The voices in my head – short story in the making.

“That’s enough!” Lucy shouted to herself.  “This has to change? It just can’t keep happening to me over and over again?” Lucy stared at her reflection in the French door windows, past her reflection she could see that the rain was battering down in big splodges and small puddles were accumulating in the uneven crevices of the patio.  She was ready to burst, to breakdown, to let all hell break free, and just then, Elle came in,“Hold it together,” she said in her stern voice, you can’t possibly let this get you down.”  She paused and waited for Lucy to react to what she has just said “I can’t possibly let this get me down?” Lucy’s forehead screwed up into what looked like three vertical miniature fish fingers lined up at the brow with lines above that looked like a miniature rainbow.  “Why, does this happen to me? Everyone is getting on with their lives and I’m stuck, stuck in the same old rut I was born in. What is the point of creating something like me?  Why can’t I have what others can have?  What am I doing wrong?”  Drained by her rut that absorbs all she has, to keep it living, Lucy tried to remember her last session with Luke.  Looking for a flash of light in this dark dark place, a cord she can pull on to turn on the light and pull herself up to her feet and light up her dark library of memories.


There must be more, there must be a way.

I consider myself to be young even though I may have lived half of my life already.  This blessed Life has taught me many things for which I am truly grateful for.  Growing up, my family were never the type to enforce things on me, I was a girl and all ‘good’ girls behaved in a certain way.  I had rules to follow, so I followed them, never really feeling satisfied, useful or even challenged.  Living a passive life where the female of the species cooked, cleaned, smiled, prayed, didn’t drink alcohol or eat meat and held the family together with a fake mask of strength and togetherness.  Well at the time it all seemed fake.

I just needed to get out there into the big wide world and find another version of me that I was happy living in.  I have searched high and low for me, never being satisfied with what I have, ‘there must be more, there must be a way’.

Swigs Swogs and Gogs ….. Part B

It’s divine, the moment, when you are sitting cross legged, back straight and your head covered with a beautiful piece of sheer fabric.  Eyes gently closed and ears wide open to hear the words of Baba Ji.  The fingers of your hand have gently entwined with the weight settled on top of your crossed legs.

Understanding only one word out of every ten, but yet feeling a part of something, being able to plug in and light up and hopefully transmit to your temporary attachment.

Take a slow deep breath in, hold it for a few seconds and gently blow all the tension, stress and worries out of your body.  It became a familiar phrase and an important coping strategy that gave me a way of escaping into another world, my world. Time does not exist, nor noise, just me, reborn every time.

Swigs Swogs and Gogs …. Part 1

Swigs and swogs that was gogs, the secret language of pidh podh padh.  They were truly happy and content with the day they had experienced and what a fun packed day it was.  Creating great memories suddenly became the mission of these two individuals.  They hadn’t always had it easy they have had to do a lot of building to get where they are now.

Autumn, the leaves were falling, as they do, it was most magical to finally experience walking through the leaves, with no pressure to be anywhere else or do something.  The coldness of the tip of my nose was not even apparent.  Normally I would be sniffling and snoffling and feeling oh so cold.  But not today.  Today was the day I was with the reason for my living and we finally discovered a sense of being.

Yes I know it sounds so simple and yes that is the beauty of it.  The beauty of living or starting to live.  The simple things, being in the now, living the moment …. Carpe Diem.  And that’s where we met, Carpe Diem a locale at the top of Potenza.

Potenza litterally translates to power.  Living in a city called Potenza can make you feel somewhat empowered.  Strange that if there was a city called poverty… Would we all live in poverty?

The people of Potenza were potente… They were powerful, the air seemed powerful, with all the mountains and beautiful buildings.  The strength was also present in the food.  The amazing food that they ate, so full of strength.  You could only eat a certain amount and you would feel full.  Eat too much and your whole body would shut down so your stomach could focus on digestion.  Every mouthful tasted so flavoursome it made your tongue feel alive.  Not to forget the local wine, it was just so perfect in every essence and tasted so divine.

Next step, you choose: