Tag: writing

Courage

lizaaitken

Courage and strength come with perserverence.

Finding these qualities comes through our endurance.

We go through life constantly coming up against difficulties, find ourselves in situations where we need to gather all our strength to succeed, achieve or reach our goal.  Life has a way of presenting these obstacles just at a time we don’t need them.

We endure these periods by going within and somehow finding the strength to continue, for however long it takes and sometime this might be years.  Through our ability to find this strength in times of need, however hard it appears to be at the times, we develop an inward strength, one that will see us through our lives, strengthen our spirit and see us along the way.

Courage is developed in the hard knock school of life.  It is a quality that comes through the  experience and endurance of pain.  It is gained through love that is not returned but still given out, it is gained through loneliness, poverty, grief and loss. Courage is gained in a multitude of ways but it builds us and makes us into the people we are today.

Courage strengthens the spirit and when we strengthen our spirit we are more able to live as our true selves, not afraid of what others think of us, happy to accept criticism but  at the same time be able to speak our own truth.  We are no longer sheep and if necessary we can stand firm and face any opposition.

So whatever lessons are ahead of us we have to see them as such and know we can endure them and strengthen our spirits and become better, stronger, people.

 

 

 

Daily Prompt: Panic

lizaaitken

‘Don’t trouble trouble until trouble troubles you’

I don’t know who said that but I like it, who invites trouble in, that would be just ridiculous.

I don’t think I panic now, I’ve spent a lifetime panicking but on seeing the word for today’s prompt, my mind went blank, when was the last time I panicked?  I honestly can’t remember.

I think maybe like blushing, panicking goes with age.  We realise that nothing is the end of the world and if it is we won’t have to worry about it.  I do think about ‘what if’s’ but in a more leisurely way now.   Often the things we panic about are those difficult times, challenges and painful episodes but are they not just here to teach us?

When we have experienced a few of life’s ups and downs we become more able to understand and accept that things are not always going to go to plan.  Then if we think about some of the things that we have panicked over and compare them to real life tragedies well it really puts things into perspective don’t you think.

My mum was a terrible worrier and it made me realise that worry or not if somethings going to happen then it will. ‘Worry is what worry does’ and worrying makes you ill, stress and worry have a direct impact on our health.

Maybe I live a blessed life, I could imagine circumstances where I might panic, being on a sinking ship, falling plane or in a car without breaks, if your staring death in the eye and it was unexpected then I would imagine panic might set in.  Apart from that I’m pretty panic free.

The flip side of not panicking is that I tend to ignore things, put my head in the sand, now that is something to worry about!

via Daily Prompt: Panic

Butterflies 

lizaaitken


I’ve been out of sorts the last week or so, weird dreams that I’ve shared here, fluctuating moods and bad feet. Luckily my neighbor and friend is a homeopath and knows me well.  He has treated me over the years and strangely usually gets me right.  I say strange because before I met him I thought homeopathy was a load of rubbish. How he has proved me wrong over the years is just amazing.

Last week he gave me amythst for three days and I was so much lighter, fun and put my worries to the back of my mind.  That was not the end, he thought about me, my life experiences and thought he may have another deeper remedy.  He asked how I felt about butterflies. How strange it was five minutes after I had written a poem about butterflies and he doesn’t even follow my blog!

I’ve been a little infactuated with these little creatures lately, it’s all to do with my preoccupation with death and transitions.  Apparently this remedy sits well with me, loss of mother, abandoned in childhood (father), feelings of loss and abandonment, self doubt, feet etc. 

It arrived yesterday and I swallowed it without a seconds thought. Nothing much happened and I thought maybe it wasn’t the right remedy. That’s okay because if it’s not right, it won’t hurt.

Last night I went to bed and dreamt of my mum, she was alive, warm and beautiful. We hugged and I cried, I’m crying now as I write this but that’s good because they are happy tears.  

I think he was right, the remedy was deep.

Daily Prompt: Passionate

lizaaitken

I’m passionate about life, I love so much about it.  I think when your passionate about something you put your heart and soul into it, your very existence is connected.

I’m passionate about my family, I would go to the ends of the earth and back to protect my son from harm.  It destroys me inside to see him or anyone of my family suffering.  Having a child is a wonderful experience but you also learn what real fear is, from the moment they are born you know it is your responsibility to protect and love them.  A mothers love is fierce and passionate.

Not everyone feels this love, maybe because they have not experienced it themselves.  I have spent many years working with young people traumatised by early experiences, damaged by the very people who were supposed to love and care for them.  I have been passionate in that I want them to have the very best care that leads to their recovery  from trauma.  I believe and want for these young people to have the best lives possible and reach their full potential.  I have been outspoken at times and ruffled some feathers but I have got results.

