I have a little garden at the back of my house. Nothing grand, a postage stamp really. It is filled with half chewed pieces of thick branches, soccer balls – some flat with holes, chew toys. A hedge that is too high surrounds my patch of grass. A lawn that is patchy with tufts. I wonder quite often about how to change the little spot of grass that I reign over. Put a pathway here, a spot to sit and enjoy tea there. Plant a tree. Remove that shrub. Change things. The thoughts and ideas race through my mind. I become breathless just thinking about it. And why? I stop myself looking through my window to the back and ask what is so pressing back there?

My mind is free to wander and make plans. Right now, right here even as I look critically at the grass that is too long, the trees that need shaping and the hedge that needs trimming, I spy the bees visiting the purple foxgloves. The peonies are flowering in all their glory and the full heads are hanging heavy today. It rained last night. The hedge is full and green. The trimming can wait. The birds are silent now after a busy morning.

I cast my gaze to the grass that just a moment before desperately needed mowing and enjoy the sight of the small white flowers and clover turning their faces toward the light. The mowing can wait. The trees sway in the gentle breeze and I know the branches give a welcome relief from the blazing summer sun. I decide that that task too can wait.

With the urgent items erased from my to-do list, I sit back and enjoy the view. The day lilies that make their appearance for the first time in this garden – bright spots of yellow spreading their perfume in the air. The daisies that can’t quite figure out how to stand straight. They sway drunkenly on the breeze, some taking a breather on the earth before rising again. The regal foxgloves in all of their glory stand like guards in disguise at the border of my little garden. The chocolate flowers are the colour of rich dark chocolate and they mix with the hostas and the ferns. The rhododendrons in the corner are a bit tired now and on their last legs but oh how they have shone brightly this spring. The rosemary and thyme stand at the ready and when I brush against them they give out their wonderful scent. The thistles, tall and prickly, will soon open their miniature purple flowers and the silent corner will buzz with life. The bees love them.

My dreams begin in my little garden. My paradise. My anguish calms. My thoughts meander instead of race. My garden at the back of my house needs no changes today. The work can wait. Today, it is perfect just as it is.

The human spirit is defined in Wikipedia as a component of human philosophy, psychology, art, and knowledge – the spiritual or mental part of humanity. The human spirit includes our intellect, emotions, fears, passions, and creativity.

No matter how many times I am knocked down, I get up. No matter the weight of the knock down punch, I get up. Be it a punch to the stomach where my gut instinct is wounded or a strike to the heart where all my feelings are blasted or even a left to the head destroying my beliefs, I get up.

How is this possible? A heart blasted into a million miniscule pieces recovers and very slowly dares to reach out to love again. A gut wrenching wound recedes, loses its strength to cripple and I trust my intuition once again. The thoughts racing through my mind are the hardest to turn around. I’ve noticed that sometimes no matter how much effort I use, no matter how many clever authors I read for inspiration the thoughts continue in a downward spiral whispering in my ear that those clever writers may know lots but it doesn’t apply to me. All that effort is for naught, the whispering voice tells me as it won’t change anything for this is it. And so I continue my inner struggle. What is it that makes me see a little speck of light in that canvas of darkness, despite all the whispering of that voice so black and so very convincing? I get up. My step becomes just a tad lighter. My outer voice a tiny bit more gay with a lilt even. I get up. My deepest held conviction, my innermost belief in myself, in my spirit, in my worth, in my soul will not be broken. It speaks to me so softly so as not to be trampled but just enough for the subconscious mind to hear and it listens. I get up. My humour and optimisim return albeit cautiously, treading carefully into the whirlwind of thoughts and creates a small storm. A smile appears, almost reaching the eyes and a small giggle springs forth indicating a turn in the right direction.

The wounds are healing and the spirit gathering strength. I get up. The pattern of life continues winding down the well worn path but something is different. The rocks in the path are not so jagged and the steepness is not so relentless. The path seeks the less toiling way and the travelling is easier, almost pleasant. The maelstrom of thoughts are less argumentative and there is peace within.  Days, weeks, months even years may have passed during this period of immense inner conflict.

I am changed. I am stronger. I am wiser. I am at ease in my skin once again. A belief is born that it will not happen again – but it will. The difference next time will be that, from the past I know I have what it takes to make it through. I know. I got up.

