Tag: gift

Day 9

'A Poetic Potter & A Potting Poet'Leave a comment

Writing 2026

On this, the morning of my 70th birthday, I woke with words in my head from the Venerable Geshe Kelsang Gyatso, Rinpoche:

“The things that I normally see in dreams do not exist.

This proves that the things I normally see while awake do not exist.

Since both of these are equally mistaken appearance.”*

I received these as a great gift of faith and one that I am so thankful for.

I’ve had other wonderful gifts, cards, messages and experiences during the day.

My walk with Lydia was not uneventful leading me to try an alternative to the Halti collar I’ve been hoping she’ll get used to over the last few weeks. Her determination to find a way of removing the collar – and success in being able to do so – is worrying because I’m concerned she’ll injure herself in the process. So I’ve ordered a K9 Bridle which uses a slightly different approach, in line with a figure of eight.

After visiting friends this afternoon, I’ve had a rest and am now ready to go out in about 15 minutes, picking up another friend who is taking me out for dinner.

The boiler is mended so I’ve had a shower, put on some make-up and washed my hair, not necessarily in that order!

All in all, a pretty good day and a birthday to remember.

*The New Eight Steps to Happiness – The Buddhist Way of Loving Kindness, published by Tharpa Publications

About Time

'A Poetic Potter & A Potting Poet'Leave a comment

 First published 1st March 2022

When I went through a major breakdown in my late thirties, one of the many things I struggled to come to terms with, as I fought my way back to functionality, was the sense of all the ‘wasted time’ that had gone into building a life that at that stage had come to ‘nothing’.

Roll on more than a quarter of a century, and I’ve had a significant shift in mindset. As each day unfolds, I feel a strong sense of being gifted with it; of having all the time in the world. ‘Making the most of it’ can mean anything I want it to mean, whether that be resting, walking, making something out of clay, washing up, doing housework, doing nothing.

So, how did I get from where I was to where I am now?

I’m not sure, because it’s all a bit of a blur, but I know I’ve done a lot of meditating, a lot of searching, a lot of turning myself inside out, of fighting the thoughts that threatened to pull me into despair, a lot of reaching out, falling, getting up again and trying something else.

Sometimes the last push is the hardest and coming to terms with things that I couldn’t change took some doing.  At around the same time that I had a counsellor who was determined to avoid the key issues that I needed to address, I came across a Buddhist teaching that helped me enormously: https://madhyamaka.org/how-to-accept-what-cant-be-changed/.

The lingering sadness associated with not having been able to form a family of my own has taken a different turn recently, in the form of a furry friend.  She’s not a baby; she’s an adult dog. However, she’s done something to my heart that’s filled a gap I never thought could be filled. Time isn’t about what’s past or ‘lost’, it’s about being here and now, with my partner, and our dog.

 

Unwanted gift? No wear

'A Poetic Potter & A Potting Poet'Leave a comment

First published 29 September 2021

Jacket 1
It’s there, on the chair
The red fleece jacket
With hood and drawstring waist
That I don’t want to wear
Don’t want to keep.

It’s warm and soft when I put it on
But far too big for me
Drowned in a red sea
Shapeless, I feel
A baggy, saggy, faceless entity.

I look at the jacket
On the chair
In limp, loose folds of red, and seams
This isn’t the jacket of my dreams.

It’s theirs to wear
Not mine to keep
Their tears to cry
Not mine to weep.

It’s there, on the chair
The red fleece jacket
With hood and drawstring waist
That I don’t want to wear
Don’t want to keep
So I’ve put a price on its head
To let it go free
To someone who wants it
But who wants me?

Jacket 2
It’s there, on the chair
The red fleece jacket
With hood and drawstring waist
That I don’t want to wear
Don’t want to keep.

It’s warm and soft when I put it on
But far too big for me
Drowned in a red sea
Shapeless, I feel
A baggy, saggy, faceless entity.

I look at the jacket
On the chair
In limp, loose folds of red, and seams
This isn’t the jacket of my dreams.

It’s not my layer
These aren’t my lies
With drawstring waist
And nylon ties.

It’s not my jacket
They’re not my dreams
These aren’t my ties
They’re not my seams.

So I leave the jacket
On the chair
To go my way
While they go theirs.

Jacket 3
Now it hangs upon the door
That red fleece jacket
That I didn’t want to wear
Didn’t want to keep.

It’s warm and soft when I put it on
And not too big for me
Warmed in a red sea
Shapeless no more
No baggy, saggy faceless entity.

I look at the jacket
On the door
In limp, loose folds of red and seams
It’s not the jacket of my dreams
But just a layer to keep me warm
From frozen looks
And glares of scorn.

It is my jacket
With hood and waist
To wear awhile
From place to place.

Jacket 4
What next?

Jacket 5
Jacket
In?

Jacket 6
No!

2003