My life changes, I don’t work as much and my son has grown and flown the nest but my passion continues along different avenues.  Today I am passionate about love, kindness  and the world we live in, just being a good person.   As you probably know if you follow my blog, I love nature and taking photos on my phone. Funny how all of a sudden I’ve noticed the world around me and how beautiful it is.

I’m also passionate about writing, I want to keep at it, improve, share a message and learn  🙂

 

via Daily Prompt: Passionate

Befuddled  

lizaaitken

I’m sort of mystified as to where my soul is at this very moment, is it in its entirety with me, or is a part of me or somewhere else completely.

I’m also bewildered as to why am I searching to find myself in a spiritual form, if I actually only exist for this moment in time here and now.

I’m baffled by feelings that I am an immense being, that I experience myself in dreams and wonder if I continue to exist somewhere outside of myself.

I’m bemused to how much time and effort goes into this journey, puzzled by my determination to understand the intricate maze of the universe.

I’m confused by the enormity of my search and perplexed because in all probability I won’t ever discover the answers here as the physical me.

 

I love to philosophise on the meaning of it all, the wonders of the universe and what IT is really all about.  Have you got any nearer to the answers?

 

Perplexed – DP

lizaaitken

My son is a fantastic writer but he doesn’t write, I’m perplexed.  I don’t get it, he’s a natural wordsmith and orator with a fabulous understanding of English language but does not have enough  belief in himself.

I would die to be able to write like him, well you know what I mean. I wouldn’t die as I need to be his mum but you will get my drift I’m sure.

I write quite simply, I don’t use long words because I don’t have many but I think I get my point across.  I am so immensely proud of my son and his ability to use words to conjure up imagery, he’s ability to debate and get his point across, his kindness and respectfulness in communications.

I’m not biased, well maybe slightly but he is a fabulous writer and I’ll say it again I’m perplexed.  Amongst other things, he writes short stories and when pushed he might blog.  Okay, he uses the odd expletive but not to much to put you off.

Today he wrote a story called Collection on WP. I would be so grateful if you would take a look, he needs some followers to encourage him -https://sovietcola.wordpress.com/2016/09/14/collections/

https://sovietcola.wordpress.com

Thank you lovely people 🙂

 

Melancholy Afternoons

lizaaitken

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I’m having a melancholy day, it’s raining and cloudy with no sign of the sun and I’ve just put the heating on.  I’m caught up in melodies from the past from todays Daily Prompt.

Music always takes me to my mum, I’ve been talking to her a lot today, thinking about her and playing her songs in my head.  Would you believe I just sung to her ashes, I laughed when I did it because I know she would laugh too.  I’m not sure why I have her ashes but I do, it’s comfortable as it is the only physical thing I have left of her.  Not that I believe she is in any way connected to her ashes, because she’s not.  I have two pots of ashes on my shelf, it’s a back shelf and high up, I don’t have a shrine and it’s not morbid.  Anyway mum’s urn wears a large string of pearls, wrapped around a couple of times, mum never went out without a statement necklace.  Mum was incredibly fashionable, as a child I used to think fashion designers followed her around with sketch pads, as what she wore one year was in fashion the next.  I wear a necklace, handbag or belt of mums most days, as well as fashionable she was a bit of a shopaholic in her time.  Bill, my step-father who followed mum a month later wears a ribbon of tartan to match the tartan trousers he wore every day.  As you can probably guess, my parents were not ordinary in any way.  I think I probably channel their eccentricity as I’m weirder every day

That’s the thing with writing, it takes you places, today because of the melody prompt it took me back to so many memories, music being such a big part of my family and then from there to the feelings memories bring with them, warm, funny, sad and deep.

When I say I’m melancholy I’m not depressed, desolate or gloomy, I’m just with my thoughts and comfortable there.  I don’t want to party and my plan for the evening is comfort with a lovely bath, candles and yes, music.  I think it’s good to get in touch with your feelings sometimes, it slows us down and reminds us what’s real in this fast paced world we live in.

 

Melodies of Life

lizaaitken

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We all have melodies that run throughout our lives.  They remind us of who we are, where we’ve been, love, happiness and disappointments.  I’m a collector of melodies, lover of music and lyrical words but I’ve no musical myself ability whatsoever.

Our recognition of music and tone starts before we are born, we listen from the womb.  I was born into a musical, well, music loving family and I was sung to through my mothers stomach.  My Dad, convinced I was a boy sung ‘My Boy Bill’ to me in his deep voice.   I don’t think he was disappointed, well maybe a little but he had a boy eventually in his third marriage, my mum being his first wife.  Dad used to get up and sing Al Jolson songs in pubs as did my grandad, dad now 78 still sings throughout the day.

