Would you like to come today, and hold my hand?

musings on a time of uncertainty and change and the rituals that sustain us

Good Morning dear ones. Thank you for BEing here. It means a lot. These connections across oceans and lands, reaching out, energies sparkling.

This is a longer read than usual. Consider it last Friday’s absent post and this coming Friday’s read. Thank you if you choose to take the time. I know how precious time is. This post may resonate with anyone who has been experiencing ongoing change and uncertainty. If you have been wondering what is behind some of my words, this may shed some light. ❤️

It’s been a week of
breaking hearts, mending hearts, tender hearts, open hearts.
and really,
if we are open to Life
isn’t that what every week is?
every moment?
an opening, a breaking, a light, a crack, a new beginning, a receding,
the dark, the dawn, the whole fucking ride
BEing, Sense - ing all that is
otherwise we miss it
don’t we?
otherwise we miss Life in all of her whole gorgeous painful hilarious wonder full Beauty.

Lake Wānaka, Morning Run on the Millennium Track. 1st August, 9.40a.m.

A week in which she found herself
down on her knees
in a cabin, a possible temporary home, a bridge in between what was not and what may be,
a hopeful place, a sacred place
underneath
a ladder, which reached up high, upon which she was to climb
up
yet
the ladder dripped
wet mud and rust and memories of work boots
and the mud and memories
dripped onto the
new timber floor which she had spent some time loving and tending to
because this was a hopeful place, a sacred place, a possible Home,
and that’s what you do in a Home
you Love and you Tend.
you Love and you Tend.
yet the mud
desecrated
her consecrated space
and she cried that there was mud in the one place
in her one Place
and as she scrambled around on all fours on her hands and her knees
with wet soapy cloths to
make the mud go away
tears and snot now adding to the mess,
She looked down upon herself
from above
as though
she had already climbed
the ladder up high
and saw the grey
the desperation
the ridiculousness
of her, of her situation, and what she had become
reduced? to.

“You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.” Maya Angelou

Lake Wānaka, Morning Run on the Millennium Track. 1st August, 9.42a.m

It doesn’t take much to push a person over the edge when there is ONGOING uncertainty and change. I write ONGOING in caps as a caps self compassion alert. 🥰 A reminder to all of us dealing with ongoing uncertainty and change to be gentle with ourselves. You are not crazy, just exhausted. Just finding a way to manage it all.
This wasn’t a one off “mud on floor event,” but a continuation of a year (or two? or more, if we’re really going to get into a history, a Story, oh how easy it is to slide down that slippery slope, what is our story? how do we tell our story? Are we just the story teller, or are we the story creator? Yes, we have a part to play, a starring role in fact. Remember, we can always take the pen back into our own hand and start to write a new chapter), long sentence, long story, too much explaining, lost in the words, lost in the woods, lost in the stream… of …
… a continuation of a year of challenges with not much respite.

“No Mud No Lotus” - Thích Nhất Hạnh

so,
it’s been a while of not being at home,
of not having a home, a safe space, a haven, a place to nurture family,
and that impacts the nervous system.
Coping mechanisms creep in:
on High Alert
Hyper- vigilance
Highly protective of one’s own space and remaining belongings
Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Never has this psychological tier of human needs meant so much.
As some of you may know, I have been in the process of re-creating a home in Wānaka, New Zealand, where I have lived with my family for 22 years.
Wānaka - Renewal of the Soul, according to one translation.
Renewal of the Soul.
Renewing your Soul takes work. It’s a bloody muddy process.
Wānaka was heaven on earth. A place for nature worshippers, outdoor enthusiasts, small town lovers, community caring, and the most amazing space to bring up kids. And, as with anything good, everyone wants a slice of the pie when the word gets out. The town has changed. It has shut out affordability for so many who came here to feed their souls. This town is Home though, and needs to be for another 5 years while my kids return home for 6 months of the year from University. After no longer being able to afford some of the most expensive rental prices in the country, let alone land or a home to buy, on a sole income, with two young adults who still need financial support, I have had to pivot. Hence 18 months of changing, packing up, playing with boxes and masking tape ( the sound of tape being stretched out is the soundtrack of my life of late), storage sheds, exploring new options, A Tiny Home! learning whole new ways of living, investigating shit and worms and composting toilets ( a great way to meet people on an intimate basis), learning about solar power, generator back ups and batteries, ( yeah that’s not going to work. Have you seen my photos of Wānaka’s winter inversion and fog!) the long process of finding land to lease and dealing with attitudes of the ignorant and judgemental, meetings with councils to work out the whole puzzle of compliance and when a tiny home on wheels falls under vehicle regulations or building consent regulations, AND THEN realising after a year that a tiny home and two cabins for my kids simply is not viable. I tried. God, I fucking tried. The why not is a whole other story. It’s one of the hardest and most empowering things I have done, I tell my friend who is immaculately turned out in a freshly ironed linen shirt, caramel colour themed linen pants matched with kitten heels, not a wrinkle upon her forehead, hair perfectly blonde, I start to tell people “the story” because they asked! but then they kind of go blank, their eyes glaze over or they turn away, they turn away to look for more understandable people who fit in nice boxes and who are going Home to their Home and have just got back from another holiday in Bali. It’s hard to Explain. So you start to avoid the topic of where you’re living.
Or not living.

