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smokingbootToday is very bright. I would like to go and lie in the grass somewhere and do nothing; but that's a no-can-do. Too much work on hand. But first, some self indulgence that really won't interest anybody except myself and has neither reason nor conclusion.
Sunlight you see. I am somewhat faint and very hot today, for the same old monthly reason. No pain though, which is good. There's football outside, and a lot of daffodils and the sun. The sun is one of my earliest memories. I was born in England, but my father was in the RAF and we moved out to Singapore when I was about six months old. From Singapore, we occasionally bounced to Spain, England and Scotland but we didn't properly settle back in the UK until I was about 7.
Those early years under powerful sunlight probably contributed to my recent melanoma problem. Some metaphysically minded chums have spoken to me about it being a physical manifestation of an emotional/psychic disturbance, my need to cut a festering link; It's a nasty idea, and great for a story, but no, it won't do for truth. The truth is, I am the right age, I am the right sex, I have exactly the right skin type, and exactly the right background of early over-exposure to sunlight. It wasn't guaranteed to happen, but it was always going to be something to watch out for. I don't regret it either. The memories of so much light are easily worth a cut in the arm.
I recall being under a canopy of vine leaves in Andalusia, I must have been around three. The light streamed through the leaves, and at one end stood a great white horse with a man on it, the sun behind him. I remember running towards him and the white horse and the sun and falling over. Everyone picked me up and cuddled me, but I didn't want that and I cried, not because I was hurt, but because they wouldn't let me go. I wanted the sunlight, the white horse, I wanted to reach the caballero, and I knew I could do it. But by the time they put me down, the man and his horse were gone.
I loved Singapore, but have been warned against ever going back; everyone says it's changed. I can't actually remember the city itself at all. I remember fantastic big bright flowers, a snake in the kitchen, a nice chinese boy who gave me two puppies through the garden fence (I presented them proudly to my parents. They wailed but kept one and gave another to a friend. The one we kept was called Delilah) I remember the cats my parents rescued, Titch and Blackie. I remember my ama very vaguely, and a world of pineapples, chicken noodle soup, beeeeg prawns and (but surely I have this wrong) coconuts. I remember my mother desperately trying to make me keep my sandals on. I remember Sa(e?)mbawang Gardens. There are lots of little things I remember but most of all I remember the sunlight and the heat.
Many years later, when I was eleven and we were settled in the grey-green of England, I remember the most severe beating I ever had, and my head ringing with pain where someone had bitten into the top of it. I ran to the nearby park, a place with a big oak tree, and I lay in the grass, just as I love to do now, and looked up at the sky and the sunlight, and all that blue and yellow. It was a fine day, and my head span, and I just seemed to leave my body, almost right through my head, and fly upwards to be with a big and thankfully Bolan-free Spirit in the Sky. One of my first and greatest spiritual experiences. I never forgot it.
I remember the greatest sunsets I have ever seen, on a hillside some forty kms out of Yosemite at a place called Priest Plank or Priest Hole or something like that. I recall the sun rising over the Nile. And then there was Findhorn, and the sun, the clouds, the sky, the sea... but words can only go so far with all these things.
Why am I writing this today? Because the sun is shining. It is sublime and makes me seriously happy.
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
-- Albert Camus
Sunlight you see. I am somewhat faint and very hot today, for the same old monthly reason. No pain though, which is good. There's football outside, and a lot of daffodils and the sun. The sun is one of my earliest memories. I was born in England, but my father was in the RAF and we moved out to Singapore when I was about six months old. From Singapore, we occasionally bounced to Spain, England and Scotland but we didn't properly settle back in the UK until I was about 7.
Those early years under powerful sunlight probably contributed to my recent melanoma problem. Some metaphysically minded chums have spoken to me about it being a physical manifestation of an emotional/psychic disturbance, my need to cut a festering link; It's a nasty idea, and great for a story, but no, it won't do for truth. The truth is, I am the right age, I am the right sex, I have exactly the right skin type, and exactly the right background of early over-exposure to sunlight. It wasn't guaranteed to happen, but it was always going to be something to watch out for. I don't regret it either. The memories of so much light are easily worth a cut in the arm.
I recall being under a canopy of vine leaves in Andalusia, I must have been around three. The light streamed through the leaves, and at one end stood a great white horse with a man on it, the sun behind him. I remember running towards him and the white horse and the sun and falling over. Everyone picked me up and cuddled me, but I didn't want that and I cried, not because I was hurt, but because they wouldn't let me go. I wanted the sunlight, the white horse, I wanted to reach the caballero, and I knew I could do it. But by the time they put me down, the man and his horse were gone.
I loved Singapore, but have been warned against ever going back; everyone says it's changed. I can't actually remember the city itself at all. I remember fantastic big bright flowers, a snake in the kitchen, a nice chinese boy who gave me two puppies through the garden fence (I presented them proudly to my parents. They wailed but kept one and gave another to a friend. The one we kept was called Delilah) I remember the cats my parents rescued, Titch and Blackie. I remember my ama very vaguely, and a world of pineapples, chicken noodle soup, beeeeg prawns and (but surely I have this wrong) coconuts. I remember my mother desperately trying to make me keep my sandals on. I remember Sa(e?)mbawang Gardens. There are lots of little things I remember but most of all I remember the sunlight and the heat.
Many years later, when I was eleven and we were settled in the grey-green of England, I remember the most severe beating I ever had, and my head ringing with pain where someone had bitten into the top of it. I ran to the nearby park, a place with a big oak tree, and I lay in the grass, just as I love to do now, and looked up at the sky and the sunlight, and all that blue and yellow. It was a fine day, and my head span, and I just seemed to leave my body, almost right through my head, and fly upwards to be with a big and thankfully Bolan-free Spirit in the Sky. One of my first and greatest spiritual experiences. I never forgot it.
I remember the greatest sunsets I have ever seen, on a hillside some forty kms out of Yosemite at a place called Priest Plank or Priest Hole or something like that. I recall the sun rising over the Nile. And then there was Findhorn, and the sun, the clouds, the sky, the sea... but words can only go so far with all these things.
Why am I writing this today? Because the sun is shining. It is sublime and makes me seriously happy.
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
-- Albert Camus
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Date: 2005-03-19 01:22 pm (UTC)By the way - thank you for sharing your memories, they were really uplifting. There's nothing so beautiful as nature.
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Date: 2005-03-19 01:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-19 01:46 pm (UTC)Re the coconuts, I think I've got confused with my adult memories of indonesian food, in which I haven't come across them. It's all been lemongrass,coriander, tamarind etc.
My mother used to say that they grew in all the graveyards and when she realised what sustained them, she couldn't touch them. But an Indian friend told me a bit of folklore, that the coconut palm loves people from a rather less digestive point of view. Apparently they like music, conversation. laughter and the sound of happy kiddies playing around them!