Tuesday, 22 March 2016

a statement of confidence.



Gratitude. 

not the bathroom window, but thank you Pinterest, a very lovely pic !


I’m starting today with deep gratitude for the new view I have when brushing my teeth.  

Gorgeous wisteria hangs abundantly from the long  covered walkway, just a few feet away from the wash basin.
As the crow flies, only a mile or so away, young mountains tower behind exotic plants.
This spring garden is growing lush again with love and attention. 
Everything is in a process of change.  

Wobbly legs have brought me to my toothbrush. I'm still waiting for the hip operation.  Hot lemon and honey  are waiting in the new kitchen.  I’ve moved house.  Well, moved next door ! Today is like… another new beginning.

There’s  still a strong glow in my heart from the kindness of strangers and nurses and friends yesterday. There’s also a huge awareness of the refuges waking up to …???  And a remembering it will soon be the second anniversary of the kidnapping of the Nigerian schoolgirls,  April 14th to be exact. This too is Life.

That last half hour in bed, allowing thoughts  to visit and wander- the intriguing, the challenging, the beautiful, the sad, the funny, the miraculous.  Out of that mix, comes the energy for today.

I’m so grateful for the kisses and smiles and expert attention the nurses gave me yesterday when I arrived  at Motril hospital for the 2 month check for the tiny troublesome implant. 

‘Hmmm,’ said Reyes slowly.  She’s the head nurse.  She looked serious.  She wore a diamond flower in her  thick black curly hair.  She takes great care of her beautiful hair.
 ‘Ask your doc next time if they can take it out.’

She referring to the little  metal device the surgeon hid in my chest, to allow the chemo to enter painlessly.  
It’s supposed to remain in the body for  5 years.

Take it out?  Yes please.

Now there's a statement of confidence I am truly delighted  to hear.  She  does not expect to see me back in her ward, hooked up to bags of chemicals every two weeks, ever again.

Sunday, 20 March 2016

Quiet thoughts....




http://www.blurb.com/books/6964206-quiet-thoughts-mend-the-body-drawings-photos-words

Hola amigos,

I really wanted to share my new blurb book with you but can't get the link to go live.  So you need to copy and paste the line above if you'd like to see the pics.
The images' are mostly pieces I've made at the Wedensday  - Passionarte  group - in Orgiva, led by the  truly inspiring Pernille, whose ideas on playing with materials are completely wonderful and boundless.

For me, making books with blurb is always an act of joy and celebration !  I hope you enjoy this one. Blurb books are easy to make, honestly!  Anybody can make one.

This book is  dedicated to Bridie, Rebeka and Maria T, three young women who enrich my life more than they will ever know.

Quiet thoughts can  be healing,  I really believe this.
  



Hasta lluego


And Namaste.

Tuesday, 1 March 2016

A Little Princess, a Sufi Meditation, and Wise Instructions.


Instructions for living a Life.

‘Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.’
¬-Mary Oliver

dreaming about my new studio.  Photo thanks to Pinterest.

a digital drawing  I made 16 years ago !

so love brushes...

So love smiles - any age...
sound bowls...

mysterious  whirling ...which reminds me...






I am deeply touched by the response of many, many friends to my news! Thank  you all so much. I will never forget the oncologists words: 
‘Todo bien.’  For the third time, ‘todo bien!’
All clear.  Everything's fine.
It's a miracle.

There was a stage early on in this challenge when I though I wasn’t going to make it. I seemed to have lost every ounce of life energy. I wanted quietly to give up.   A friend said, if you want to go Meg, I will support you, but don’t go defeated by this illness. I’m especially grateful for  friends brave enough to challenge me.

Little by little, apart from a daily prayerful gratitude practise, I’ve been re -learning to :  ‘pay attention, be astonished,  and tell about it - the Mary Oliver  quote  I shared a  few days ago.

So, last night when I was invited to a  Sufi meditation I thought, what a perfect end to an unforgettable day.

Dusk was settling amongst the olive trees  as I parked my car.

Inside the spacious house, I met 7 adults, mostly Dutch, and a little princess with a mop of golden curls. I speak three languages she told me, and I’m five and a HALF !  She was wearing a  warm pink dress and much loved, old, grey stripy tights through which peeped three little toes.

 In the black elegant woodstove, chunks of gnarled Andalucian olive wood glowed scarlet red.  White candles burned on shuttered windowsills, on the grand mantelpiece, and on an long oak dining table. There was a delightful aroma, was it jasmine incense?  

The young 'holy man,' not sure what his  title is, sat cross-legged on the floor.   His professionally trainer singer wife sat opposite him on a low stool. She was dressed in layers of flowing white cotton.  Or was it muslin?
About 8 sound bowls waited to be used.

In the semi darkness the singing/ chanting in exquisite  harmonies began.  Over and over the same simple lines were sung, sometimes accompanied by a drum. Then the  words and the melody would change.  Maybe 30 times a verse would be chanted before a short pause, a cough, and then it started again. The harmonies took my breath away.  Some of the adults joined in.

My mouth wouldn't open because my heart was too busy absorbing the beauty of it all, and the joy of the day’s wonderful news.  Then suddenly I realised the little princess was chanting.  In between munching a banana, the sweetest sounds came out of her mouth.

In that moment, I felt the peace and the love and the joy that passes all understanding.

Then the holy man’s wife started whirling.

Then there was the sound bath.

It was hard to talk after experiencing so much ‘Divinity. ’

So the princess and I communicated though smiles as she proudly showed me the three faces she can make while eating an apple !!


‘Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.’
¬-Mary Oliver