I have written f few times about the dark and it being the light. Often it is thought that I am referring to light coming in the darkness, but what I am actually saying is that the dark itself IS the light. A paradox if ever there was one.

I have recounted my own experience of the dark being the light and I will explain more about that in time. But I want to tell you about an eastern mystic sitting outside a cave. He was holding a placard saying that if you enter this cave you will see God. However, as people lined up to see God he told them that if they wanted to see God they mus remove both of their eyes.

I came to a deep understanding of this after I went blind. The dark itself is the light if you want to call it that. But also it is necessary to get rid of all accoutrements. To undergo a stripping. So much of what we have is unnecessary. When you are stripped of so much of what you had, then you begin to see the things that really matter.

I remember that I had that experience with the darkness just before Christmas and I think it was in 2016. Everyone around me wanted to be in the light. The light of Christmas. There was a lot of pressure on me to be in the light as well. Their sort of light. It actually hurt to be dragged into that light and all that I wanted was my darkness as that was my light. I still have a long way to go to completely understand this but I know its truth. St. John of the Cross once said,

“If you want to be sure of the way ahead you must close your eyes and walk in the dark.” I can honestly say that for me this has been true. I know that there are many mystics who also say exactly this. I am happy that I have encountered the dark in such a way, painful though it is at times.


O Living Flame of love that never dies
Keep burning in my heart this darkest night
The world cannot confound me with its lies
For deep within my soul I have clear sight
It seemed for many years that love was dead
So many cruel blows my body harmed
Until into your warm glow I was led
O Living Flame you danced my spirit charmed
Forgotten was the pain that I had known
We danced together holding onto love
The seeds of life were now forever sown
And from your Living Light I’ll never move
O Living Flame my heart is all your own
Burn on until I reach my waiting home

#FOWC – Profession

My father would have said that his PROFESSION was an actor and script writer. My mother would have said his profession was a thief and a womaniser. Both statements would be true. When he had just died, my mother stood at the foot of his bed looking him and said “II had three children by him.” She said it in a kind of bemused way and we have no idea at all of what she was thinking lol.


Regarding what I put into my previous post, I omitted tp say that most people are very very kind. There are just sometimes though that a hurtful and very judgemental harsh comment comes through. I trash it when it does. But just sometimes if I am feeling particularly bad, as I am doing this week, it catches me on the raw and, being human, I starte tp retreat andnot to know how to deal with it. Sometimes we can be very very low and we do not cope with such things so well. But such things will just get trashed anyway.

Thankyou to all of you who have been so very kind to me. You all mean so much to me x


Until we are in a person’s shoes we have no right to tell them what to do or feel. Most things are arrived at through a PROCESS and that can take time. We are human beings and not machines and we have human emotions and feelings. Plus everyone’s background and experience of life may be very different. If, for instance, trust has been broken many times, then trust may well be virtually impossible for that person. Some things come easier to some people than others. I often want to give out the challenge to anyone to live my life before making assessments of me. Or before telling me how I should be or what I should do. It is as it is. Many will relate to this, I know. People often expect certain things of cancer sufferers and yet they have never had cancer themselves. The same with blindness. The same with being housebound completely. We can only be as we are and by God, we have TRIED very hard. It is a continuuing process. For me, I am not expected to have too much life left but no one knows exactly how long they have got. If I want to grieve the passing of my life, then that is how it has to be. If I feel fear, then there may well be a good reason why I feel fear. If I long to go for just one more walk then that is how I am and how I feel. I feel and experience many things and all of these things are acceptable and relebant. Sometimes the struggle feels just too much and for reasons that I do not publish on my blog. It is the same with everyone. And that is why we must NEVER judge anyone. I learned that in my work when I was fit and healthy and the essence of love is non judgementalism. The one thing I do mostly retain despite bad judgements of myself very often, is a sense of humour, though lately that has deserted me because of the intense physical pain I am in. It does still come out from time to time however.

#RDP TUESDAY – Bugbear

My grandparents’ farm was magical. An amazing place for a kid to be. My happiest days were spent there and at nights I would sit by the huge fire in the range playing word games with my grandmother. My grandfather would be sat in his chair right by the fire puffing on his pipe. He would always put the News on the wireless which mostly crackled so much that you could hardly hear what was being said. By then it was time for supper, which was usually bread and cheese. Then my grandmother would light a candle ready to light our way up to bed.