Frosty bridge wire. 5th August, 7.37a.m.

Along the way you work and you love and you care for people close to you and you get your dearly beloved cat Pumpkin put down ( god damn it, god damn it, how I loved that furry ferocious companion), and your pot plants start to look as bedraggled as you do with all the moving and changes. Along the way you know you must still go out in nature every day to replenish your tired soul. You run, you move, you yoga. You eat broccoli, you drink water, you sleep. You write.

”I can be hungry, homeless,
wet, in debt, fucked up;
but if I’m writing, that’s enough.” Harry Crews

You create. You force yourself to be social at times, despite being naturally inclined towards solitude. Times like this push us even further into our safe contemplative and quiet spaces. We must resist the temptation to become a complete hermit. We must keep our connections alive despite the energy it requires of our already depleted energy reserves. I meet people on the journey who still remember what this town was like, the values they hold of community and support. Out of the woodwork emerge many new and old friends who reach out a hand to help those who are at the bottom of the ladder, on their knees. They reach out a hand and offer to pick you up off the floor. They see, they see you, and they see that
you are a person who looks towards the stars
no matter how far away they seem at times.

Frosty and foggy morning run. Butterfields Swing Bridge. 6th August. 8.12a.m.

What a journey it is. This life. I wonder if somehow I wished for this. A life of living close to the essence of things. Where all is stripped bare. Where you know how cold it is at night by how frosty your outside jandals are as you make the middle of the night under the stars dark stumble to the loo. And perhaps goosebumps can’t be found living in suburban comfort for all of one’s life.
The aliveness of my naked skin, the body being bathed under a dark and star twinkling sky.

So this is a reminder to myself, a self compassion alert. Just so I don’t read one of my ever so helpful quotes that I collect to fuel me, and think well why why am I still collapsing under a ladder and looking like a fucking crazy woman when I know that I should Embrace the Change, that Change is the only constant and that Change happens for you, not to you. How I wish sometimes that I wouldn’t be such a blimmin’ life coach preacher to myself ( and to others - yeah sorry I now know what it’s like). Sometimes knowledge does not help. Too many fucking words and concepts. Whilst ongoing learning has been the basis of so much personal growth for me, it’s times like this that you need to just let go of the whole lot of mental knowledge and come back to the wisdom of the naked body under the stars.

“You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.”

Bob Marley

“Oh Bob, I know I know. But I am tired of being strong. Everyone always tells me, “You are so strong Jo.” But. But I just want to fall back.
To fall back into a soft landing.”

“Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, vision cleared, ambition inspired, and success achieved.” – Helen Keller

“Helen, I admire you. Please tell me though, HOW??? How does one continue to See when it all looks dark ahead?”