I want to be creative.

But I am stumped

I want to write all those many ideas inside my head,

But I meet that dreaded devil resistance

I want to create magic with verse

But I just can’t seem to find that one magical spell to release it from inside my keepsake.

My muse, please help me!

Let me ponder with you a minute in time, an hour or two perhaps would suffice, to delve into the inner sanctum and the wondering that secrets itself there. To let it see the light, stretch its arms and wriggle free of the insecurity that inhibits me. Resistance, you devil, be gone I say. Let my mind wander free.

I’ll just get me another cup of coffee…

Scribblings….

I sat down, ready to start the day and my heart sank. Come on, I cajoled my heart, it won’t be that bad. We know, you and I, how to handle this. Put a smile on your face and it often ends up in place for the day! Come on we can do it!

Not this time said my heavy heart with a down trodden voice. I can’t do this today. I’d rather not anymore.

But what!? But why?!

I don’t want to pacify anymore people. I don’t want to be blamed for ruining this, that and the other. I am, very simply, tired. Tired to the very marrow of my soul.

Tomorrow is another day say I with a question attached.

Of course. My heart takes heart – tomorrow knows no bounds and miracles do happen.

Talk about it! Show it! Ask about it! Don’t be afraid.

Trying to explain what it feels like inside of your head, oh boy. All that woolly stuff that the thoughts get stuck in, the way the thoughts go in a ring, constantly, never stopping. The way you can take the blame for all of the ills of the world, all of it is your fault. If only you hadn’t stepped on the line, hopped over that square, flicked the lights less than 10 times 2 weeks ago, none of this would have happened. What if you had done that earlier? What if you hadn’t said those things just then. If only you had been there 5 minutes earlier. None of this would have happened and everything would be ok.

Sleep is a place far away from your reality. Sleep only comes when the exhaustion is complete and the body switches to auto pilot and blasts the mind out of the equation. Sleep stays just out of reach as the mind does a mental review of everything. Every word you said, every thing you did, every eye contact made, every little movement – today, yesterday, 5 weeks ago, 5 years ago, when you were 5. Sleep, when it does come, is exhausting. You awake almost more tired, if that is possible, than when you went to bed.

The day begins again and you wonder why. What is the point? There is no light. There is no sunshine even when the sun is out. You take one positive thought, I can make it to tomorrow. And again tomorrow if it is still only just bearable when you wake – I can make it to tomorrow. Out there, there is a tomorrow where the light does shine just a little. And one day, after the tomorrows with a bit of light come around more often and the light they show is a little more and lasts a little longer you discover that the dark isn’t quite as thick and black as it was before.The fake smile becomes just a little less fake and it very, very slowly starts to reach the eyes.

Sometimes, just sometimes the change is like an explosion! Pow! Blast! The door is open! Life is good!!! You laugh! The mind is on track again and you can do just about anything! A little manic but not bipolar. That is a completely different kettle of fish.

Talk about it. Ask about it.

I am still so angry, enraged, desparate, left with a feeling of helplessness after the events in Copenhagen the weekend of 14feb2015. The police have been investigating, the politicians have chosen the “tack” they should take in order to get the most wind in their sails and 2 families are grieving the loss of loved members of their family, the country is left grieving the loss of 2 members of the danish population.

Worse we must accept that people living in this country call the criminal a hero. I accept that there is a family grieving the loss of their son, their brother, lover. It is hard to swallow. But swallow it we must.

Why have we been forced to accept this situation? Someone, an individual / a group of people, cannot accept and are against democracy and the right all of us who live in a democratic country have, among other rights – the right to choose our religion, the right to express whatever we want, however we want. I repeat, anyone, all of us. These same people who defame democracy use it to further their cause.

I am not danish. I am a foreigner in this land. I came on a whim 23 years ago and stayed. It is a funny little place. A place that without question adopts things American. A place that loves to socialize in a way different to so many other places where it is important for each individual to feel comfortable and at ease. A place that values the cosy-ness in life. A people that are a bit tough to reach the heart of but who are very hospitable. A people who treasure and protect the right and freedom to be themselves however that is.