However, in the middle of all this magic has there was one BUG BEAR. We had to go right round the big farmhouse to the wooden outside lav before going to bed. Again we had a candle to light our way, but oh boy could it be cold at times, and also the smell was not too sweet. Still, it did not stop my enjoyment of the place. I miss it.


My mother often used to say to me when I was a child,

“Alter your face.”

I remember how awful that made me feel because my face reflected how I was feeling which was usually a response to something bad that had happened or that she had done. I would wonder just how I COULD alter my face, and I would try to do so but would be unable to do so. I think she meant she wanted me to look happy when I was upset, frightend, sad, or in pain from what she had done to me.

Often, people tell us how we SHOULD feel instead of accepting how we DO feel. It is as if they cannot deal with how we feeling as we do, makes them feel. So, often, it is an attempt to make themselves feel better rather than us ourselves.

All our feelings are valid, whatever they are, and no one has the right to judge how we are feeling or to try to make us feel differently. I used to allow this sort of thing get to me, and I would try to be as other people wanted me to be. I no longer do that, and now, what you see is what you get. I will no longer bow to other peoples’ needs or wants.

I remember when we first started trying to find a cleaner, having two people who happened to be a married couple in their fifties, come to us with a view to cleaning for us. They looked round the house and then said that they would need a full day to make our house as it SHOULD be. Well, our house was as it was in order to enable my husband and myself to function. It was not a model home but it was as we needed it. Of course we did not employ those people. We knew it would not work.

It is the same with how WE are. We cannot be as we SHOULD, in somebody’s judgement, be. We are as we are and the one thing I have learned in my life is to accept people as they are. Nothing is worse than giving someone a guilt complex. Too many people carry too much guilt because it is what others have put on them. All that any of us can do is be ourselves.


I have written at various times about the little church that iI found by accident one day whilst driving around the Lincolnshire countryside. It made a great impression upon me, and I wanted to find out more about it and what had gone on there in times past. As it is over one thousand years old, there is a lot of past to it.

One story that I uncovered was that one day the door into the church was left open by accident and a horse got in. The door blew shut and some time later the horse was found dead inside the church. Oh dear.

Some strange things happened to the priests there and way back in the Middle Ages one priest died in a fire, whilst another “lost his mind.” I wonder if that is where I lost mine lol.

There was an outbreak of rabies one time, and the man who owned the big Hall next door to the church came upon a group of children who had just been bitten by rabid dog. An innoculation against this horrific disease had just been produced at the Pasteur Institute in France and this man sent all the children to France to receive the innoculation at his own cost. All the children lived.

Another thing that happened at the church was that one time another man who lived at the big Hall shot out all the windows in the church. No one knows why, or if they do, they are not saying.

There used to be a small medieval village which the church served, but it got decimated by the Black Death. It did eventually become inhabited again, but then it disappeared and in a nearby field you can just see mounds where the houses were and also the outlines of the narrow streets. It is an amazing thing to look at.

The church is now very isolated apart from a few farm cottages. If you go in there you are not likely to be bothered by anyone.


Jo came to just as she did every morning, with a groan. She did not want to wake up at all. This day was going to be no different to all the other days. She struggled to wake up properly and her body was so weak that it was trembling with the effort of attempting to sit up in bed.

“Better not try it,” she thought. “Give it a bit of time.”

She laid back down again and longed only to go back to sleep, but she knew that if she did, she would have those awful nightmares again. Things would be even worse then. She laid there, hardly able to move. The pain in her body nauseated her and every move that she made with her legs was excruciating. Her whole body hurt. She tried to ignore it. Nothing would make it better. She felt frightened. This was her life now, and it would not change. She had been warned about it but she had not believed it would happen quite as badly as this. It was daylight but even when she opened her eyes she could not see, for she was blind. It was still night time to her. Only the noises from the street outside told her that it was not. But she was not part of that life. Her life was here, in this room now. She would hardly ever leave it again, much as she wanted to. She was simply cut off from other people and had to attempt to believe that she was still a person. She did not want to face this new day at all, but she felt an urgent need to go to the bathroom. Painfully she turned on her back and swung her legs out of the bed. Grabbing hold of her walking frame she tried to get her balance and then walked slowly and painfully to the bathroom. Even doing that was almost too much for her. Eventually she made her way back to the bedroom, panting and hardly able to breathe. The pain had been made even worse by the effort involved in getting to the bathroom. As she got back onto the bed again she could hardly breathe. Her heart was pounding in her chest. All that she could do now was rest, until the pounding stopped. It took quite a while, but eventually it did stop. Her energy levels were zero, and once again, all she could do was lie on her side in the bed, almost falling back to sleep again. She fought the desire to go back to sleep, knowing that at some point soon she must attempt to sit up and face the day.

