Author: admin

23 Sep

Posted at 20:49h in Culture Reviews by

South of the river – behind and between the brick warehouses, pubs and centuries of old Southwark lies Crossbones. Gathering every 23rd of the month at this once forgotten paupers’ burial ground is a crowd of people come to celebrate the edge dwellers of life. We offer words and tokens in memory of the outcast, the ‘othered’ and of sex workers. John Crow – bard and shepherd of this flock welcomes the absurd and the unheard. I imagine this diverse but woolly-hatted crowd creeping out of the cracks in the city to bring their undervalued blessings; here to remember those who have fallen through the cracks. Libertines speak poems into the dark, drowned out intermittently by the rumble of jets full of people who can’t hear the poetry. www.crossbones.org.uk

22 Sep

Posted at 17:47h in Sarah's Journal by

Eagle feather presides over the room. It was a gift from a Hunter who trains Golden Eagles in the Altai Mountains of Mongolia. Symbol of truth, this feather represents one of my highest ideals, something to align with. Another gift – almost identical in colour is this knitted rat, a double of a beloved pet, who came to represent embodied wisdom and love. He taught me to stroke him until I was present – a zen master rodent. I value the twin perspectives of eagle and rat vision – the eagle’s overview of the big picture and rat’s beady eye for close observation, spotting the details of life. Both are allies for me as a space holder for grief.

21 Sep

Posted at 10:41h in Sarah's Journal by

It is a perfect Indian summer’s day with blue sky and sunshine to frame the pylon. This now shorn meadow is a piece of my favourite urban wild landscape. Like a Constable painting, green blue and ochre contrast with one singing pixel of red. The abandoned scarlet sleeping bag – left by a recent tent dweller – a hint of dystopia. Yet this is a place of refuge for me. I come here to expand my chest, to ruminate. It is the place I imagine being scattered if I am cremated. It’s local, easy to visit and natural enough to elbow out the encroaching pressure of east London.

20 Sep

Posted at 20:07h in Sarah's Journal by

Ten clear glass bottles wait for the milk van/person. They arrive next door with turquoise/pink foil tops. Milk drunk, they will be collected, washed, re-used. This normal part of my childhood is now an out of the ordinary labour of the environmentally conscious. I remember Blue Peter appeals and saving our silver milk bottle tops. In our house normal/British Rail/builders tea is now abnormal. We sip our herbal uppers/downers, fruity or spicy. For cereal there’s a tetra pack of coconut/almond.

20 Sep

Posted at 19:51h in Book Reviews by

“If there is ever to be any real peace on earth, all people need to relearn and re-establish the now diminished and hidden arts of Grief and Praise, for one without the other is not possible.” Martin Prechtel’s uncompromising and passionate message rubs off the page. His words seduce with rowdy charm. He urges us to shake off our avoidance of grief, to embrace life through praise, to recognise the consequences of the “unmetabolized war grief of past generations”. Ideas grown in hot dry New Mexico land amongst sage, marjoram and lavender, taking root in a very English garden.

19 Sep

Posted at 10:52h in Sarah's Journal by

Nearly blind and very deaf, Pickle lives by his nose. Increasingly it feels as though he has entered another realm – barking at an empty corner of the room, or startled by the unseen. At this moment, it is as though he is receiving a direct transmission of light. He sleeps on pink fluff while the light beams in. Our steady love and his devotion continues.

18 Sep

Posted at 20:53h in Sarah's Journal by

I have learned to look beyond the wallpaper at the care home. This wing – built in 1975 was last decorated when wallpaper borders were in fashion. It is a place outside time, where aesthetics are not the priority. “Is this real?” my friend asks regularly. I find it hard to answer this question. Yes in a practical sense, but perhaps not if all life is illusiary, philosophically speaking. He has sometimes asked me to describe the wallpaper as a way to gauge whether we share the same reality. What matters here is doing what’s needed, kindness, but mainly being. Our society values doing. I come here, witness how when doing is stripped away, being, kindness and love take centre stage.

17 Sep

Posted at 13:39h in Sarah's Journal by

I love the coming of our weekly veg box. I love the feeling of virtue that arises as I unpack the glorious array of earthy colours. I have read the list, made choices, added extras, but is still surprises me. This time a magnificent Romanesco cauliflower arrives – a ziggurat of vibrant green crenulations. I want to paint it, to wear it, to venerate it, and then to roast it. “Why can’t we have normal vegetables like other families?” the pizza eater asked.

16 Sep

Posted at 18:07h in Culture Reviews by

I often listen to Cariad Lloyd’s chatty podcast. She talks to comedians about grief and death. At the Podcast Festival I watch a live recording of ‘Grief Cast’ featuring Keemah Bob, Jenny Bede and Tom Parry. Cariad is personable, asks questions which invite saying the unsayable in a very natural way. In response we laugh at the pomp of social norms around death, share dark tales of funeral meets lavatory humour and demystify the secrecy around the process of death and dying. Afterwards I play at interviewer, re-wind the questions in my head.www.cariadlloyd.com/griefcast

 

15 Sep

Posted at 21:29h in Book Reviews by

This is a brilliant book about life. I gallop through the seventeen brief encounters with the fragility of the human body in Maggie O’Farrell’s ‘I Am, I Am, I Am’. It’s beautiful words capture pivotal moments in her family life. Something happens, or doesn’t happen, but each recounting of an intimate incident leaves me catching my breath, counting my own lives and lucky stars.