shapeshifting

Our very nice, conservation-minded Landlord has it in his head that there are too many jackdaws around this year and they're killing the songbirds. They're not. Anyway, he wants to make a pre-emptive strike and shoot the jackdaws.

my work station

We have jackdaws living in our chimney stack or, as Evie calls it, our jimley. They are The Jimley Jackdaws (and if I ever change my name by deed poll again I'm going to be Jo Jimley-Jackdaw because we all know that would be awesome). I love our jackdaws and do not want their death or the deaths of their subsequently starving chicks literally hanging over our heads.

I quite like it.

(Young jackdaws have pale blue eyes.)

This gets better.

Monday I woke up with a migraine. Welcome to my week off. Took a pill. Sometimes the pill just zaps out the migraine and I can function pretty much at full capacity. Sometimes the pill acts almost like an anaesthetic and I'm not really safe to be on my feet. As the pill is a constant, I guess what's happening neurologically in my body must change. Migraine takes many forms even in one person.

So there I am, not yet aware that I'm about to fall into a semi-coma. I have to meet my mother at the local Te3co Superstore (see H for Hell and Holidays), along with Evie and my 5 year old nephew who is lovely but all slugs and snails and hyperactive puppy-dogs' tails. She has some clothing vouchers that she wants Evie to benefit from and frankly, we can't afford to say no. Staying upright and responsible uses all my energy so I'm snappy and impatient. I drive home (I know, I know) and then it hits me full on. I go to bed for one, maybe two hours.

Later I try to download some photos from the weekend - and there are some lovely ones among them - and also, as it happens, the photos I took of Casey on his last day. Just before we headed off to the vet.

Something's wrong with the flash card. I can't copy them off it. I try everything, every method. Even data recovery software. Nope. They're there on the card but I can't have them.

Evie has reacted to the sunscreen she wore on Sunday. She has a livid, itchy eczema all over her face and neck, poor kid.

Charlie's boss comes over for the End of Trial Period Review. When he leaves we're down an income. Face-to-face charity recruitment is a tough game - sales of a worthy product maybe, but a luxury product all the same and this area is just being really hit by the downturn. Targets are nigh on impossible to meet. Charlie tried really hard. They don't care that this could mean we have to move to a one-bedroom flat in a rundown market town. Why should they? Most of the team he trained with have also lost out.

Tuesday means another pill but luckily no coma as I'm working with the Beagles. Since the death of their lady owner/breeder her husband and son (ages, I'd guess, 90 and 60) have soldiered on with my help once a week. They can't manage and so some dogs have been rehomed. They'd said goodbye to sweet Z a couple of weeks ago. Today I go in to find that one of my favourites, lovely T has gone to a new home and the grand old lady Beagle, D, has gone to be reunited with her owner. At 15, she faded out the way Casey did. So we're down to just four Beagles. Four sad Beagles. P, especially, has not recovered from the loss of her human. Today she comes and sits next to me - not on my lap as usual but just next to me. A sad little girl, leaning against me with a sigh. She is still much loved - I think she was a favourite of her owner and so husband and son are particularly attached. I think that T and D leaving has been a bit too much for her. I reiki her while we sit in the sun and she tells me about her sadness.

At home I hear from my sister that the two big employers in our neighbouring town - the two call centres that pretty much saved a generation from disaster when they opened in the late 90s - are closing. We will be flooded with young men and women with young families and mortgages and debt, looking for the few jobs there are available. One of them will be my sister.

Today, after a quick trip to the supermarket brandishing vouchers and reward points, I pick up Evie's best friend and bring them back here. Giggling, shrieking happy girls. I don't care that they're 'making potions in the bath' or destroying some part of the house...just let them be happy. I'll clean up later. While I'm out, the vet calls. Casey's casket has arrived back. Do I want to go and collect it? Well yes, but there's the small matter of having to settle the bill and I have £3 in my bank account. So he's sitting on a  shelf waiting for me to get my working tax credits so that I can pay to have him home with me.

...

Y'know what? I don't want to live my life like this anymore. I'm am so, so literally sick and tired. I'm done with this. I live in a beautiful place and I have so much that I am deeply grateful for but I am guilty of using it as a distraction. It is the opium of this person. I have to break the habit.

...