In time Jo sat feeling as if she was dying but knowing that she must try to go on. This was a new day, and she had to live it. After sitting for a while she took her iPad and started to write. What could she write today? She did not know. But eventually something came, and she began to feel a little bit alive again. Still, she wanted to sleep, but she knew that she must not. She passed the morning trying to find things to write, and after eating a small breakfast, began to feel a bit more like a human being. She knew this would be the best part of her day. By the afternoon she began to fill with fear. Her life had gone. It was never to come back again. She began to cry hysterically. If only she could talk to someone. But there was no one. She attempted to ground herself. To try ton find a bit of rope to hang onto. She had to stop this fear. She thought she was going mental. But she was not. It was just that everything was black. And this room was her prison.

Jo knew that acceptance was the key. She was not normal any more. It was no good thinking that she could ever be normal again. But she dreamed. She had to.

If only someone would talk to her. If only someone would come. But she was alone. Oh so so alone.


Each day I dream
That tomorrow will be better
That I might walk in the green forest again
Sit by the lake
Watch the river flow
I tell myself
That if I try harder
I will be normal once again
This bed
Holds me
I try to break its chains
To rise again
To grow wings and fly
I hear outside
The sounds of normal life
And I know
That it is not for me
As I drag myself from the bathrooom once more
Flop onto this bed my prison
And sleep sleep sleep
A body so weak
That it cannot hold itself up
Is this life?
Where are the forests
The deep blue lakes
Where are the stony footpaths
That once I trod
They are here
They are here
I tread them every day
Hard climbs
Until exhaustion takes me over
Do I really have to die?
Take me to the deep dark forest
Let it be my bed
My final resting place
Take me to the forest


I hear the passing bell
And know that time has run out
For a poor soul waiting
Minute by minute
To pass into eternity
And I too
Live minute by minute
Knowing that soon the end must come
We cannot fight
There is no way out
It awaits us
Even as we wait
A body that is worn out
No longer functioning
A sleep that will not relent
A facing of the truth
That soon
I must die


What is this thing called Time, that I am in?
Does it really go on for ever?
If there is eternity I don’t want it.

Time holds nothing but black……..birds weeping
Out their blackness until it fills
The space that is left

The black space grows, swallows up eternity
I don’t want eternity, not even to live
In this black pool

Black……birds sing
Do they?
Do you hear their song?
Or the cry of their black falling?

Black leaks
Falls into black, take back the night
I don’t want it.


With me lost worlds
That still speak through the gloom
Nature in all its wonder, clangs,
What is it saying now to me?
That the sun still shines bright
Warming my skin
Birds call

Do you
Hear nature call?
It says so much to me
But I am learning its language
Join me
In this
World of sound, the wind blowing, brooks
Singing for joy by day
Let us know joy
In sound

#FOWC – Concoction

My days in college could get a bit wild and one night I drank a right old CONCOCTION. I am not sure whose fault it was as a few of us girls had all gathered in one girl’s room along with some booze. I don’t think I did it to be honest but I ended up drinkinga large glass of sherry, pale ale and cider. To be honest it tasted quite good, but I ended up on the top of a whole pile of girls on the one bed in the room, giggling my head off and eventually falling off onto the floor. I don’t think I drank any such concoctions again lol.


I do not remember exactly when it happened, but it did. There I was in the church, and suddenly I was attacked. Not with implements or fists or anything. No, but with words.

“You don’t wave and smile when we wave and smile at you.”

“You’re a snob.”

“You’re stand offish.”

“You’re full of pride. That’s the worst sin. You have to go to Confession.”

They knew I was blind. Their words were like knives piercing my heart. I never was a snob or stand offish. In fact I longed for them to come close to me, say my name, and start talking to me. But they ignored me. Or so it seemd.

The pain of those moments was greater than I could bear. My heart was like stone. I was paralysed inside. Nothing good could ever come to me again. I was dead. Absolutely dead.

