We met a dear lady and her little girl, and were strolling the streets of our home town when my daughter asked to visit the local pet shop. There he was. The new life we both craved and needed. I burst out laughing as this little man with a fluffy bouffant and skun-like tail sauntered along his pen. “He looks like Pepe Le Pew!” I said to my friend. “Can we get him? Can we?!” my little girl begged. “Of course my darling,” I said. He was placed in a box, which was unsealed by the time we left the pet shop. The two little girls had turns holding him, and took him to the park.
This six week old gave such joy to both my daughter and her little friend. They played with him for hours in the park, and when we got home, my daughter lovingly fed him. Death and destruction occur, and as much as we try to shield our kids, pets die and pain comes, unannounced and with swiftness. New life and unexpected joy then arrive, like an angel’s trumpet, heralding all that is good. Meeting Peppi was our symbol of hope.
Tag: hope
It Will Get Better
I am recovering from pneumonia, and per chance, had a brand new book to read. It piqued my interest when I read the title, promising, It Will Get Better.
It has been a challenging year, and I accidentally (oops), put a dear little boy guinea pig in with five little girls. The result being that I have been kept rather busy throughout my convalescence. I finished Stella Gibney’s book in a night. Stella, you and I would be great friends if we met in person. If I can be half the lady you are, I will be happy. In some respects, I am at the beginning of a journey, and your book has become my guide. I am humbled and I thankyou. You are a survivor, a heroine, and have given me light. Thankyou Stella Gibney. It will get better, kids! Stella has declared it thus.
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The perks of brazen gratitude, Part III
The perks of brazen gratitude, Part III
I love this for so many reasons. I love that the lady felt grateful for the buckets of love in her life.
Originally posted on pam grout:
“Let gratitude be the pillow upon which you kneel to say your nightly prayer.” ― Maya Angelou
Being happy and feeling blessed is Step #1 when it comes to manifesting. As I said yesterday, that’s one chicken vs. egg dilemma that will never be in…
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My Treasure.
I found a hand-crafted nest by Melissa Fraser the other day. My daughter and I looked at each other, she with a twinkle in her eye. “You have to get it, Mummy,” she said. She has been enamoured with eggs and nests all her life. Long before I explained that she came from one precious follicle, my IVF miracle. After three cycles of IVF, I had reached the end of the road. Despair was my constant companion. I changed clinics, and somehow it felt right to give it one last shot. Due to have my ovarian activity evaluated, I went for a walk in the park. Some of my cycles had produced no activity, and only one had brought forth a solitary follicle which was tiny. I held a glimmer of hope this time around, for reasons unknown. I was about to take a step, when by my feet fell a little bird’s nest, complete with a blue egg. I could see the jagged edges, where a chick had pecked its way out. I picked this little nest up, and brought it home. A hopeful sign. I had the one follicle, and was asked if I wanted to go ahead to egg pick up. There was a chance this casing wouldn’t contain anything at all. Referring to my precious nest, I said “let’s do it.” An angel is in my life because of it.
I bought the precious nest from a gallery, and my daughter placed two fabric birds in it, our penultimate symbol of hope.
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Stars
Hold On.
I am going to republish this post, after hearing of the passing of Robin Williams.There are many amongst us who are battling depression. Brilliant people, who seemingly have the world at their feet. I can tell you from firsthand experience,that when you are feeling low, you have fallen into an abyss where the stars aren’t seen. They are smothered by an unforgiving cluster of coal, smeared across the light. I almost succeeded at ending my life at fifteen. In fact, I had a few serious attempts. Serious enough to have claimed my life each time. I didn’t want to die, I just wanted the pain to stop. I had to be brought back after my heart stopped. I awoke several days later in ICU,after dancing between life and death. I wasn’t pleased to still be here. I felt like a stranger in this world, without a home nor tribe. It seemed that circumstances including severe abuse- had conspired to push me out, and so I spun around in orbit. I tried to cling to a glimmer of hope, but in that dark moment,I couldn’t imagine anything changing. This was before being thrown off a building. This was before more pain, and a lengthy recovery.
I am a grown woman now. I would say to that teen, “little girl, don’t give up. Don’t react in an act of violence against yourself. There will be growth after this anguish is done. You will get away.” Have you ever seen a forest after a bushfire? Black, the trees devoid of life. Then, regrowth. New shoots, tremulously and shyly start to peek out of the hollows. When I see this spectacle, I get emotional. That is what a person battling depression must cling to. New shoots will grow. It wont always feel like this. Today I talked to a friend, was helped by a friend, my daughter told me about her day, and we played. I had a few of her friends rush up and give me a hug. I have been loved. I have eaten good food and smelt citrus fruit. I have heard my little canaries melodic song and patted my guinea pig’s soft fur.
Those with sensitive spirits, the wounded and vulnerable. We need more of you. You are the healers. Defy the pain that wants to take you out of this world. Just keep breathing. The answers will come to you in time. If you speak and aren’t heard, put it down to a dodgy connection, and try again with someone else. I love the saying, ‘If you are brave all the time, people will come to expect it of you’-Mignon McLaughlin. Nobody sees your suffering if they don’t know it exists. It is true, that some won’t understand when you speak your truth. Keep talking. I know Lifeline is stretched, and sometimes they can’t pick up every call. Try again. The stakes are too high. You are fighting for your life. You are precious. We need you. Lifeline, 13 11 14 in Australia. xxx
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Crystal Painting.
