Laughing Gnome

I have finished Murakami’s epic Killing Commendatore– it is of course brilliant.  In the final chapters was a description (almost verbatim) of a dream that I had a couple of months ago.  Reading it in the early hours this morning spooked me and called upon a well of tears that had clearly been waiting for an invitation to flow. Connectivity is one of Murakami’s themes, and knowing what is real, or not real, with which to make connections is another.  In the end you have walk through the darkness and trust – real or not.  Trust in what exactly?  To carry on walking, wading or even sitting on the unknown paths as they open bit by bit underneath me. Perhaps the path is above me and my feet have nothing to do with the journey.  Either way, I can highly recommend the book.  It will take you down surprising paths.  I also think it is a great metaphor, even an example, of therapy; provided that the therapist stays out of the way and doesn’t hinder the journey with pseudo expertise, theories to fit the client into, or handcuffs to bind the client to an inaccurate account of reality and its possibilities.  This can be problematic because sometimes this is also what the client wants.  Fall prey to that and therapy is sunk.

I don’t usually read epic fictions, preferring poetry, short stories and novellas.  I can plough through epic philosophies with a spring in my step, and yet always feel rushed to get to the end of a story if I am reading a novel. I get bored very easily.  I just realised there is no difference between the epic philosophies and epic stories and find myself laughing like Bowie’s Gnome. I am almost hysterical as I find my own novella turning into a novel.  Happy days 🙂

Saturday

Winnie the Pooh would call it blustery, or would that be Piglet’s description? It’s an autumnal cliché, but as we know, the cliché  is a cliché because it works.

It is finally Saturday.  I don’t know why I say ‘finally’ as though some great respite has arrived.  I am still going.  No rest for the wicked, as they say.

Saturday marks the turn, from a five day space to a 2 day space.  Unless one is indulging in a long turn that is.

It is beautifully sunny outside and wind whistles through the ears and out again as the body crusades against it’s force.  Magnificent sounds of trees and shrubs; leaves swooshing crispier than they were a couple of days ago in the late October drizzle and mist.

A day like today is an alive day.  The wind barking wake up, wake up!  And I sit here energised in my stationary seat, writing, and reading William Boyd’s ‘Love is Blind’.  And it may be so.  But blind is love – a necessary vision; true to the heart; clever enough to rest in the well-manured rose garden.  Yes.  Out of the shit, the rose of love will blossom to share its perfume and let its head be watered by a purity.

Like the rose we each arise from the soil only to return once more.  And Persephone will rest; feed her rotted roots and step out again on Monday!