February 24

So, there is this issue. It is an ongoing issue which has been going on for many years. It is not a devastating issue but not is it a negligible issue, I regularly feel moments of sadness which I relate to the issue even when the issue is not impacting me at that moment. There seems to be no resolving the issue, and there seems to be no intention or hope for resolving the issue. Certainly, the solutions I have tried have not resolved the issue in any way. There are others involved so there may be solutions but that is not what I am thinking on this month. This month my meditation is how can I be the best person I can through the issue, and could I be my best person, or close enough to my best person, should the issue never be resolved.

The problem with not having a voice is that the only way to maintain a sense of self respect it to not care. If you have nothing to say then it does not matter that you say nothing. It may be a solution to pretend not to care for a while, perhaps with the hope that you will care again when you have a voice, if the longer you pretend not to care the more it becomes that you don't care. Or the pressure becomes too much and you start a revolution in your kitchen. Today I am wondering if my month long meditation is only going to last one day.

I don't know what tomorrow brings. I am at a loss for what my plan is. Yesterday I planned a month of assessment and today just continued in its path. On rails. Only taking one direction. And I should count my blessings. But my blessings are a mixed bag. This collection of notes is a directionless diversion. I am ignoring the same problems I was ignoring when I first posted.

Like the snail pulling back into the shell, hiding underneath the leaf, waiting for the rain. The rain that stops those birds from flying. The rain that makes the grass so juicy. I am not sure, in truth, why the snail makes its choices, but my withdrawal is not a great choice. It is a cowardly choice, if I was braver I would tackle my difficulties rather than feel sorry for myself. Well, maybe this will be my meditation for tomorrow. Tackle tackle tackle.

A story about the characters involved in a violent act over a few days. The fool with a history of being bullied, though he was the biggest boy in school, who was used by the villains. The love interest, her tragic past, dead parent, had only made her stronger, more resilient, and more resourceful. The victim, somewhat inconsiderate towards the love interest, but the love interest realises it will not always last. The cause, the wild and careless brother who caused all the trouble with bad debts. And the mother, doing as mother's do. A brilliant tale with amazing characters.

Snippets, like walking part the dead bird, the bird in the street hit by a car, a pigeon, the body and amorphous form, smashed, pulverised, not like the body of a chicken, a roast chicken to be served with potatoes and other root veg.

Then I remembered a conversation I had from so long ago, about M telling me about talking to a friend about the shape of a dead bird. Thing is the conversation ended in a drawn out pause as if M needed to say something more. But could not think what that was.

I wonder if I am forgetting things. I wonder if I am forgetting more things than I used to forget. I cannot remember when I gave up meat, less than a year ago and I cannot remember when that was. I think I have been having the pins and needles in my left hand for about a week now, but I cannot remember exactly. And today I forgot I was going to the hardware store to buy an extractor fan. Thing about forgetting is than remember I have forgotten makes me feel anxious. Would it be better not even to remember I had forgotten.

It must be good to be a duck in weather like this. Not only is the water off your back but also the snails think hurrah, time to wander about because yellow warnings of rain are just the thing for us. But, alas, today there are no ducks in the back garden, just snails. I do wonder what the duck would do on all those other days that have no yellow warnings. That is why I don't invite ducks to live in the back garden. That and, of course, I cannot communicate with ducks, not even through recipes.

There is a certainty in the writing, a brevity that, no matter how brief, leaves the reader with the knowledge that all the pertinent information has been passed. Not just the facts, but also the emotions. Now there is where the genius of the work lies, I feel there is nothing more to know. Okay, I may have received the information in a strange order, but that is life, a story that seldom runs the straightforward plot of the fairytale. And who is your favourite fairy vampire?

What is the best me that I can be this week. Is it the me that will make me the happiest, the one that makes a list of things to be completed, things that will make my day easier, or achievements that will give me satisfaction, and then work as hard as I can to get them done. Or is it the me that cares and loves and listens to those about me and thinks about nice things to do for those folk with the hope of living a shared joy.

