writing – Page 3 – lizalizaskysaregrey

Life Stories

November 26, 2016 lizaaitken

Our own life stories can open us up and heal us, they open the gateways to our souls and ultimately help us discover the real self within. Have you ever tried telling the story of your life to yourself, imagine you have no recollection of events or any previous knowledge. How would you explain the more difficult bits, those muddled bits, so that you can fully understand yourself.

We talk to ourselves all the time, what should we have for dinner, where shall we take the dog and all sorts of useless nonsense but very rarely do we ask ourselves who we are and where we have come from. Our own stories are the recipes for what makes us whole, the ingredients that go into pot that make us who we are. It’s not all sugar, we know there’s a little bitterness in there too, we have to uncover it all to understand.

My story is long, there are many episodes, it cannot be played out in one session. I might start at any part, it does not have to run in sequence, just as long as I learn from it when I’ve played it through. I want to be able to understand my own story because that is what makes me who I am, what is the point in our lives if we don’t gain something from them. Some of my issues, for want of a better word, have changed as I’ve been able to see events for what they actually were and therefore change my response. I’ve always been the abandoned child, from looking back over my life I can now see why I went onto marry a man just like my father, that he also abandoned me isn’t any great surprise and when I look at it now, the kindest thing he could have done for me. Some things I have have come to realise have been false memories, a lot in fact as when we can’t make sense of something we create it, going back over these memories I have been able to watch from a different perspective.

Have you ever read something you just have to keep on reading again, a poem or the chapter in a book, well I think in a way, that’s what our life should be like, we need to be able to go back and ensure we have fully understood the manuscript, make sure we got the right message. Do we really understand our own life stories as well as we understand our favourite piece of literature or film, it’s a shame but most of us don’t because other peoples stories are sometimes easier than our own to digest.

I like to find a space, when I say space I mean somewhere safe and quiet and sit with my memories, meditate maybe and walk through the story. Sometimes I imagine myself as an actor, studying a scene, I might give myself marks out of ten. I come back with a better understanding of myself now, I think it’s good to review our own behaviour, how else will we change if it is necessary.

What if I told you it was possible to go forward too, watch your future self, see your best possible self, learn from them and bring ideas back to this moment. Would you give it a go?

A Question of Presence?

November 21, 2016 lizaaitken

How do you see the flower, is it with your eyes only or is it through the flower being present in all your senses. Do you feel the flower in your subconscious, does it communicate with you through your screen as you sit with it?

Do you connect with my presence as you read my words and if so, what is it you feel. Can I leave my lounge and enter your world just by sharing my thoughts with you. Can you feel the authenticity of a person through their words on paper, or through a book they have written. Is this the same if something is written that does not sit well with you, or blend well with your understanding of life? Interesting isn’t it how we are drawn to others we have never met, we feel a connection with them, trust them and even care about what happens to them.

If we are all energy, can we not communicate and blend without being present in a room? I believe we can, I think that we can go anywhere if we are accepted and welcomed. I think it probably boils down to acceptance because if something does not sit well with me I shut it down, stop allowing it in, and refocus myself.

Look at the medium of Skype, how real does that conversation feel, for me when I am connected with a person there is no difference to if they were sitting across the room. I hold consultations over Skype and have used it for my own benefit. Reading what someone has written is the same for me, it’s as if they are communicating directly with me, I feel them.

I know I’m asking a lot of questions here, I probably have all the answers somewhere too, inside in my subconscious, floating around waiting for the right time. I just think these questions are fascinating, they are food for the soul.

So tell me, how close to you am I now as I ask them?

The Richness of Being Without

November 20, 2016 lizaaitken

It could be said it’s easier to be true to yourself when you don’t have much in life. Your not concerned with loss of wealth because you have little to loose, nor are you concerned with reputation because nobody really notices or knows you.

When you can just be yourself with little regard for material objects or social expectations, I think that might be as close to truly authentic as a person can get. Living as true to ourselves as possible without being swayed by others or the demands of society, maybe that’s when we find the answers.

It’s a funny thing, that when we let go of the rules, live in truth and love, we naturally draw people to us for the right reasons. They draw closer because of their interest, because they want some of this love, they want to understand it and reach a place of happiness and contentment too. People are funny creatures, they continue to want what they don’t have, not realising not having is often the path for which they are searching.

