Chrisish, age 45, Martha’s Vineyard


9.20am I awake and am shocked to discover I’ve slept for eleven and a half hours. Struth! And I feel like I could do more. Wow. It’s torrential rain outside as it has been all night, still pretty grey. And when I start telling myself I need to do more I will just think of this sleep, cos for me to be sleeping this much I am obviously still exhausted. I did wake briefly at 6am, and dismissed the idea of getting up. Thank god. I think I’ll wrap up a bit and go drink my tea on the porch and enjoy the rain. And of course I was full of dreams. Maybe I resolved them all and didn’t need to bring them into the day. So I’m on my porch with a big cup of Russian Caravan tea, yummy, and in a big woolly jumper watching the rain come lashing down. It’s fantastic. What a treat. I know one dream was about a musician, Joe. I didn’t know how old he was, I know he looked rather weatherbeaten. I’d seen him play a few times, and I don’t think we’d really spoken. On this particular occasion he did speak out. I don’t know whether it was to a few people or just to me. Ah! before that I’d seen details of him written down somewhere and I saw that he’d been born in 1950, so was a full ten years older than me. Then he spoke. He charted his journey into the depths of addiction, being lost in Hades, seeing a spring blossom, understanding there could be hope after all, and his emergence from that place into where he was now where he wasn’t, as he put it, a fully flowering bloom but was so far along the road to that place that he might as well be incandescent he was so fully formed. His beauty became much more apparent to me on having heard his tale of loss, hope and redemption. I could see what he had done and the love that sprang from that work. And I could see what a much more whole person he was as a consequence of having done that work. I would go up and speak to him and tell him I had appreciated his words. Meanwhile, in the back of my mind, I could still see autumn trees, no, post autumn, stripped of their leaves and beauty, huddling and shivering in the cold light of day. I wondered if this were still some of his shadow material I could see in the background, the nakedness, the fear, the lack of protection, the (perceived) lack of beauty, the isolation, the fear that winter would go on and on, the fear that blossoming would never arrive. And yet, because I saw it in the background, almost as a silhouette, did that mean it was present or just a memory lingering, holding on with it until it was time to just fade away? I don’t know. Nor would I. I was glad that this man had spoken of his fear, his journey, his eventual welcoming of hisself. This was the kind of animus I respected, the one who really could engage in the journey with himself, and pull himself out of the pit rather than declaiming to one and all that they should pull him out of the pit because he had done enough. And I didn’t have any hope, desires, or expectations of him; I just had the desire to acknowledge him where he was, I didn’t have a gleam in my eye regarding any kind of interaction with him, I just wanted to thank him for being open to his story, and willing to offer it out to others so that we may see that recovery is indeed possible and that is possible to completely change directions in our lives. Personally I felt my heart open up to him which made me realise how closed I was usually to the human race, as my heart had creaked and moaned as it expanded to take in the pain and love of anothers journey. I felt like we were two souls meeting one another. God, this is so wonderful to be sat here, with the rain pouring down outside. I am outside too, but undercover. What a privilege. Two trees have sprung into full bloom, partially blocking my view of Sunset Lake, although I just have to tilt myself sideways to have a magnificent view, so that’s not too hard, is it? And today I could do nothing. But my house is an absolute tip and I’m completely resistant to cleaning it. I did start the process of sifting through papers the other day but there’s a long way to go. But it has to be done cos Cathy arrives on Saturday. And the man still hasn’t delivered my newly purchased furniture, so that’s a drag. However, yesterday I bought loads of stuff, wood glue, hammer, etc, enamel paint for the bath so that I can get cracking on the household chores that need doing: I have four broken wooden chairs to mend, a bath to paint. I’ve hung my new mirror and a clock, although the clock may have to go as it has an audible tick. It’s in the dining room but I could hear it in the living room. Can’t be doing with that. So I’ve been up an hour and am still not showered, apart from where small holes in the roof of the porch let in small amounts of rain. And how beautiful it is just to sit and be here. I’d be tempted to just plan to completely stay in today but the film “Rockers” is showing at the Arts Exchange down the road, and although I’m sure I’ve seen it several hundred times (Gate Cinema), I fancy going to it. That’s at 7pm. And I have food enough in to not have to go out before then, so I can settle down to some real cleaning today. Great! It occurs to me if I didn’t drink an entire pot of caffeinated tea every morning maybe I’d feel my exhaustion much more, cos that is what I use to propel me into the day. But you know what? That’s fine. I’ve got all summer off, although I am recording an album in September or October. Maybe early October would be better, that would give me and Terry more time to rehearse. And yesterday I did spend a couple of hours in the studio singing. And then several hours, or ages anyway, on the internet. Dangerous stuff. Wow! The rain’s coming down even heavier,as though that were possible. But it is! Exciting! Just hope it’s not like this when Cathy arrives. So maybe I should set to work? Oh dear, I suppose so.