“Take me to the little church,” I said to my husband. I knew he would not mind. He liked the little was about an hour’s drive away and I had found it whilst driving around the countryside with my dogs one day. As I was driving, suddenly I saw a sign pointing down a narrow road that looked almost like a lane, saying, “Unspoilt Pre reformation Church.” This was something that I had to see. I loved old historical buildings especially churches. I drove down the lane that ended up in a farmyard and there, on the right hand side was a quintessential English church amongst the trees. It was tiny. Oh so tiny. Stone built, and oh so ancient.

I parked my car and walked up the long windy path to the door of the church. I pushed on the door, peered round it, and all that I saw was darkness. Or that was how it seemed. The windows were so tiny that they hardly let in any light and the whole place was overpowered by very very dark oak. The pews, and the ancient Rood Loft dominated the place. I went in and I felt as if there were souls in the very walls of the place. I wondered what the history of the place was and what the souls would say to me. I sat down in a pew and just enjoyed the silence, mediatiting on what I had found. The church had been built in the 10 hundreds and was over one thousand years old. Mind you, it would originally have been quite different to what it was now. But much of it was almost that ancient and I wanted to know its story. But it was the darkness that was so overpowering. As I left the building, I knew that I would return to that place over and over again. I felt a peace there that was almost electric.

And so, on that awful day, I asked my husband to take me there. When we arrived, dark had fallen. I made my way into the church and went and sat on the old wooden chest where I often sat. I knew it was pitch black in there and even though I was blind, the darkness was darker than ever. Inside me I felt like stone. Nothing and no one could or would ever reach me any more. The pain was too great. I had had cancer, nearly died, gone blind, and come to this. All I had ever done was try to accommodate what had happened to me and do the best with it that I could. It was hard. Very hard.

As I sat there I wondered what I was doing there. I felt nothing, except the darkness. I knew that nothing could happen, but I was just so used to going there. I sat for a few moments feeling such pain, when suddenly I felt what I can only say was the darkness putting its arms around me. It held me like a mother would, and it comforted me. It went where I thought no one could ever go again. It just happened. I did nothing. I did not invite it to happen. I felt myself melting. I relaxed. I allowed myself to be held by this divine darkness. I did not know at this time that it was the divine darkness, and I just thought of it as the darkness. I did not think of it as like a mother at that time either, but I realised later that that was what it was like, only deeper even than that.

I left the church that night a different person to the one who had gone in. I had no thoughts of anything like God at all. Just the darkness. It was the darkness. The wonderful darkness.


One day I saw the darkness
And felt its arms around me
I saw into the heart of things
While being held
As in the arms of a mother
I saw that in the heart of the darkness
Is the heart of Love
A Love such as I had never known
And then I knew
To throw off all desires
All accoutrements
All that would hold me back
All that would tempt me back into the light
And in that day
I knew that the darkness was good
And is the Light itself


Before I went blind I would probably never have thought particularly about the darkness. I might have referred to particular parts of my life as dark and indeed there were many very dark times. But I could never have imagined complete physical darkness. Even when I was told I was going to be blind, I thought that I would still see just a little bit. It was a shock when I woke up one morning and my sight had totally gone. I suppose I should have known and been prepared. But I wasn’t. It was bad for a while. I tried so very hard to still live my life and could not let go of what I had to lose. Prior to going completely blind I had been reading a book about living in the present moment and I had been trying to do that. I found that yes, in the present moment I was ok. But then i found that the present moment was not ok. Being completely blind is something else.

I had no choice but to try to look at it in a spiritual way. It was the only way to cope. Physically my life was terrible. So I tried to develop a spirituality that would deal with the darkness. I found one. I found the divine darkness. It is real. It is beautiful. It is far better than the light as we usually think of it.

Still, today, I stumble and fall, both physically and spiritually. I am human and I feel the pain and the grief and sometimes the despair. It is hard. But at the heart of everything is the beautiful divine darkness. I would not exchange it for anything.

#SOCS – Prize

I never won a prize for amything in my life but we used to show our rough collie dogs and when one of them called Asha was a puppy we enetered her in a show at a certain place and she was the only puppy who turned up. She won the prize because she was the only puppy there. I do not consider material things to be a prize for me. I do not wish to attain loads of money, as long as I have enough to live on. I think there are more important b(things in life.