Risotto ;-)

November 15, 2016November 15, 2016 lizaaitken

I made a roasted butternut squash risotto today, a bit of something to do mixed with using up what I had in the cupboard. While stirring the rice I got sort of transfixed watching it move around the pan. It got me thinking, what if a big spoon came down to earth and gave us all a big stir. Can you imagine where you might end up, a beach, on top of a mountain or in the middle of the sea. Nothing you take for granted this minute would be there, no friends, family, possessions, it would be just you in what your wearing. I imagined myself ending up in a coffee shop, I found myself sitting next to a writer of all people!

Thinking about this I wondered if this would be good for the human race, stir us all up and send us out into the world to start again. Think of it, no religion or at least followers or congregations left, no political parties to follow as they would have been separated like my rice and no wars as the enemy would have broken up and soldiers dispersed.

I sort of think it might be a good idea, I think we would have to make the best of what we had left, make new friends, think for ourselves as society would no longer make the rules. I would imagine society would come about at some point but for the time in-between we would have to fend for and think for ourselves, we would be our own masters. I think love and kindness would be much more prevalent as we would all be on our own, we would have nothing to loose and everything to gain.

Anyway my risotto was smashing, I wonder what I should have for desert 😉

Healing through Writing

November 13, 2016 lizaaitken

I write to work out my world, I find writing therapeutic in that it helps me look back at experience and gain an understanding, maybe a different perspective of events. I find to write about painful memories helps ease the pain, it helps me understand and make sense of those memories so I can let them go or at least turn them into something more manageable.

Often when we look back at difficult events we do so in quick flashes, leaving the scene as soon as it becomes unbearable. It’s then buried again among the pain of our very foundations, the foundations that we work from, those that direct everything we do. If we don’t come to terms with the difficult episodes they become the foundations for our future. We will base our future decisions on past experiences and we won’t grow.

Our experiences, good and bad are the things that help us grow, however difficult our experiences, they should be meaningful if we are to grow from them. I find it just as helpful to write about happiness, it brings those feeling back home.

I find when I revisit something I can see it in a different way, I’m good at visualisation so I put myself in the scene and look around, sometimes I might see another way out, not that it helps the past but it can certainly help the future.

Rumour has it when we die our life passes in front of us, we learn about our lives from what we see. Why not do it now when we have opportunity to make those changes. Sometimes by going back, we can reframe our experiences and rewrite our futures.

What is the Point?

November 10, 2016 lizaaitken

Sometimes we ask ourselves what is the point, everything appears futile, pointless, we loose all motivation, we’re down on ourselves. At times like these I try and remind myself, it’s okay to have these feelings as long as they don’t become a larger part of who I am.

It’s important to recognise our feelings, allow them in and sit with them if we are going to be able to understand them and move them on. Life is full of ups and downs and we have to take the rough with the smooth. If was life was full of joy all the time how would we know when to celebrate, how would we know what joy feels like.

We have to believe that all things will pass, look back and know that nothing ever came to us without reason. Everything that happens is destined, it’s all part of the greater plan and sometimes that requires a bit of a shake up. This is the point you see, the point we were questioning and the answer is we need to be exactly where we are right now, because only now leads us into tomorrow.

~ Liza

The Emperor

November 9, 2016November 9, 2016 lizaaitken

The shackles of time adorn his feet and yet he is young. He waits patiently for he knows that the gods will not hurry, he is but one in a universe of waiting. His seat is old and yet warm with the memories of those that have gone before, it will remain in these realms and serve as the throne of another. Although young in this life he has travelled here before, learning each time but will come again. The impatient youth of another lifetime went on before him, this time he is patient, knowing, at peace with himself. He has had company on his travels and left his mark in the places he has visited. His ghost remains on the earth and the people whose path he has crossed have an indent of his being on their soul. He is a thoughtful man, when he speaks it is with clarity, boldly speaking his truth. The eagle, adorned with golden feathers is ready to fly having lived many lifetimes with the man, the bird will wait for his return but for now it prepares its feathers for the next flight. There are no possessions on this plateau except the memories and lessons of this life reflected in an orb of light in his right hand. The young man looks into this as he waits, reflecting, thinking and listening to the universe.

Something I wrote some years back, I’m not sure what I was thinking at the time of writing but found it interesting when I read it back again today.

Return of my Invisible Friend

November 8, 2016November 8, 2016 lizaaitken

Like a lot of children I had a friend that only I could see. Although no one else could see her, it didn’t make her any less real and somehow validated our special friendship. Her name was Reen, well that was how I pronounced it back then, and we played for hour upon hour in the wonderland inside our home. Reen stayed close to me, she waited in my room while I slept, rocking gently on the rocker beside my bed and joined me at the table for meals, we spent hours at the bottom of the garden in our camp under the old coalbunker and I shared everything with her. It was Reen that helped me wrap the hedgehog up warm and put him in the dressing up chest for the winter and Reen that taught me not to eat the slugs we found on the path. When I was having my hair washed Reen would stand by the door watching and smiling as I screamed and wriggled away to the other end of the bath, I don’t recall her bathing but she was always shiny and bright. When my daddy didn’t come home any more, she stayed close to me at night as I listened as mum cried in the distance. Whatever the weather was doing and however many layers I was wearing, Reen always wore the same dress, with little white flowers on a pale green background with a white collar and cardigan.