The joy on the faces of the young and old alike as they bent and twisted the clay to the image of a head, the joy of creative play. But then the word was called: change. And the slight moment of critical assessment as they receive the partially completed sculpture from the left hand reluctantly, or is that proudly, it is so difficult to tell the difference, as the old sculpture moves to the right hand. And then fifteen minutes of work, manipulating, stretching, beings joy to the face until the word is called again: change

Positivity and proactivity are the words I am throwing into this month to make it a delicious peach with succulent juice dribbling through the days wet with sexuality and natural sweetness, for January is the month of stoicism and refined sugar, processed food are to be avoided.

Today I made the best millionaire shortbreads I have made. The shortbread was cooked just right, normally I overcook it so it gets hard but this time I was brave and took it out tha oven on time. And the caramel was soft but firm. And the chocolate layer was a little thick, but that was ok, you always want to be able to get even better.

The back seat, what a luxury. Having the time and space to sit back and not worry about things either big or small. Not to worry about the speed with which we are approaching the car stopped at the lights. Or the destination or if we will be on time for the appointment. We were, and we didn't rearend the car stopped at the lights. And I had the luxury of being able to sit sideways and think about how to review a book that didn't live up to the promise of it's first chapter

For a moment it felt like I had finally understood zen, I had made peace with the path that will lead to the most fulfilment, the most enlightenment. It is just about today, about the people in this room, in this house. We are just here to get through this day as best as we all can. It is not a competition, if there are winners then there are loser. If there is anger and resentment there is unhappiness and division. Just be the best me, though sometimes that means the me is not going to be eating from the top table.

Janet had been an unpublished author for nearly two months now and the redundancy money was running out. She certainly could not afford the holiday she was taking which was why John was paying. Janet hated relying on John. She had no problem living off John's benevolence but struggled against the trap of needing to ask. If John gave, and he often did, she took, but if John didn't think about it she did without. The decision she needed to make was should she take a job or should she push through with writing.

It appears the best approach to seek out the correct approach to Zen, is to fake it. By placing many exciting and entertaining while yet productive activities, like reading a good book or sketching an interesting sketch or noting a details towards a character sketch here, on this place. And when these solutions are in place, and trouble strikes, then there is no need to get her up.

The moment that came closest to overwhelming me, the moment when I thought I might have an emotional outburst in the cinema, that silent tears was not enough of a release, that moment was when he faced the hardest thing, the thing that haunted him and he went back to Jamaica and it was good. This is a story which shows the good, but the good was there to be told.

Today I had a conversation I haven't had for a long time: about childcare, house husbands and the satisfaction of a career. I had forgotten my phrases I used to use, the words I learned as the way people understand what I feel inside, for what I feel needs an interpreter to convert the feeling into word, a Google translate for the soul. We didn't connect through the brief conversation but I knew that if we had continued we would connect.

Everything is hard, all little interactions, all conversation, all of it is hard. When he came to this country he chose to make new friends at work. Some were local but most were migrant. But the trouble with migrant friends is they move on, or back. His friendship circle is tightening and he remembers his past so fondly, could he realistically go back?

Strangest thing, fearing confrontation. I guess I worry that I might appear foolish. I guess I worry I might burst forth with nonsense. Even when the confrontation is something so minor as taking back a slightly soiled product, even when all I have ever done when working in a shop is enjoyed the chats with customers. But I didn't want to do it, spent half a day avoiding it then it was easy when I did. Strange.

One day, when I am big I am going to work out what it is that I want to be. It seems that most of the things I have done I have been reasonably successful, but I have got distracted, disinterested, and become poor at what I was doing. Run out of motivation because, as I like to tell myself, it is not what I really want to do. Because what I really want to do is write. But today I got a bit despondent as I re-read something I wrote last year, and it wad poor. Piss poor really.

Helpless, frustrated and angry that nothing I can do makes any difference. My body flooded with adrenaline, tingle, shake, and my decision making is gone. This is the thing I don't want to live with, this is a situation that happens again, and again, and this is the situation I have to figure out how to avoid. How can I take the bad bits out of this life without losing the good bits.