When I think about how put things right my brain engages and then fails. I know myself to be smart and resourceful and inventive but I got nothing. The very thought of trying again just makes me fall over. Oh I have ideas. Anyone who reads this blog will know I'm always having A Great Idea but now...now I feel paralysed by it all.

And so there is only one thing to do.

Surrender. Give it up. Let go. There is a real sense of things falling away without me even having to actively release them. They are not being 'taken', they are just falling away and I think that might be okay. I understand that it has to happen.

What I need to do is return to the practice I started at the beginning of the year. Healing, meditation, acceptance and space-clearing. Once that space is clear from anxiety and panic - even for a sweet moment of respite - I can hold it open for what comes next. It will come and so will my strength but for now it's just acceptance and practice. Easy to say.

Most of all, knowing that I'm done with the distraction of beauty (not the beauty itself, just the abuse of it), I'm ready to live my life the way I want to. The way I have to.

Part of that is writing about things that matter to me knowing that some readers will a) think I've finally snapped or b) laugh or c) both the above. But I'm done caring about other people more than I care about me. So I'm going to tell you that on Tuesday night I tuned into a drum and journeyed to meet my spirit animal. She's a young wolf and her name, she tells me, is Divna. We met some time back. I thought maybe her name was Irish but looking it up I find it's Hungarian for beautiful. She's certainly that and she's certainly a European wolf. This night I wait for some heavy answer to my questions but she starts dancing. And it's funny. She looks ridiculous and she's doing it on purpose. She's telling me to laugh. I see her dancing painted in broad strokes with energy shining from it

....

I've been trying, in snatched moments to return to Kathleen Dean Moore's Wild Comfort. I read half of it a month or more ago and now I'm back. On Monday I picked it up and randomly opened a page. Now, when I do this I don't usually get some profound sign, I get an advert for dentures or double-glazing. Sorry but it's true. I don't generally have good random-page-mojo but I did this day. This is what I read:

When you die, it's done, the chance is gone. So when you live? When you live, make it all. Don't wait for the rain to stop. Climb out of your tent with your mind engaged and your senses ablaze and let the rain pour into you. Remember: you are not who you think you are. You are what you do. Be the kindness of soft rain. Be the beauty of light behind a tall fir. Be gratitude. Be gladness.

Ever since, like a mantra, I hear, "You are not who you think you are. You are not who you think you are. You are not who you think you are..." and I may well still be curled up in my tent, but I'm looking out on a whole new landscape.

Thank you all for your comments and emails about Casey - they meant a lot. I know many of you have been where I was last Friday and the rest of you are an empathetic, lovely bunch so I was in safe hands.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about what gets us through the bad days. Online and nonline (just made that up. When you see it all over the place by next week...it started here m'kay?) friends play a huge part, that's for sure.  And all my 'funny little ways' that I've - it suddenly became crystal clear - rarely taken seriously, actually do lift me upwards and onwards.

The little steps, the moments of lovely, the act of creating something however small, temporary or even imagined...they really do work. The rituals I've used to work with my own beliefs and understanding of life...they mean something. Something real. The healing energy? It actually heals.

(The day of Casey's death, Evie said to me,"Mum? What you need is a fire. Or even a candle. And you get really close and you tell it all the things you want to say to Casey okay? It really works." Now, a) lighting a candle is something I would do anyway for a travelling spirit and b) WHAT??? Where the heck..? Talk about My Little Shaman. Chip off the adoptive block or what? I'm so proud.)

I think I'm going to focus more on these things here. The things that help me, heal me and move me through the hard places. I'm not going to say 'dark places' because dark is a good place to be sometimes. Powerful.

Anyway...I want to put those things here. Along with random chicken posts of course. Chicken medicine is some gooood shit. Especially from random chickens.

Random Ninny does her best Diana Ross.

"You Can't Hurry l'Oeuf"

Born in a farm shop's packing box, nestled into polystyrene 'wotsits', Casey was the son of the local chocolate-box, tabby beauty and a devilishly smooth, feral cat from the neighbouring woods. He was less than 48 hours from birth when I first saw him - charcoal fluff, teeny triangular ears and eyes not yet open. A few weeks later, still under the care of his mother, he and his six chocolate-box, tabby siblings were living in a stable full of fresh straw. Invited in to see him - "Do you still want the black one?" - as I knelt down and reached out a hand the tabbies beat a retreat to the corners while Casey stepped forward and hi-5ed me with a swipe. And so the deal was set. I'd already known it would be.