I suppose you don’t look so crazy if you express your traumas in a more
”normal” and socially acceptable fashion
like downing a couple of beers at the pub
or pouring Another glass of wine at home
or fucking around
or watching porn night after night
or scrolling mindlessly
or shopping therapy
to numb it all
to hide, to cover up,
many people seem to celebrate and understand that way of mourning
they nod at those self medicating “rituals"
and turn a blind eye as
the grief coming out in different ways
everywhere, every day on this planet,
people swear at their children, kick the cat, scowl at other humans, get enraged in traffic, kill the earth, everywhere people stifle their grieving and it manifests as hate and disconnect.
Thats all perfectly normal.
Apparently.

“I tried to drown my sorrows in alcohol, but the bastards learned how to swim.”
Frida Kahlo

Lake Wānaka. Morning Run on the Milenium Track. 1st August 9.54 a.m.

Subtle shifts

a breath
two minutes
two seconds
and the view changes
a light ening of sky
a light ening of
spirit

So she preys.
she doesn’t know the NAME of what or who she preys to
it doesn’t fucking matter
It feels like maybe it might be Love
that she preys to
while she is on her knees
Love holds her
as she rocks in the
raw and unfiltered gushing of it all
Letting go
Letting god

A slant of sun warms her body as she lies there. Surrendering. On her new timber floor, with mud and ladders and buckets and papertowel and tissues and
a slant of sun
on her body.

A collection of stones. From throughout this time. Consecrated. A ritual. A moment. Every one chosen. Every one held. With Love. A marker of doing hard things and the joy that comes afterwards. A stone found, during a morning cold plunge in a cleansing lake, the sunshine afterwards. Every stone a breath, a reward, a gift embedded with meaning. Taking the time to allow for the precious moments. Ceremony and ritual: this is what expands Life. This is what sustains Life.

Photo: Mt Difficult Pinot Noir - a central Otago wine which I highly recommend.
Mt Difficulty indeed. There is a running event that climbs over Mt Difficulty. I did it once. There were grown men crying, paralysed in fear, plastering themselves to the craggy rock face as they ascended. I don’t know how I did it. But I did. I feel sometimes like I am now back on Mt Difficulty, overcome by fear of the steep drop, wondering how to keep moving, how to ascend…

I walked into a place this week that I would not normally walk into.
A friend invited me.
”Would you like to come today, and hold my hand?”
Her words. Sent via email. Tears fall onto my keyboard.
A relief. A release.
I trust this friend. She is a good person. An open minded person. She is spirituality all wrapped up in a gorgeous bundle of warmth and smiles and fun and allowing and community and inclusion. She is the opposite of what I was taught when growing up in the church.
What brings you here? !they all asked excitedly, when I barely have a
foot in the door.
I was wary
had my guard up
in case I was
Indoctrinated
captured
back into the Institution I (tried to) escape from in my late teens
I didn’t talk publicly
which is unusual for me
There was singing
I didn’t sing
which is not unusual for me
besides, this was not a Mr Bean comedy I was performing in,
this singing was for
serious Holy singers and I am an
hilarious unHoly singer.
There was some kerfuffle upon my arrival,
it seems the wine was missing.
I hadn’t realised that there was going to be wine.
The Presbyterian church I grew up in
drank watered down
Ribena
for their rituals
one must not get too fucking
into the juiciness of life
lets water it down! Let’s water Life down.
But Here, these people these laughing people were into the real deal,
they found several empty bottles in fact
as well as, finally! a much awaited Full bottle
Behind the pulpit
perhaps, but I may just be making that up,
churches bring out the mischievous in me, the rebel in me
which is equally as uplifting as any supposedly comforting sermon.
I don’t usually drink at 10am but this lot were eager.
It wasn’t a Mt Difficulty Pinot but one can’t be too choosy
and then, as if they hadn’t waited long enough
the wine had to be consecrated
but they lost the priest this time, although they had the wine,
he was found
possibly preparing a welcome pack for me…
run Jo run!
As the ritual was performed I found a bubble of laughter forming deep inside
and I said my own prayer:
May we consecrate!
May we consecrate!
our wooden floors, our tears, the fucking mud, the stones, the wine, the blood and the flesh
OH dear Lord Consecrate Me!!


I really only went for the stained glass windows
But I didn’t say that. of course.
I sat there
beside my friend
who had offered

Would you like to come today, and hold my hand?

The sun slanted in through the coloured glass
warming my body
I looked up
and smiled
at Life
at me.