My dear friend Britta Ehlers has devised a medium called crystal painting. It is ingenious, combining pulverised crystal into paint, as well as such materials as four leaf clover and sand. I had wanted to do a workshop with her for a long while, however, life wouldn’t release its grip. When the opportunity came up last weekend, I did what one must when there is a burning desire to fulfil a dream. I paid my deposit and cleared space on the calendar. There will always be a reason that you can’t do the very thing you need to. You need to give yourself permission. A group of gorgeous, strong, brave women gathered at Britta’s, a clear vision in our mind’s of what we needed to create, and the colours we would be using.
The sun signifies promise to me. The promise of a new day. When I was fifteen, and preparing myself to die at the hands of a homicidal maniac, it was nightfall. I believed I would never see the sun on earth again. The next morning, the staff had to take me to a specialized radiology department, and I was wheeled through open corridors at this large hospital. It was early, and I looked up at the expanse of clouds. Suddenly, the sun broke through. Tears ran down my face, as I smiled. The break of dawn. A sunrise I never thought I would see. During the bleakest times in your life, I pray you will hang on for that sunrise. It lives up to its promise.
My painting will be displayed in my living room, a symbol of hope to my family, and all our guests. It was painted using rubies, pyrite, orange calcite, peacock father and sunshine calcite. Thankyou for the gift of your time, love and friendship, Britta Ehlers. xxx
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My Book Launch.
As a little girl, I had big dreams. I had a mighty future ahead of me. My family was fractured, and I hoped that if I was responsible enough, loving, kind and silent enough, we would get through the darkness, together. It was not to be. I could never have envisioned what was to come. The drug and alcohol abuse, domestic violence, sexual and physical abuse. The threat to send me away for finding my voice and relaying what was happening. The day they actually went through with their threat… This book wrote itself throughout those years. Scribbled on pieces of paper were each wound, with dates and times. Stuffed under my mattress. If I lived, I would tell. For the sake of condensing my story, I couldn’t relay all that went on, and there was a lot! What was more pressing was to relay that a young girl was hurt, desperately. At thirteen, she tried to take her life for the first time, such was her despair. She was treated as rubbish, and ignored by those who could have helped her. Rubbing two cold stones together, she produced a spark. From that spark, grew a flame. She wouldn’t listen to these people, abusing her, stripping the marrow from her bones. What the hell did they know about faith, about love, about her? Nothing. They knew nothing of themselves either. She decided to create a rich internal world, where the good guys win, and girls like her actually get to grow up. The past two decades have been a tumultuous ride toward healing. Nightmares and scores of operations. Pain and hope. The one thing that she never did was listen to the echoes of her abusers, the stinging words, which rattled about in her mind. What the hell did they ever know about her? That frightened girl, who used to lock herself in the linen cupboard whilst waiting for the police to arrive, who dreamed of leaving and being adopted into a stable family. That girl is me. I got to grow up! I have a wonderful husband, who has been through the inferno with me, often charging in ahead to take the brunt of the blows. I have a miracle daughter. I am blessed. I pray that this is never allowed to happen to another kid. Last year, I discovered that two other girls, one nineteen, and one sixteen, were abused in this clinic. One suicided. This is why I am speaking out. I got to grow up, and so many that I shared this story with, didn’t. I speak for them. Thankyou from the depths of my soul, Jo and Barry. I sent a proposal off, moved house and a year or so passed. One night, I was awoken with a deep need to check the spam box in my email. I was scrolling down, when I saw an email from JoJo Publishers. They wanted to talk with me! If I hadn’t checked my spam, I would never have known… Thankyou to Anne Van Alkemade, an amazing editor and now dear friend. Thankyou to beautiful Meldi and Ariel bookshop for all of your work and incredible kindness. Thankyou to Don Smith from the White Ribbon Foundation for speaking tonight, and Brian Bell for your wondrous poem. Thankyou to Suzanne Grae for supporting the White Ribbon Foundation, and dressing me for the launch. Thankyou to all my beautiful family here tonight. I love you all deeply. Thankyou to Tommy and Lizzie, for always believing in me. I am a blessed woman. I got to grow up.
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The surgeon.
http://www.jojopublishing.com/html/s01_home/home.asp
I walked reluctantly to the neurosurgeon’s rooms. “I don’t want to be here!” my mind screamed. I had seen him four years prior, after slipping over in my town. I had heard a snap in my back, and sure enough, I had broken my spine in several places through the thoracic region. He sent me for an MRI, and I had it, but never went back to him. I couldn’t face it at the time. I had a small child, practically a baby. I was nervous about seeing him again. Would he be angry with me? I was immediately put at ease. He put me through an examination, and found there is quite a significant deficit in the nerves through my right side,from my foot to my hand. I cried when he said he was in awe of me and how I kept going. He knows the pain is severe, and he knows nothing he does will make it better. “How did you survive that fall? Nobody could survive that!” he exclaimed. He wants me to bring a copy of my book to give his daughter. I told him that his praise meant a lot. More tests have been ordered, and I am going back in July. A day I was dreading-which had dredged up the crime responsible for this appointment-had been transmuted into a day of clarity, pride and redemption.
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I am at Peace.
Today, I am at peace. Nothing in particular has happened to procure this feeling. Rather, it stems from the many smiles, hugs and kindnesses my beautiful friends have bestowed on me. I am humbled by their kindness. They ask after my husband, and I am delighted to say that he is not drinking, and is well. To those who walked with me the years in the wilderness, fearing my husband would be lost not only to me, but to the world, I thank you. If I could write your names across the sky, I would. Texts and gifts, meals and lifts. Listening ears and open hearts. It has all meant so much. We still have a way to travel in our marriage and in ourselves, but your kindness has helped make the path easier under our feet. xxx
RAPHAELA ANGELOU 