Denmark is a country that values the freedom and right of free speech.

Denmark is a country that values tolerance and acceptance of people from all walks of life, from all the countries of the world, with whatever religion they choose. Who expect and take for granted that those who move to this country feel the same, do the same, respect the same. Otherwise why are they here???

All of us who live in Denmark must stand together. We must clearly illustrate that we will not give up the right to live as we always have lived. Our society is built on the right to have our own opinions, to express these opinions, the right to be provocative, the right to question. We must not bow down as a result of these terror actions. We must not give up our right to be who we are.

We must not cower when called racist as we are not. We must not pale at being called intolerant for we are not. We must not accept the watering down of the danish way of life, the values of this country and society for it is ours and it is important to uphold.

Those who do not wish to respect and adhere to and protect and defend the fundamental values, the basis of the danish constitution, may now leave. Preferably peacefully.

Musing.

The Free Dictionary defines the adjective musing as “absorbed or deep in thought; meditative. It defines the noun as “contemplation; reflection.” Other words that can be used are thoughtfulness, meditation, rumination.

I bid you welcome to “Musings Mine.” Join me, please. Make yourself comfortable. Lean back in your favourite armchair, your most comfy sofa, with a pillow or two tucked in at your back to make it just right and come on a journey through the musings of my mind.

I hope that you will join me in the wondering and wanderings I set out on today. Join me in the process of giving careful thought to something, anything, anything my heart desires. My reflections on the happenings in the world, on my street, on the train, in my neck of the woods. The world through my eyes….

With a large portion of luck, the ruminations reflected here will be of interest to some, perhaps even amusing. They will, at all times, be my own. They may be mistaken for daydreaming. They may be mistaken for mindless loitering. As you please.

I love to swim. To slice through the water, at speed, of a calm lake or float on the surface contemplating life is a satisfying endeavour. Snorkeling, looking into the depths from the surface without having to go too deep, is just the ticket. I enjoy delving into the thoughts and dreams that inhabit the vast ocean of my mind – just beneath the surface. No need to drop too deep, it is a fun and relaxing process. It is a fascinating and colourful world.

I guarantee nothing. I promise my best. My opinion will always be just that. You may agree or disagree and perhaps, at times, we may have to agree, to disagree. I hope that we always will part company in good humour and with mutual respect.

I look forward, with barely contained joy and pleasure, to having a place for my words to be uttered. I hope that you will find at least a few of them worth reading.

Kindness and joy to you.

Kim

P.S. The freedom to express, on “musings mine,” whatever I wish to express, is mine. Comments are welcome, in a spirit of goodwill and good humour, respect is key. The final word is and will be mine. On my blog, I rule.

FB musings 4am 12-13 dec

Why is it that sleep is so elusive sometimes? It just won’t come knocking and tonight, at almost 4am, it is at its most irritating in its absence. My dog is sound asleep. She has been very annoyed with me and my wakefulness. She has however now found dreamland with all the accompanying sounds and dream activity. I often wonder how big the dogs are that she meets in dreamland. Some of them must be exceptionally speedy. She is either trying to catch them, my choice of dream for her, or she is being chased, not so nice if thats what the emitted noises indicate and make me lean that way. Ups, she is giving me the evil eye and a wonky smell from the end closest to me. Ok, she is off once more chasing a …. hmmm … what can it be … a Sofus … or maybe a Kiki … no, perhaps its that tantalizing squirrel that spurts through the garden. She hasn’t a hope in catching that little red demon. It could be the neighbour’s cat. A stately, albeit slightly plump-ish white cat with lovely grey patches, that owns the world or at least the neighbouring gardens of the world, finds its way into our little postage stamp garden regularly. Our hunting instinct dog is not amused, slightly bewildered, yes, but not amused. Where does that damn cat get to so quick? It is hardly a spritely creature but never the less it has always managed a disappearing act worthy of the most talented of conjurers by the time the dog has traced its complicated journey through our little patch. Gone! Umpf. Chase at an end, peace in dreamland, for the dog at any rate. My turn to try again…hope there’s something or someone else in my dream…broad shoulders, nice smile, lovely low voice…mmmm, aw darn it, that won’t help me sleep!!! 😉 Sweet dreams