I remember dreaming that Carol and I were in my mothers garden. There was a mighty storm and we were watching massive trees all around us falling. We would make exasperated/disappointed noises whenever one fell - as if saying ‘oh no, there’s another one gone’. We had to dodge them and aim to find a place in the garden where we wouldn’t be hit if a tree fell. At one point å ‘thought’ that a particular tree, a skinny pine like the ones near Lilac Cottage) would fall and just as I thought it - it fell. Two: a dream I’ll never forget. I was standing on a shore with Juliet and Cherry, two prolific women in my life, both academics. We were looking out at two pillars in the ocean. Atop them were two males peacocks tied down with heavy chains. We swam out to them, the three women that we were, and they helped me to untie the peacocks so they could escape upwards into the sky. The Game. It’s a shortened group ‘essay’, written in the ‘heat’ of the festival moment: Title:...
To Remember you must Dismember - Andrew Towgood Latin rememorari "recall to mind, remember," from re- "again" (see re-) + memorari "be mindful of," Latin de "take away" (see de-) + membrum "limb" The act of remembering is a flaky one - unreflexive and often faulty attaching as it does to the ego. To truly remember you must dis-member - a painful process. At 60 I spend a lot of time dis-memberring my remembering - trying to construct a personally and morally satisfying narrative arc of my life - sometimes, on good days my remembered life seems to have arrived smugly and satisfyingly at a ‘good’ full stop - something I can reflect on as valuable and great. Other times the dis-membering brings cognitive dissonance between where I think I should have arrived and where my examination says I have dissatisfyingly/distressingly/too late arrived at to do any remedial work. Buddhism and other mindful practices suggest we should no...
Remembering How to Heal When the sculptor found her, she was sick. She just sat and stared blankly out at the hill, and it felt as if she had been through much trauma. She wore thick, stuffy, drab clothing, she was in mourning. The bad spirits swirled around her; the dense pines of grief and neglect surrounded her and encroached on her, keeping her always in the darkness. The sculptor immediately wanted to help her. The sculptor saw a faint glimmer of hope in her eyes and knew that she could be revived. She was dirty and cold, so we took her in, washed her and cared for her. We brought her healing honey wine and pure living water for her malaise. Her condition improved a little, but something was still stuck. She needed more movement. There was only one thing for it. The sculptor called the vicar. The vicar rode in like a cowboy as if coming to help a wounded cow, and yet riding on a breeze of beauty. He helped her to open her eyes to see life anew...
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