Still looking for myself

A few years later, I return to my humble online sanctuary.  A little older, not much wiser, still holding my breath, afraid to disturb the spiders sitting in their corners.

This blog had been confined to the vast and dizzying graveyard of my many discarded projects.  The pattern is clear and inevitable: First, there is the initial surge of hubris and excitement – a new idea!  This could be the one; the idea I will stick with for years, the one that might lead somewhere noteworthy!  The first thing I do is, always: get the URL!  My poor husband patiently puts up with my antics and now has a list of at least ten inactive websites drifting in the foggy marshlands of the web.  I post a thing or two, my mind starts drifting, and I begin questioning my right to occupy this space, to clog up this site with more meaningless nonsense, doubt turns to fear turns to paralysed panic.  Finding Fleur was okay for a while, but that’s the thing with me – I’m ever-changing, ever-drifting, and things only seem relevant to me for a short time.  When their relevance is gone, so am I.  I’m not one to keep fighting.  I unplug the life-support and move on.

Nevertheless, here I am.  I rebooted the machine and it turns out this particular baby is still wheezing for breath, and I feel that familiar urge to have a blog even though I turn up my nose at moronic, meaningless drivel that are like the internet’s stubborn and pervasive fat cells.  Because writing, because outlet, because words, because connection.  Because why not?  Because I am still looking for Fleur.

I’ve taken a break from my new novel to work on a short story competition, 500 words with the theme ‘Good Night New York’.  It makes me tingle and wriggle with excitement because that theme is just made for me!   Then, of course, pressure immediately began to build up, and soon I was frozen with expectations far too high and unrealistic.  So, back to it, reminding myself that I’m not writing to win, just to participate if anything, but mainly because I just want to play with midnight Manhattan poetry.

It is still so hard to just have fun with it.

In the shower this morning, I remembered the horrors of my childhood mornings – alarms going off at 5:30, chaos noise stress, kids everywhere (seven siblings! I know, sigh), and the darkness that just never seemed to go away.  It was cold and miserable and just staying alive in that pack of humans was hard enough, never mind actually growing and achieving stuff.  Thus, I was overcome by a sincere wave of gratitude and relief that I am no longer there; my life is no longer that; and when I wake up in the morning there is no freezing pre-dawn darkness I must rush out into, no pressing obligations or awkward places I must go, no people I must face.  I am free.

Imagine that.

Now, if I can only release myself from my own shackles, my life will be complete.


Disconnected and alone

I’ve forgotten what this blog was all about.  Finding Fleur – finding that awesome girl who’s hiding on the other side of this neurotic pile of self-obsessions, misinterpretations, desperations, and the pain arising from the opposing forces of people-pleasing compulsions and self-realisation desires.

There’s me.  And there’s Fleur.

“Don’t look down; just cross the bridge
And when you get there, you’ll be glad did
There’s a better life on the other side”

Today is a sunny, beautiful, gorgeous, absolutely summery-flowery-wonderful day outside, yet I am sitting inside ticking off to-do lists (or at least, somehow, trying to), and riding out the inner battles of what must be done, what should be done, what others want to be done, and desperately trying to find that one stream of consciousness that tells me what I actually want, and then feeling guilty for focusing of self-interests. Whereas Fleur would just don a flowery dress and run out into the sunshine and play, embracing everything and everyone, and get her daily dose of healing sunshine, and not give a flying fuck what anyone thinks.

Melody Fletcher says, “Stop comparing yourself to your Higher Self.”  Well, it’s hard, but I’m very grateful for that advice.  Our human selves could never fully live up to the image of our divine selves.  I can seek and apply and integrate aspects of Fleur, but I will never be her.  And I mustn’t let that discourage me.

But for now, I’ll just have a good cry and watch Louise’s cat stomp all over me and not give a fuck (because the only emotion she understands is her own anxiety) and maybe have a soothing drink at antisocial hours.  After all, life is just an illusion, right?




Ikajsa can see now how old and deeply ingrained patterns are still affecting my life. Which means I can now break free from them. It’s already starting, and it feels exciting! Imagine a life with less worrying and self-enforced responsibilities that have nothing to do with me, really; an easy existence where I can float along with life’s unpredictable currents and swim towards the sweeter waters, and just be and do what I want.

I’ve been polyfilling and sandpapering and taping and painting and untaping, climbing up and down the stepladder until I got dizzy, and now the walls are fresh and clean and bright, perfectly in line with the new beginnings of 2015. Then I cleaned myself up, and now I’m in a pretty dress with a flowy skirt, and there’s glitter on my eyelashes that makes everything sparkle. Everything is happening at once and I’m not even worried, just excited. I just don my Vans and hit the streets, smile at people, chat with shopkeepers, a mini wine bottle in my pocket for the train ride. The city is glittering and beckoning and there’s a freeing sense that everything will be fine, and anything can happen.