When I last saw him, he was less than 48 hours from an exhausting, horrible death. Already in acute respiratory distress, he was drowning from the inside due to the fluid in his lungs. His big beautiful heart was worn out after almost 100 cat years of being awesome.

I hadn't wanted him to pass in a vet's surgery after a traumatic car journey but that was how it had to be. It was strangely in tune with the clean, chemical surroundings of his birth.

As Casey left his body, we were staring into each others eyes as I gently held his face and rubbed his ear. And then...there was simply absence. A fine old cat's body lay on the exam table but there was no one inside. His physical form was a beautifully tailored suit left behind by a dapper old gentleman.

It's hard to be sad for a life lived - bar a few hours - in its entirety. Free, happy, healthy, strong and loved beyond words, then helped to peace when the alternative was unconscionable. We should all have such a life. But I am sad. I miss him. I'm sitting at my kitchen table and I should be nudging him off the keyboard and writing with my head tipped to one side so that we can hold our faces together, me inhaling that glorious CaseyCat smell while he purrs and purrs and purrs. The part of my heart that is his will never be the same. It is broken.

That said, I am proud to wear the scars - matched by the more visible one on my nose, gained from foolishly trying to pick up a cat who was running from a big dog and hadn't realised it was me lifting him to safety.

Today I am overwhelmed by the honour given me. The honour of witnessing an entire life, virtually from start to finish. Who gets to do that? My perspective is changed. A whole LIFE. And I was able to love him through all of it. I can't quite comprehend the enormity of that.

Right now, CaseyCat is out of reach. He is held in love and light and he is resting, learning about his new surroundings. But I know for certain that he'll come and see me when he's ready.

We have a deal.

.

.

Chicka meets Idgie and Ninny at their front door.

See the beautiful blue/greens? Chicka likes to perch. They're perchers, this family.

MeiMei - always moving. Little Brown Hen. Sweetie.

The Flag of Chicken Nation from an original design by Evie.

Sweet MeiMei lays blue eggs. This was her first one for us.

Late afternoon. Horses in the field = Nell on a lead. #herder

I look at this and a sob explodes in my heart. Is he not perfect and wild and beautiful still?

I'm struggling a bit with this change over into Spring. No manic, takeovertheworldness this year. I'm feeling depleted and beaten. Weary and full of ennui. I know it will pass.

A lesson came to me this weekend about the strength, power and comfort to be found in the dark. I took myself into it and was told things that have left me back at the beginning. I am the new girl in class for this life lesson. I hesitate to write about it because I have no vocabulary that fits, that does justice.

I'll be honest, the thought of another new lesson, another revelation about life and my place in it fair exhausts me. I feel as if I have no more space in my brain to weave these new threads into who I am. But my intuition knows that they are not new threads, they are the old ones and I am just now remembering them. Feeling them and their pull.

In the past I would have rushed to unravel them. Examine them and proclaim the truth found. Not now. I seem to be in a place where the thing to do is sit and listen. I'm not required to do anything other than that just yet. The outside life is noisy - ironically we've spent the weekend being bombarded by our neighbours' loud music - and hearing this lesson is hard to do but I know it's important and I have time.

Here's the core of it: each life on this planet is part of a whole. Each life is a conduit for the voice of the planet. Each life is a unique song that She sings. When we let go and relax, we open to that song and life can flow.

Do I sound crazy? Sitting here, on a Monday morning, at a desk in a brightly lit office, typing about being the song of Gaia when my life is as chaotic and tense as it is...yes that may appear to be crazy to some.

I prefer to think of it as a line in the first verse.

P.S. Casey is good. He has no idea that he's supposed to be dying. He has this cumbersome swollen leg and he's just skin and fur and bones but he's still Casey, still totally with it, comfortable and happy. Eating for Britain, enjoying the sunshine, getting and giving lots of kisses and headrubs. His song is still rich, melodic and beautiful.