Since I had cancer and nearly died my prize is life itself and all the more spiritual things that can be part of life. Love is the greatest prize you can ever win and the greatest gift you can ever give. Patience is another gift and I have had to learn that, since I am now blind from the cancer treatment. This is a hard won thing and I am gradually learning it but it is such a prize gained after a lot of hard work. I do not know whether there truly is anything else beyond this life but I have been told that we gain our greatest prize in the next life after we have run the race steadfastly and patiently on this earth. I hardly dare believe that there is such a thing, but if there is I hope I win it. I think I would be bored being on a cloud all day long, though, playing a harp. All that i can conclude though is that love is the greatest prize of all.


Once upon a time there lived a little tribe called the shinnywallies. They did not live in the forest like the shufflebottoms but in a village. They were bigger than the shufflebottoms who just shuffled around on their bottoms all day long. They had legs and they were big enough for the people in the village to see. The villagers quite liked them because they could shin up drainpipes real well, and up ladders too. They went round the village knocking on doors and asking if they needed any jobs doing. As the villagers could never get a tradesman when they needed one because all the tradesmen wanted real big jobs like dealing with the electricity of a whole town, they could not even get a new light fitting or a grab rail fitted to a wall or a fence mended. But the shinnywallies did all these jobs and more. They were brilliant. They had real good legs, unlike the shufflebottoms and they knew how to use them.

However, the shinnywallies saw some of the things that the villagers had in their houses and some of the food that they had, and they knew that they had got all these things from the nearby town on a market day. They became envious and no longer did they like their simple life. They wanted something better, so they all went en masse to the nearby town one market day to see if they could get some of these things. And here it was that they met their sad end. All the tradesmen hated them because they thought that the shinnywallies might get better and better and become a threat to them, taking all their work. So they set about them in the town, and soon every single shinnywally was dead. And the shinnywallies were no more.

All the villagers were so very sad and they wrung their hands and cried and tore their hair out. How could they live without the shinnywallies? But there was nothing they could do about it. They had to get the vicar to do a huge funeral for all the poor shinnywallies and so it was that one black Friday the church bell was heard to toll and the biggest funeral that the village had ever known was held.


I can’t remember too much about Harrogate but I know we lived there for a while when I was a child. It was before I started school so I would have been about four years old. All that I can remember is huge expanses of well manicured grass. It seemed to be nothing but grass. I know that my mother spoke of it with pride because it was a posh place only we did not live there for very long, probably because we were not posh. Come to think of it, we did not live anywhere for very long. I think we could have been mistaken for gypsies. I do not know why we kept moving but my mother always blamed my father. I never found out the truth. I have tried to put my life together and write down where we were in chronological order but it is impossible. I have no idea of where we were and when. All I know is that we lived in a village in Lincolnshire when I was a baby but my father stole some money and my mother had to deal with detectives knocking at the door and asking what she knew about it. She knew nothing and they believed her. My father went to court and his name was plastered all over the local newspaper and he then ran off into the army to get away from the shame of it, leaving my mother and myself alone. Eventually, however, my mother and father got back together again and we moved out of the area to Yorkshire. We went to a little cottage in a tiny tiny village called Hutton Conyers. I would have been three years old and I can remember that place. It was where my mother attempted to walk me into the nearest town which was Ripon, but at the age of three I had trouble walking too far and it was about three miles away. I became tired on the way there and began crying and we were walking over a bridge that went over a fast flowing river and my mother picked me up, shaking me angrily and she held me face down over the river saying she was going to throw me in. I remember beginning to slip from her grasp and I could see the foaming water vbeneath me and I began to scream, whereupon my mother pulled me back to her and took me to the nice grassy bank by the river and said,

“Look, it;s nice here.”

I don’t think I liked water for a while after that and I still cannot look at a foaming river.

We lived in a few towns in Yorkshire and it was actually a nice place. After that we moved to Blackpool and thereby hang many tales.


My memory was plump with sights and sounds of yesteryear
When darkness fell behind my eyes I felt a pricking tear
O bittersweet those memories a sword did pierce my heart
The life I’d known had flown away and it from me did part

Outside I heard the sounds of life that now from me had gone
And I was left upon my bed to sing my mournful song
I heard a single blackbird sing so joyful was it’s tune
And once again a ray of light didst fill this darkened room


Who is this that chases me down the years?
Many roads I have taken, only to meet him again
Waiting for me at the point of my deepest fears

Who is the one who the course of my life steers?
I think I am in control, but who writes it with the pen?
Who is this that chases me down the years?

