The music of my country,classic and pretty things,battle days
Well I've been listening to lots of music by my fellow Australians,Matt Corby,Dean Lewis,Vance joy I seem to only like Australian music at the moment.There must be truth to the notion that we inherit the spirit of the country that were born into and that's why this music is resonating for me.I am busy looking for a leather satchel,I have longed for this Tusting saddle bag for a long time,but the shipping is too hefty so I'm going to get a sweet little leather satchel from florentine.I also want a pretty pen,with a nice classic pattern but can't find one,I found a glass one with florentine paper inside I'll probably get that.Its really hard to find antiquated classic things,why is everything modern so garish and loud?I got some more prints and made my room more nested.Still in an Irish peasant girl mood rather than my usual Edwardian princess disposition.I am trying to get inspired by looking at Irish cottages,any little flicker of happiness.But nothing is very lively in me at the moment.
I looked at some old self portraits I painted years and years ago,I really thought to myself this person really could have grown into an interesting,wise old lady,dressed in scarves with dangle earrings with all her jungian books.Now I ask myself can I ever become that old lady, it doesn't seem so.I use to imagine her living in a Nova Scotian cottage tending to her flowers.What do you do with dreams that die,I feel resigned at the moment,my illnesses now have made all my hopes near impossible.As much as I want to write my poems and novels my brain can't seem to play along at all now.My illness caused by the meds long ago, shows no signs of going away,will it ever.I have battled for real actual sleep for five years.None of this allows you to make anything like a life.Can I eat today? Will I ever get a nights restoring rest? the inability to think and feel due to the brain damage? All three together,and more,often these days my life becomes unbearable to me.But my passionate soul is still the same and I'm a happy person,so I climb through it.I try my hardest to delight in the things I loved before,doing my family history,drinking my tea,high flights,writing,journalling,watching period dramas,conjuring pretty worlds,painting,books,baking shortbread,looking at pictures,reading poetry,mellow music,making a nest of a life,him.I wish I could have lived a thousand lives truly,always as myself.My life has been so rich,fulfilling and deep,even now.
I sometimes wonder about putting down the harsh parts of my life,few people do,but concealing our troubles never heals us.I am trying to accept life in its dark and light aspects,but leaning heavily toward the light at the moment.These are battle days but I feel joyous inside and still lit.I must think of the things I can do,like blogging and writing articles and try to really take them up if I want to carry on.I thought I might keep doing my lovers legends blog,which is a place where I write down all the legends in folklore,fairy tales etc about doomed and blessed lovers.I guess it's okay when I'm going through so much to not be in heights or pursuits,life lays you low.Normally I call on my own wisdom during these times,I follow my fate,but my brain still struggles to find the words and ideas.Oh how I long to be a poet living in Oxford,a theatrical and mysterious beauty full of doom and furore,mania and madness too.Is it really too much to ask of the universe? Id be just as happy to live quietly in a cottage in Connemara doing tapestry and eating shortbread hearts as well.I guess we must as I was told,take our life even with all its unbecoming qualities into our arms and love it,I don't know if I can love the feeling of utter vacancy of mind the damage has brought, but I do try.I am use to being immersed in a hundred passions and flying on fancies,but I do have some days of good and high spirits and I'm so very grateful.
I looked at some old self portraits I painted years and years ago,I really thought to myself this person really could have grown into an interesting,wise old lady,dressed in scarves with dangle earrings with all her jungian books.Now I ask myself can I ever become that old lady, it doesn't seem so.I use to imagine her living in a Nova Scotian cottage tending to her flowers.What do you do with dreams that die,I feel resigned at the moment,my illnesses now have made all my hopes near impossible.As much as I want to write my poems and novels my brain can't seem to play along at all now.My illness caused by the meds long ago, shows no signs of going away,will it ever.I have battled for real actual sleep for five years.None of this allows you to make anything like a life.Can I eat today? Will I ever get a nights restoring rest? the inability to think and feel due to the brain damage? All three together,and more,often these days my life becomes unbearable to me.But my passionate soul is still the same and I'm a happy person,so I climb through it.I try my hardest to delight in the things I loved before,doing my family history,drinking my tea,high flights,writing,journalling,watching period dramas,conjuring pretty worlds,painting,books,baking shortbread,looking at pictures,reading poetry,mellow music,making a nest of a life,him.I wish I could have lived a thousand lives truly,always as myself.My life has been so rich,fulfilling and deep,even now.
I sometimes wonder about putting down the harsh parts of my life,few people do,but concealing our troubles never heals us.I am trying to accept life in its dark and light aspects,but leaning heavily toward the light at the moment.These are battle days but I feel joyous inside and still lit.I must think of the things I can do,like blogging and writing articles and try to really take them up if I want to carry on.I thought I might keep doing my lovers legends blog,which is a place where I write down all the legends in folklore,fairy tales etc about doomed and blessed lovers.I guess it's okay when I'm going through so much to not be in heights or pursuits,life lays you low.Normally I call on my own wisdom during these times,I follow my fate,but my brain still struggles to find the words and ideas.Oh how I long to be a poet living in Oxford,a theatrical and mysterious beauty full of doom and furore,mania and madness too.Is it really too much to ask of the universe? Id be just as happy to live quietly in a cottage in Connemara doing tapestry and eating shortbread hearts as well.I guess we must as I was told,take our life even with all its unbecoming qualities into our arms and love it,I don't know if I can love the feeling of utter vacancy of mind the damage has brought, but I do try.I am use to being immersed in a hundred passions and flying on fancies,but I do have some days of good and high spirits and I'm so very grateful.
Total Comments 0
