O Joy!

Walking yesterday in open field the soft humus and and greenness of young seedlings rising and with them a lark. Full throated glorious exultant lifting the sky. Lifting me.



I have just discovered the poems of UA Fanthorpe.  I so longed for you to be my Atlas, and this poem speaks for me. Your Atlas my dear Johannes,  is waiting to be found, sweet and chestnut-haired. Mine, I fear and rejoice at the same time,  is to be found within me:

There is a kind of love called maintenance,

Which stores the WD40 and knows when to use it;

Which checks the insurance, and doesn’t forget

The milkman; which remembers to plant bulbs;

Which answers letters; which knows the way

The money goes, which deals with dentists

And Road Fund Tax and meeting trains,

And postcards to the lonely; which upholds

The permanently rickety elaborate

Structures of living; which is Atlas.

And maintenance is the sensible side of love,

Which knows what time and weather are doing

To my brickwork; insulates my faulty wiring;

Laughs at my dryrotten jokes; remembers

My need for gloss and grouting; which keeps

My suspect edifice upright in the air,

As Atlas did the sky.



and here I am relishing being alone. Not having to worry if I say the wrong thing that will make him angry, not soothing and comforting and reassuring and parenting, though all this is fine in their time

Knowing that my heart’s magnet pulls beyond him or him to You and now and all. A submerging, a melting, a twisting inexorable and delicious


Spaciousness, paying full attention to each thing we do, each person we meet. Like writing this post, or more importantly to remind me of a wholesome quality of prayer, of living. Giving in to each moment. Giving it elbow room.

And now I shall slip away to sleep. And if anyone stumbles upon this they might to allow a little more spaciousness in their thinking/life.

As a musician friend once said to me:  “Give the notes wriggle room”.

Good night x


Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays in the palm; clutch it, and it darts away. -Dorothy Parker,

and here is dearest Rumi:

A lover came to see a beloved
He knocked at the door
The beloved answered from the inside:
“Who is it?”

The lover said: “It’s me!”
        The beloved said: “Go away!
                There is no room in this heart for two me's!”

The lover went away
    into an exile of agony

He was raw
  Then cooked 
       in the fire of love.

He returned

Knocked again.

Once more came the beloved’s voice:
         “Who is it?”
  This time the lover said:  
       “It’s you, o beloved!”

The Beloved said:  
    “Since you are me,
o me, 
   enter into me!”

Two threads 
Cannot enter 
The eye of the needle.

So to you, 
    My Belonged
The you whom I’ve melted into
I say:
Praise be to Him
Who melts us 

  Gives us a rising
    Beyond time
Beyond death


just little things come to the surface

– “oh they all say I’m a wolf”

– “silence is the best way I’ve found.” (Your way of breaking up with me. )

– “don’t reply to this. It’ll only end up in painful arguments.”

Oh AP. You’d done this many times before. Maybe that was why it hurt your exwife – you’d promised not to do it again.

So although this meant the world to me – broke my world apart – to you it was just another game, and plenty more gullible insecure females where I came from.

Why? What was it? Anger in your lack of love as a boy gave you pleasure to destroy hope in others? Especially middle class comfortable women who you fondly imagine hadn’t suffered like you had? O there is such rage burning in your heart. And jealousy – everything to you was a competition.  And your art suffers because of this.

I hope you are released from these powerful demons and find love. And peace not escape. And vision beyond self pity to be the great artist that you are but not always show.

I’m so sorry you were treated so unfairly, cruelly, and not given the love you needed, deserved as a fellow human.

Thank you for me learning of the darker sides of myself too. And being my touch paper to rediscovering  my poetic mystical ecstatic part of me I thought long gone.

Please forgive me for not understanding. For making demands on you you were unable to give, for compromising your life in some ways.

I will always love you. But I’ve walked away now. And found a dear kind loving man whose heart is open to listen and share. And who I would like to walk with.   And with whom I feel Gods blessing drenching through us. Wherever it leads.



The tide turns.

The heart expands.

Not sure where this is going but it’s strangely ok.  Something is healing that was broken deep.

He seems to like me and I like who I am with him….   He is kind and clever and musical and i like to help and think I can……  and he is lovely…..  I see the sapling in him …..  baby steps