This weekend was brought to us by potato printing and branch weaving. Evie wasn't feeling 100% but she managed to bake some Play-Doh and print with some potatoes. I'd hoped she'd do some making of patterns and be all inspired but she's so tired bless her. I ended up doing the carving while she painted and stamped and had way more fun doing the washing up before retiring to the sofa to crash out. The child needs some sleep.

On a mission for supplies, I brought home these branches to try my hand at weaving on them. I particularly love the smaller ones with the beautiful lichen but, as I wove happily away last night, watching the increasingly dark Being Human out of one eye, I found that most of that lichen ended up in my lap. This is how we learn.

It felt good to be making something. Once I've had a practice run I want to weave something beautiful for the wall. Just because.

x

Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.

~ William Morris

This quote is so well-known I hardly need to write it out. I could have just referenced it and you'd all have been nodding your heads but what the heck...I like the look of it. And it's useful. Double whammy on the Morrisometer.

It kept coming into my head yesterday as I thought more about my posts this week and even more about your great responses. I thought about how this theory applies to life and how encompassing the terms 'useful' and 'beautiful' can be.

For example...my constant bitching to myself about how I need more time to do what I want and how I'm useless and disorganised and lazy and effing endlessly interrupted...is that beautiful? I'll tell you now, it's UGLY. Is it useful? Oh don't make me laugh; it's a downward spiral into the legendary Vortex of Suck and it makes nothing better. It inspires only worse feelings.

I'm not going to rehash the details here - it seems many of you know where I'm coming from anyway - but yesterday evening I thought,"That's it. It stops. If I want to do something positive for me and my family I need to forget about making a few quid online (and never doing it) and focus on the quality of our lives. If anyone knows that this is not about money, it's me."

That's a beautiful concept. That's a useful concept.

I'm also loving the comments made by Jennlui and Tracie about 'tiny' work and tiny chances to work. As I've said, I'm not good at that. I like to zone out and drift but maybe I just need to give the tiny idea a go. No pressure. I'm all about the no pressure now. I get enough pressure elsewhere.

I want to do something for the love of it.

This exact time last year: sunshine, barefeet, chalk & water painting on the well cover. That would be nice this weekend.

x

Thank you all for diving in on my rant yesterday; it seems I am not alone! I do hope I didn't come across as ungrateful. I'm profoundly aware of how good a life I have with my home, my family (need I add that I include 2 and 4-legged members?), my life in nature that nourishes me. I love and deeply appreciate their presence in my life.

There is a part of me that is unfulfilled and becoming increasingly stroppy about it. I swing between feeling guilty for wanting (even) more and feeling guilty for feeling guilty for wanting (even) more. Why shouldn't I want more? Because I have so much already. But why shouldn't I want more? Because...yadda yadda yadda. Dizzy.

Yesterday afternoon we got some sunshine and I went out with Nell and Jackson. We walked down a long narrow-ish field towards the Withy Bed, the old local name for the willow copse. In the field above us, farmers were turning over the earth and spreading manure, a practice that always brings in the birds. Where there are small birds there are bigger birds and when there are thermals, those bigger birds will be buzzards.

This picture of a Chalfield buzzard (maybe even one of those I saw yesterday) was taken by Charlie.

I once thought I'd seen five together, usually the most would be three at once, but yesterday there were nine. NINE. Possibly even ten. All soaring on the warm air in a bright blue sky, distinctive calls ringing across the fields. Pure magic.

We walked back along towards home and as I got to the gate - some distance from where I'd stood and watched the birds - I noticed one had followed us. I stood and looked up as it came closer and closer before circling a while over my head. It clearly took a good long look and then flew off. I've never been so close to one of these beautiful birds before.

Looking up the symbolism of the buzzard it became clear that there is a difference between UK and US terminology. In the US a buzzard is usually included with vultures; here it's a hawk. So I focussed on hawks and found this:

Intuitive ability to discern the message and seek the truth is one of Hawk’s powers that he imparts to humans. He teaches people to provide for self and family. Another lesson is to be observant and pay attention to what might be overlooked, possibly a talent unused, a blessing for which gratitude hasn’t been given or a message from spirit. He teaches people they must be awake and aware. Hawk’s medicine helps people to know how to interpret messages from spirit by bestowing upon them a higher perspective so they can see details of the bigger picture. He cautions humans to times when not to take action because they don’t have all of the information we need yet.