What is it that this man forever towards me bears?
Is it the same for all women and men?
He waits for me at the point of my deepest fears

On my journey, sometimes the sickening fog clears
As I carry my sorrows feeling hopeless, then…….
Who is this that chases me down the years?

If only I could learn to trust this figure that appears
Please tell me who he is, my friend
He waits for me at the point of my deepest fears

Is that a smile that on his face he wears?
Is this where something new can now begin?
Who is this that chases me down the years?
Waiting for me at my point of deepest fears


Who is your favourite poet?

If you do not read much poetry who is your favourite author?

How did you get introduced to your favourite poet or author?

I used to find poetry dry and boring at school, but that was because of what we read in.class. However when we read Wilfred Owen it was like a bombshell to me, and I realised the power that poetry could have. I never looked back.

I am not sure who my favourite author is but I used to love D.H. Lawrence and read all of his books including Lady Chatterley’s Lover underneath the sheets with a torch lol.

I am always looking for new poets and new forms of poetry. At the moment I am reading Murder Mysteries because they are easy to find in Audible but I am getting sick of them. I need to find some new books.


Homeward I travel
Over paths and high mountains
To the arms of love

The journey is long
Sometimes the struggle is great
Darkness covers us

Light seems far away
But the darkness is divine
If only we knew

All is Mystery
In the Cloud of Unknowing
Where lives the divine


I bask in the sunset of a molten day
Sinking into vanilla sheets cooling sizzling sinews
Stretched beyond forbearance
Snapping in the lava flow
Red with intent
Is this the calm before the storm
The explosive gases of your hatred
For I have learned it well
That history repeats itself
And nothing is ever sated
Save my inner essence
That drinks of everlasting waters
Frothing from the ground


There it was
Lying on the ground
Old and gnarled
Just a piece of wood
I picked it up
Felt its texture in my hands
And wondered
How old are you
How long have you been on the ground
I caressed it lovingly
For within
It held its secrets
What had it seen
What had it known
And as I stroked it
I knew
That it was wiser than me
I looked and looked again
Just a piece of wood

WHAT I DID IN LINCOLN. It’s all about cake

One thing that I did in Lincoln included a lot of cake. Good job there was a VERY steep hill to walk it off on. I did my Family History at the Archives in Lincoln in the days before you could do it fairly easily on the internet. We would arrive in Lincoln and have a coffee, AND some cake. Then we would go to the Archives and spend a morning or an afternoon there, looking for my ancestors. It was so different to how it is nowadys but I liked it like that. When you found something it gave you a real thrill and I have been known to shout out “Yippee” in that quiet and to be honest, stuffy place. I managed to get back to the 1600’s on my mother’s side or should I say my mother’s grandfather’s side. I was amazed at some of the things that I discovered. Then, of cours, we needed another coffee AND SOME CAKE. There were numerous places where you could go for cake in Lincoln, but we often went to one in a real old building with really narrow windy stairs up to the coffee shop. We were served by girls in black dresses with white aprons on with frills on and a white frilly hat. There were aall kinds of cake and so then we needed a walk up Steep Hill to attempt to stop the cake ending up on our hips. At the top of Steep Hill ther was a brilliant book shop which has sadly closed down now. As you can imagine, I ended up in there for a long time. And then of course, another coffee but this time I gave the cake a miss, reluctantly. I don’t think I will be doing any more walking up Steep Hill now but I wish I could.


I decided to start this thread, not knowing whether anyone would come in or not but it is worth a try. I would love to throw this open to talk about anything and everything, of your choosing. A moan, a groan, something you are happy about, some achievement that you want to tell the world about however small or big, something about the world today. Or the state of the world. Just anything at all. If you are sick and need to say it to someone. If you are struggling. Just whatever.

I will leave this up for a while and see how it goes. All welcome.


Today is a day when I am living minute by minute. Once again I have been trying to make inroads to break our isolation and failing. I know that it is not our or my fault but it makes me despair. It seems as if we are the dregs. I do not know why.

I remember when I was fit and healthy I was always there for others even if it was inconvenient. Our house was an open house too. Everyone was welcome. This is why I find it hard to know why we have ended up so isolated and alone. It is bad enough having to deal with our disability issues and health issues but when you are so alone as well it stinks. In saying this, people might think that we are miserable old gits, but we are not. We are lively, friendly and always interested in the other person. Wen can talk on whatever level people want to talk. So it is not because we are not nice to be with that this has happened. All that I know is that it causes deep fear. This being cut off from society and life. You cannot know how scary it is until you experience it. Not even the ability to say Hi to someonne on the phone.