I was named, as mentioned before here, after a Judy Garland song ‘Liza, Liza, Skies are Grey’ thus the title of my blog.  I have mum’s Judy Garland scrap book, started when she was just a teenager, it’s very precious to me as she was her number one fan.

So many of my memories are connected with music.  My Grandmother, swinging her skirt around her knees at parties after a few whiskies singing ‘Danny Boy’.  My other Grandmother’s love of the Opera and the poster of Placido Domingo she had taped to her lounge door well into her late 80’s and the stories of her as a poverty struck young woman climbing up into the ‘gods’ to watch the opera.

When I asked my step father after my mother died what song reminded him of her he said ‘The First Time Ever I Saw your Face’ Ewan McColl’s version.   When he died a month later we had a bagpiper play his coffin into church, just as he used to play the boats out of harbour as a young man.  Music brings them back every time I play something that connects us and I play these melodies often.

I was an officiant at a funeral recently, it’s a long story how I got to do it so I won’t go into the in’s and outs and bore you, but they wanted someone who was spiritual but also a vegan which is a bit of an ask.  I wasn’t a trained celebrant but I ticked the other boxes so I agreed to give it a go, no in all honesty, I wanted to do this young man proud.   He had died at 28 of a heart attack, very sad but as I learnt about him from his family I heard what a love he had for life and he loved to sing.  Would you believe he sang at his own funeral, well recordings of his voice for two numbers ‘ Poor Unfortunate Souls’ from the Little Mermaid and ‘Hakuna Matata’ from the Lion King.  He was larger than life in personality and he sung these songs with every bit of his heart and soul.  I have to tell you when these numbers played it was like he opened the chapel door and walked in through it.

That’s what music does, it takes you back, brings back and reconnects us to precious memories.

 

Weird Dreams?

lizaaitken

I’m having the weirdest dreams and I’m finding them exhausting.  I’m waking up like I’ve done a days work and I’m getting to the point that I’m dreading going to bed.

The night before last I was caring for a baby all night, it was a fitful sleep with me waking hourly, but each time I went back to sleep the baby was still there for me to look after.  I felt I was sharing the bed and wanted to make sure the baby had enough room.  He was tucked in the snug of my arm, well in my dream because of course the baby wasn’t really there.  I felt such responsibility towards this little child, it’s crazy!

Last night my dreams were taken up with an older lady who was obviously confused as she said she was my mum. She wasn’t my mum, but she wasn’t taking any notice of this fact. It got so confusing I wondered if she was in fact my mum in disguise, however they were of a totally different race, mum white and blond, this lady dark with strong features and hair as black as coal.  Anyway she wouldn’t go away, she told me she died in June and I should know this already, she kept talking about dates I should know too which were the 11th and 23rd June.  Of course, I know my mum died in October and was very aware of this in my sleep, telling the woman she was wrong and I wasn’t her daughter.   I suppose the dream could have been about separation and loss as I have been thinking a lot about mum lately, but she usually looks exactly like mum in my dreams.

These are just examples from the last couple of nights but it’s been happening for a while and it’s getting crazier and crazier.  I know my maternal grandmother had visitors at night, people standing at the end of the bed who she told to go away.  She would wave her arms and shout at them, she didn’t know them and didn’t want them around but they kept coming back.  At the end of her life she started to recognise the visitors, her parents, siblings and husband.

I don’t want to consider my dreams are anything like my Nan’s as these visions happen when I’m asleep.  I do believe in spirit and know my family are around me, but these dreams are different. I’m so tired and achy today, I’m going to try a different bed tonight and see if it makes any difference.

I just thought this blogging community might help me work out these dreams and put them to bed!  Do any of you have such weird dreams? If so what have you done about it as I really just want a good nights sleep?

Rain

lizaaitken

 

 

 

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She liked the rain, it washed away the dust and grime of her life and freshened her surroundings.  She sat  for a while and listened to the gentle patter on the window, watching the long streams of water as they trickled slowly down on to the rotting sill.

It had been a long time since it had rained here and it brought about a new and interesting mustiness to the air.  This was the change she had been waiting for, this gave her something to think about and broke the monotony of a Sunday, the longest of days.

The garbage would have a better scent she thought to herself, it was a long time since it had been collected and the stench of fish guts and babies nappies trailed through the walkways like a cancer.  Tomorrow the air would be cleaner, the concrete washed of muck and the flower pots washed down and flowers fed.

A crack of thunder lit the horizon and the lights went out.  She sat watching the shadows of the trees in the distance bending, as beaten by the relentless and torrential storm.  Behind her door she heard the unmistakable crash of gates closing and further in the distance cries from the murky shadows.  She watched through her prison window and thought about the fresh dawn of tomorrow.