Strange, quiet day today...
been for a swim, set up desk in bedroom so I can get some work done, although trying to make desk look less worklike to prevent stress setting in as I go to bed and see the computer winking at me in the darkness.
Read an obituary today about Elspeth Thompson and realised she had killed herself which, although I didn't know her, made me feel inexplicably sad. Especially as I've just read her book 'The Wonderful Weekend Book' which has made me feel totally inspired. How could someone who suggests we make a 'Gratutude Journal' find herself so unable to find anything in her life that makes her feel grateful enough to stay alive. Depression is a destructive companion, full of trickery and malice. I found this poem on her blog - here it is as a reminder that life can be full of blessings, if you only look closely enough
adapted from the Celtic by Thomas A Clark
May the best hour of the day be yours.
May luck go with you from hill to sea.
May you stand against the prevailing wind.
May no forest intimidate you.
May you look out from your own eyes.
May near and far attend you.
May you bathe your face in the sun’s rays.
May you have milk, cream, substance.
May your actions be effective.
May your thoughts be affective.
May you will both the wild and the mild.
May you sing the lark from the sky.
May you place yourself in circumstance.
May you be surrounded by goldfinches.
May you pause among alders.
May your desire be infinite.
May what you touch be touched.
May the company be less for your leaving.
May you walk alone beneath the stars.
May your embers still glow in the morning.
BY MARY OLIVER
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.