The joy of colour

I’m sitting on my sofa in north west England looking out of a big window at a eucalyptus tree, the low winter sun perfectly illuminating the branches, shades of orange-brown, cream, green and grey bark contrasting with the blue-green leaves.  Bird flit through the branches; sparrows, a blue tit, a jay. Greenfinches squabble at the bird feeder hanging from a limb.

I look at this tree in the sunshine and it makes me happy.

There are memories, Australian forests, hot days, leaves crunching beneath my feet, parrots and cockatoos travelling by, a kookaburra laughing in the distance.  Of warm dark nights surrounded by the smell of eucalyptus, the chirruping of insects, a canopy of leaves and stars.

But not just memories. The here and now, and wondering how colour and shape and texture combine to such perfection, to create such joy.

Shivering

Freezing cold weather at the weekend + trainers + not enough layers = a miserable walk.

So I rushed back indoors and sat by the fire and dreamed (and steamed)

Then wrapped myself up and put on big boots and entered the icy world again.

This time I could enjoy being outdoors.

Reminding me of the quote

‘There is no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing.’ 

Studying tai chi

‘First you must learn the principle, then cultivate it. Become soft and you will be less fearful, which will make you softer still, and then fearless. This is real, a person can achieve this’. Professor Cheng Man-ching

I am not a natural at tai chi.

Tai chi is all about being relaxed, soft, centred, body aligned, energy flowing freely.

When I started tai chi, relaxation definitely wasn’t my way of being. I was an anxious child, an introvert who found the world could be a daunting place. By my early twenties, I appeared to be functioning OK on the outside, but I’d stopped being aware of my body, tension was my habitual way of being. Eventually my body rebelled against the straightjacket it was in, and I started having panic attacks. Desperate for some relief, I decided to try out a tai chi class.

At the time, I was fairly sceptical about it all. A friend who had been to a few classes told me that she could feel a force between her hands – ‘chi’. I wasn’t convinced. But I was interested in martial arts, having done a couple of years of tae kwon do, and I’d been reading about zen buddhism and meditation, tried sitting meditation once or twice but my mind raced and I just felt more anxious. I’d been to a yoga class but that wasn’t for me. And I had to do something to help me relax.

So, at that first tai chi class, the teacher walked round the class and stopped behind me and said ‘relax your shoulders. Let them drop.’ I, having tuned out from my body, had no idea that my shoulders were perpetually raised and hunched. I let them drop. What a relief! I also remember having to stand for a while in the ‘bear’ posture, with my arms held out at shoulder height as if they were around a barrel. Focusing on the tension in my arms, shoulders and belly, and letting it go. Wonderful. And chi gung, moving my arms in time with my breath, breathing from the belly. My mind quietened down, distracted by the movements I was performing. In that first class, I certainly didn’t feel any force between my hands, but I did feel so much better afterwards.

The relaxation didn’t last long, the old tensions and habitual way of holding myself returned almost immediately. But now I knew there was a way out. I was hooked.

I went to those classes for about 6 months, and during that time I noticed that whenever I had a panic attack, my stomach muscles were completely tense, and I was not breathing from my belly. They were so tense that I couldn’t get them to relax. During the day they’d been getting tenser and tenser and then seemingly from nowhere, a panic attack.

At this time I moved to another part of the country to try and find a job, did voluntary work for a while. Then I did get the job that I wanted. The panic attacks continued, still horrible to experience but I was better at calming myself down, thanks to those tai chi lessons. I didn’t find another class for several years. But from time to time I’d do the exercises, particularly when I was feeling stressed.

And then I started regular classes again, and over the years I became aware of more and more bits of my body that were tense, uncoordinated, unaligned, disconnected. I still didn’t feel any magical chi between my hands, but after every class, every session of practice on my own, I felt so much better.

I’ve been practicing, on and off, for nearly 25 years. Yet still I discover tension in my body, like the layers of an onion, one layer of tension peels away only to discover another underneath. I’ve still not quite got the postures right, as occasional sore knees reveal. I can’t visualise the top of my head, hanging from a thread suspended from heaven, an idea that helps with the correct, upright posture. I can still feel uncoordinated, I still bump into things, I still get tense. I don’t have panic attacks any more though.

I sometimes feel a force (the chi?) between my hands. I sometimes feel it in my belly. I usually feel warm, and heavy and content when I practise tai chi. Although also I get annoyed and irritated that I still can’t do it right. And I keep going. Because always after I practise, I feel so much better.

Landscapes of the soul

I went for a walk at the weekend in one of my favourite places in the world.  Through woods and along the shore of Lake Windermere.  

Walking for an hour or so, admiring the trees silhouetted against the silvery surface of the lake, late afternoon winter sunlight lighting up the trunks in shades of orange.  Ancient sweet chestnuts, deeply fissured bark spiraling upwards, the same trees where as a child I used to gather chestnuts with my grandparents.  Past the cathedral column trunks of huge Douglas fir, forest floor dotted with ferns.   And always the gentle background lapping of water on the shore, and the breeze in the trees

Walking through layers of memories, yet alive to the present moment; that leaf, that pattern of branches against the sky, the low angled sun on the root plate of a fallen tree.  

The sun set early, only a few weeks from the winter solstice.  Leaving behind a silvery sky to match the lake.  And the moon, rising above an old farmhouse, the smell of woodsmoke in the air.

Just an hour or so in a place I love.  Sustenance for the whole week.  

The power of place. 

A landscape of the soul.

 

Relax

Here, in this moment,

Stop and feel what it might mean to relax.

To allow the heaviness of your leg to reveal itself,

To sense the tension in your belly, and then feel it melt away.

So simple, and yet so difficult.

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Let your awareness rest in your hands, wrists, elbows, shoulders.

Feel the living, breathing body that you are.

Become part of it, with all its tensions and imperfections,

Let it speak to you, tell you what it needs

Let your mind rest, just below your navel.

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Breathe.

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We are born knowing this, and we loose it

Chasing our minds into another place,

Losing ourselves, body clothed in

Fear. Tension. Armour.

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Breathe.

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Back to the beginning.

Here in this moment,

Relax.

The washing up can wait

How to fit a creative project into a busy life?

Prioritize it and ignore everything else.

Begin the day with some painting or writing.

Then do the things that ‘should’ be done

Sit down, start creating.

The washing up can wait.

How to be creative when you have a full time job

Right now, I have a full time job.  It’s interesting, sometimes challenging, and it pays the bills.  Mostly, I enjoy it.

I’ve never really liked working full time, however enjoyable the job is. Because I like to have time to do my own creative stuff.  To paint, to write, to mooch around dreaming up ideas.  And time to be outside. And see family and friends.  And exercise.  And…..how to fit it all in?

I’m not sure I’ve found the answer yet.

Though now the nights have drawn in, I find myself reaching for my  watercolours.  Ideas form and want to be written down or painted.  The summer was for outside, for evening walks after work, for pottering in the garden.  Now, in the post-work dark evenings, time is opening up, time to get up off the sofa and away from the TV, time to start creating.

Frosty morning walk

Where does inspiration come from?

On a frosty sunday morning, chasing the work-world cobwebs away,

Walking through woods, low sun softening the dying autumn vegetation.

There’s that feeling again… ideas waiting to be brought to life…

Follow it.