I can’t remember when she stopped coming or I stopped noticing, maybe about the same time my little sister could join me in play and moved into my room. I feel bad now I think of it someone so important, just forgotten. That’s it with imaginary friends they just leave your imagination one day and that’s it your on your own. I remember mum telling me how one day we were running for the bus and she noticed my hand held out behind me, like I was dragging something along. ‘Wait for Reen’ I fussed as we mounted the bus, a petrified look on my face, because I might leave my friend. Mum told it as if she believed I really did have a friend, even with all the excitement of running for the bus and a fun day ahead, I had not forgotten Reen. I didn’t remember this and although I had a slight dream like memory of a girl with a pretty dress and curly blond hair, Reen was cast to the back of my mind. Mum often said she wished she had asked me more about my friend back then, but a busy mum bringing up two girls she let it go as I did myself years later with my own child.

I’m in my fifties now, I’m on the downward path now although still hopeful, and today I walked into the lounge to find Reen sitting on the sofa. I saw her as I walked through the door just sitting waiting, like your family might, familiar, comfortable in the surroundings and all grown up. I suppose that would make sense as she would have been growing with me, but she didn’t have the worry lines I see on my face each time I look in the mirror or any of the ravages of time this stressful world brings, she was truly beautiful. I recognised her immediately, there wasn’t a moment when I didn’t know who she was. The dress was gone but replaced by a blouse of the same pattern and her face was soft and creamy as I remembered, with big eyes and the gentle smile that was so deep and warm and hair the colour of summer. The shopping bags I was carrying hung heavy on the end of my arms as I stood and watched, holding my breath, not blinking in case she disappeared again. She smiled some more and I felt safe, I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time, with a bubble growing in my throat, I couldn’t speak. There I was like an idiot, standing in my coat, hair dripping into my eyes, the light still not switched on, with those sodden bags hanging from my arms.

Oh dear god, what a loser I must be to have my childhood friend return at my age. It wasn’t that I was not happy to see her it’s just that it made me realise what a total bulls up I must have made of things since she had left, had she returned to repair me, put right all the wrongs and untangle all the lies. She must know, yes, I looked into those eyes and knew instantly she had been with me all the time, I just hadn’t seen her until now. You know when something is so real, there is not time for excuses, embarrassment, ego polishing or the like, well that was the moment I was caught in. I bent to put my bags down on the floor, still dripping from the rain on to the waxed floorboards, knowing, as I did there would be a watermark later. I walked slowly, yet within one held breath to the sofa and sat beside her. I sat on her left, she was on my right and the feather sofa gave beneath me, this was not a dream. I might have breathed but I’m not sure as in my mind a breath might have blown her away. We sat there, comfortable like we had never been apart and a small bit of me realised we hadn’t parted, I had just stopped seeing her.

I want to be able to tell you how we spoke, how we caught up with the time and how I apologized for forgetting her but I can’t. Because we haven’t spoken yet, she is still sitting there watching as I write this down with my cat Eris, snuggled up comfortably and purring softly beside her.

My Writing Journey

November 7, 2016 lizaaitken

Today I got notification that I had published 500 posts on WordPress! That’s amazing, I would imagine most of them are in the last few months or this year because before this I wasn’t at all serious about blogging. I started my blogging journey by writing a letter to my mother who was at the time seriously ill with an incurable lung disease. I was struggling to come to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t be around for too long. After mum passed away I lost any ability to do much at all, I was frozen but gradually I started to write again. Writing helps me work myself out, I answer my own questions, change my mind and answer them again. I like to write poems, some silly ones that make me laugh and some deeper. I love spiritual philosophy and use my blog to share my own philosophy.

Today I would like to republish my first ever post in celebration of the journey and celebration of my mother who continues to be my inspiration.

