe.
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