Her Majesty Fleur

Yesterday I found Fleur among my tarot cards,  in the guise of the Queen of Wands.  The cards told me I have the potential of this venerable lady within me, and that she is not yet being fully channeled due to fear, anxiety and self-doubt getting in the way.  My eyes widened as I read the properties of the Wand Queen – creative, inspirational, authentic, independent:

queen-of-wandsThe Queen of Wands is the dominant feminine energy of the element of Fire … focused on her desires, intending to get what she wants … can sustain your own creative vision, even in the face of adversity … independent … highly energetic and leads a busy and active life … radiates health and vitality and has an inner vibrancy that fills her with ongoing energy and inspiration … actively inspires others … asks you to be bold and courageous in your undertakings and actions … highly optimistic, confident … have an ability to express your passions with great authenticity and courage … creates a powerful first impression and is a likeable individual who makes friends easily by being sweet, warm and charming.”

(Source: Biddy Tarot)

I had been planning to describe Fleur in a blog post one day, but no need – she is this Queen!  And I clearly have the seed of her within me.  Another card was drawn to clarify how exactly I am to overcome the fears that stand in my way, and the Moon popped up to tell me to shine a light on my shadow self, according to the Jung school of thought; to become aware of my tendencies to project fear and anxiety, and letting go of these – watching the thinker, as Eckhart Tolle has already advised me.  The Moon says old fears and blocks will surface to be released, and a purging process is underway.  I think she’s right.

In other news, the sun is shining over London and I am on my way out for a Sunday afternoon frolic with Karin and old Irish friends from another lifetime.  My book is still being squeezed and shaped, but to find my authentic voice is proving a bit of a challenge.  Again, it’s about letting go and getting out of the way, not controlling the process but rather allowing it.

Spring is nearly here and I am so excited for another warm season full of fun and adventure.  Fresh scents bring old summer memories to mind – sunsets in parks and midnight mischief, festival shenanigans and random meetings, spontaneous explorations, carefree days and intoxicating nights.  Reflections in still canal water, the cool shade of tall trees, the smell of lager and Jamaican street food, the feeling of a flowing skirt and warm air on my skin; the sense that summer has no end.

Karin and East London canals:

karin by canal rs

Festival nights:


View from enchanting Honor Oak Park:

honor oak park view

Greenwich sunshine with Sarah and Veronica:

in the park

Jamming in Finsbury Park:

finsbury  park

South London ambles with Mike:

mike and kitty rs

London summertime:

London summer

Ain’t life glorious.

A new life begins

IMG_1812rsWork is over and I am once again a drifter – except this time with some structure and scheduling to ensure that my book will get done and not run the risk of being forgotten amidst aimless ambles through wooded estates and along quiet backstreets (come spring, at least), and spontaneous creative ventures that will pull me along but never bear fruit.

I have dragged the kitchen table over to the heater, where I have set up my workstation cheek by jowl with the radiator and the coffee machine, and here I can tap away without end, overlooking the river and the woods of the east.  Now I just need to stay focused.

The life of yesterday already feels distant and meaningless.  This marks a new beginning.  I have made new friends and taken many photographs and celebrated my birthday on a glinting rooftop, and Fleur feels much closer now.IMG_1832rsIMG_1825rs


Desperately seeking Fleur

There are corners of the web which contain words that make my heart sing – people who tell their stories in ways that remind me of goosebumps and heartbeats. There I find, underneath the protective layers of compliance and sarcasm, that person I used to be; the girl who ran through the woods at night in search of magic, the girl who talks to oceans and trees, the girl who dreams bigger than her heart can contain. The girl who watches a movie and feels it fill her soul with magic and romance and remains in that movie for weeks afterward, hearing its music and dreaming of its characters, whispering dialogue into dark mirrors; the girl who allows herself to create a fairy tale in which to live because why not?


I have lived on the edges of London for so long now, and I thought the city was pushing me out of its all-consuming noise and clamour towards a quieter life. But it was I who crept out of there on my bare knees and hid under my blankets and dreamed of silent forests and glinting stars. Well, the stars can glint even in London, and the neon signs shine all night long in all the colours of the rainbow, and I am ready to go back. I put plasters on my scraped knees and walk right back into the mess I left.

I remember now, life was exciting once. Once upon a time I worked for the mafia in Knightsbridge, losing myself in late-night VIP events surrounded by Russians and champagne, fresh into the city and ready for adventure; long ago I worked in the porn industry and had carrots being heated in my microwave for ungodly reasons; once I used to stay up all night and make love in hallways and have my heart broken and call friends for help and feel lonely and lost but alive, and we spent many nights on the hills around the city watching millions of glittering lights, and everything mattered.

But thicker skin was layered upon me and things felt less, and I laughed more, but something was lost.

I’m going now to find it.