It looked like wax, an interesting form but the position gave away it was gunge leaking from the man's eye, and I felt a little shiver of revulsion. And I thought about the ways to tell the story: laughing at the poor man, empathising with his struggles. The struggles are real, fam. But then there was no one to tell the story to because I have broken this, shake, shake, shake until the relationship breaks and now I have to work every day to build. Every day think of something kind, do something kind. I broke it I must fix it.

For a moment, then for another moment life flickers into pleasantness, into a gentle warm feeling that things are not going to go wrong. Because they don't, really, not as much as my mind predicts - no that approaching man in the hoodie is no more likely to stab me than I am to stab him. I am wearing a hoodie too. Gosh, if only I could stay in that red velvety warmth and not be dragged I to this insufferably cold paranoia.

Isn't it amusing how a day in which progress has been made but tasks not complete can end on an emotional high, while the next day when, with hard work, the tasks are completed all that remains is a feeling of tiredness. The joy of the day before gone with a dread of all the things that now will go wrong.

And the meditation has meandered it's way to the designated dropping off point. And I have to question myself, do I have the motivation to turn any decision into action. I am.not sure if my decision is withdrawal, or if it is self sufficiency, but I think what I need doing is taking action and questioning if the unkindness is intentional.or if the unkindness is through lack of thought or imagination.

March is here today and today is the first step in my march towards a more Zen life. I shall try to meditate daily on a positive, proactive step towards happiness and a happier me. Spring is the time for blossoms and new growth and so shall it be for myself too. I accept I may embrace the pithy, but so be it.

Peter placed a stool at the end of the coffee table in the sitting area. He laid a yoga mat over the table onto the stool. He laid a plain white table cloth over both. Naomi came up the stairs. He showed her where to lie. He started placing sushi on her body. He used his fingers.

You have to breathe slowly. It is going to be a long time lying still. Diane will be here in ten minutes so I have to start now. I have done it before. It is much harder than you think. (Peter)

He had placed a quarter of the sushi when the front door opened. Clipped steps on the stairs. Peter did not stop laying out the food. Diane stood for a moment at the top of the stairs.

Peter. (Diane)

Hi Diane. (Peter)

Welcome Naomi. (Diane)

She has no English. (Peter)

Sure. Yes. Can she be the other way round. I want John to see her cunt when he walks in not the top of her head. (Diane)

Of course. I should have thought of that. (Peter)

Diane walked up the stairs to her room. Peter quickly started to remove the sushi using the chopsticks. He placed them back on the plate. Naomi looked confused but Peter did not say anything to her. When all the sushi was removed Naomi stood. Peter moved the stool to the far side of the table. He pulled the yoga mat and the tablecloth down. Smoothed it.

Please lie down this way. (Peter)

Naomi followed his gesture and lay down again. Peter started replacing the sushi on her body. He was nearly finished when Diane came down again wearing a flowing evening silk dress. Her make up was removed.

Will she be okay tonight. The guests are nearly here. (Diane)

Yes. She used to be in catering. Before. (Peter)

Good. The food looks delicious. Thank you Peter. (Diane)

She sat on the sofa opposite Peter. She reached over Naomi and took a sushi from the serving tray. Naomi closed her eyes. Peter set down the sushi tray. He stood. He fetched a bottle of champagne from the fridge. He opened it. Naomi started slightly. She did not upset the food. Peter poured champagne into the glass in front of Diane. She sat back and sipped. She looked at Naomi from head to toes. She looked pleased. Or maybe indifferent. Peter continued to place sushi on Naomi. The pattern followed the contours of her small breasts. It radiated from her belly button.

She will do will she. Peter. (Diane)

She has been very helpful today. She has been keen to fit in. She is beautiful. I will train her properly. Just like you like. (Peter)

Good. (Diane)

Peter placed the remaining sushi on Naomi's thighs and stood to survey his work.

Just. John can be a bit particular sometimes. (Diane)

She will be fine. (Peter)

The doorbell rang.

Before you get that can you dress. I want only Naomi naked tonight. (Diane)

Peter slipped on his kimono before answering the door.

A voice
The problem with not having a voice is that the only way to maintain a sense of self...

Ignored
I don't know what tomorrow brings. I am at a loss for what my plan is. ...

Tackle
Like the snail pulling back into the shell, hiding underneath the leaf, waiting for the...