My Mothers Love

Mum, I have always written in your cards that I love you with all my heart, and I do, I love you deeply with my whole being. I want to try and explain my love for you but it’s not an easy task talking about an emotion that is invisible yet at the same time tremendously powerful. I have not experienced life without your love so its hard to fathom what that might feel like, maybe a big empty hole, falling forever with no attachment to bind me. Thinking back, I remember you used to say to us as children ‘I love you with all my heart and I did right from the start’. I imagined, as a small child when you said it, you meant the start of time, because that’s how big, warm and safe it felt. When I tell you I love you it does not seem enough, those are words used by everyday people and you are not an everyday person, you are so much more. I could write about my love and appreciation for you until there were no trees left on the earth and a mountain of paper, covering the horizon and blocking out the sun and moon, but I’m not sure I could capture the words, I’m not sure there really are words in this world.

Your very poorly now and carry so much pain and yet you are so incredibly brave, you don’t dwell on that bastard illness, you fight it with that huge spirit of yours. When you first got ill the doctors said at that stage you had no time left, but you were never having that, and went about visualising my sister Laura and I inside your lungs with cloth caps and brooms, sweeping out all the bad, singing as we worked and by some miracle we did it, you improved. We know that it wasn’t really a miracle, it involved the power of thought, coupled with determination, and we know really it worked because of the magic of the love we share. You are so brave, you sing to yourself now to help you to breathe easier and make the pain go away, you tell yourself, believe and sing about how happy and lucky you are. In my minds eye, I can see you stooped and in awful pain struggling as you walk towards Green Lane singing your little song ‘I’m so happy’, it makes me want to cry, you crazy, wonderful, beautiful woman! You see yourself dancing at Claude’s wedding, it’s a long way off but your sheer determination might get you there.

From the day I was born I know without a shadow of a doubt, that you have loved me every moment. I know that you think of me shortly after waking, throughout the day and last thing at night. Your love keeps me safe, I know that you think I am special and I can never really be lonely or lost in any way with your love around me. I can’t describe to you how wonderful it has been to be in receipt of your love, it’s like I won the lottery of life having you as my mum. You have always put me and Laura first, there is not anything you would not give up for your girls and grandchildren, you would go to the ends of the earth and back for each of us. We know you would genuinely die for us, that you feel our pain every bit as much as we do and would willingly carry it for us. It is lucky for all of us that you also share our joy, and our achievements are your best achievements.

Small things give you pleasure, being with your family, being together, sharing a meal and celebrating. I get that now and it is what is important to me too, I wish I had understood that sooner. You have a silly way of looking at us, full of love and pride, it used to embarrass me, now I embrace it. I am turning into you in a little way, I hear you speaking when I speak to my son sometimes but your shoes are too big for me, I could never fit into them. If only I could be as selfless and giving as you, more spiritual and less materialistic. I am trying, as to be a fraction as good a person as you would be amazing.

You are the most giving person and you are gentle and kind, passionate and full of empathy for others. You’re interested in people, not in a nosey way but with concern, you share the troubles and joys of others, you grieve and celebrate and above all try to understand. Your love is as big as the world and as warm as the sun and everybody who has ever known you would agree, we know there is a lot of love for Jean!

I speak to you every day, about six times occasionally but always more than once. We are sometimes deep and meaningful and make sense of the world, put it to rights but often we talk complete mindless rubbish. I know how much it means to you and that talking to your girls keeps you going especially now that awful illness is taking over more and more we are your lifeline and what keeps you going. Mum, I have been meaning to say, you must change that voice mail message, I will help.

I’m frightened sometimes mum, I’m frightened of losing you, of not hearing your voice anymore of not making you laugh. You might have years left, your spirit is still young, but I don’t want to leave it at that without telling you how special you are and how much you have given me. I know that one day you will leave me for a while but you will always be there too, it’s what we believe and we will still talk, I’m absolutely sure of it. You will just be in the next room, the door to that room will not be immediately accessible to me and take me some time to find, but I will find it and you will be waiting there for me.

Your love grows and spreads everywhere, you gave me and taught me empathy and I only work with troubled children now because of the understanding I got from you. You showed me how to reach out to others, really listen and be interested enough to do something to help. How to love, care, communicate and understand the needs of others, understanding the troubles and be there. I’m sure your love is catching and I hope everybody comes down with it. I am blessed to have you as my mum, the children I have worked with have benefitted in a small way because you are my mum.

Your beauty has no comparison in this world, the first sunrise, the deepest colour, the saddest song, and the brightest flower all diminish in your shadow. I was right, there are not words to tell you how I feel, it’s big and warm and makes me cry and laugh at the same time. I won the lottery that’s for sure, I probably jumped a few lifetimes with what you have managed to teach me and the world is a better place for having you in it.

I know that for as long as I live and long after I will be loved by you, and that love comes back at you mum, a million times.

Thank you mum

What was your first blog post?