I had two terrible nightmares last night and after the first one I managed to fall asleep again only to have a worse one. It was so horrible and I feel like a nervous wreck today.

Most of us want and need to know that we are acceptable but we do not get that feeling. We have had rejection after rejection from all kinds of people and bodies. In the end it gets to you, and this once very confident outgoing determined person is losing it. I feel raw, hurting and scared to death.

The only way I can get through today is minute vby minute, trying to ground myself as I go along.

#RDP Thursday – Complicated

Puss sat on the floor looking out dolefully but mildly triumphant from within a horrendously tangled ball of wool, announcing,

“Single handedly I fought my way into this tangled mess.”

Everyone rushed forwards to try and help Puss but the tangled mess was far too COMPLICATED to untangle and poor Puss had to stay in his tangled ball of wool for the rest of his life.

#FOWC – Available

Come and get them now,” shouted out Jack. “Tickets AVAILABLE at a bargain price. Entry into a shiny new life. First come first served. Hurry, hurry. All tickets will be gone soon.”

Hundreds of people rushed to get their tickets. Everyone wanted a shiny new life. The gates opened and everyone who had a ticket was admitted. It was wonderful. Everyone was dressed in beautiful new clothes and everyone was made to look beautiful. There were mod cons everywhere and no one had to work any more. There was no more hardship and no one had to struggle for anything.

For a while everything was hunkey dorey in this shiny new place. Then, people started to get bored and fed up and they turned on each other and killed each other.


Audible books are all I can read now, but I would have been lost without them since going blind. I wonder if you read them too, and what do you think of them?

I don’t know why, but I never agree with what other people say lol. Maybe I am contrary but if someone or even a few people say that a book is badly written I usually feel it is well written. Also if the narrator is criticised, I often like the narrator. Good job we are not all the same

At one time I would have gagged at the idea of audio books but now, I wee them as a good thing and find that the narration brings the book to life. I know that you are at the mercy of the narrator but most are sensitive to the events that they are reading about and they create atmosphere as they read. If I had just been reading these books with my own eyes I might have found many of them boring. I wonder what you think about audio books?


They hitch you up and hook you up
And put you in your place
You’re stuck there for a good few hours and watch the time go by
There’s others not too far away all doing just the same
No one seems to talk too much
You feel a bit alone
The nurse then says
“This one will itch your bum
So be prepared for that”
A man pipes up and says his piece for all around to hear
“It’s the best feeling I’ve ever had in a whole week
I look forward to this”
I wait and suddenly there it is
Oh God my bum’s on fire
I wonder when it will go off
Will I ever be the same again
I never knew the earth move like this before
And soon the feeling goes
But then another drug assaults your veins
Icy swords go up your arms
You shout out oh my God this really hurts
The nurse tells you that grown men cry
When this is going in
I will not cry I do decide
I’ll tell a lot of jokes
In half an hour the bag is drained
Of all its cruel goods
You wonder how you’ll get through this
So many rounds to go
And when it’s over you can’t walk your life is shit
And then you truly know
They hitched you up
And hooked you up
And now your life is fucked up too


It seems strange to me how my attitudes towards death have changed since I was diagnosed with cancer. At that time I was close to death and was expected to die. Strangely I accepted this and for some reason it did not trouble me and kind of excited me. I had no fears as to what there might or might not be on the other side. In a way I was in euphoria.

As time wore on and the chemo bit, my attitude did not change. I welcomed the idea of death but my main task was getting through the awful chemo. And of course the terrible things that the disease caused as I had many large tumours. Towards the end of chemo I felt that I would live. I was not about to die though the medical profession would not say this which I found distressing.

Once I finished chemo I was on the way back to life again. Though I looked terrible, with no hair, which actually I did not mind, and so thin that a simple breeze could have blown me over and I had to be pushed everywhere in a wheelchair, I began very slowly to get better. Once I caught sight of myself in a mirror that was on a pillar in a store that I was pushed into, and I was so shocked at the dreadful sight of myself and I thoughtm “I am not having this. I am not going to look like that.” I looked like death. So I asked someone to go into the chemists for me and buy me some make up. Also nail varnish and some other goodies. I began wearing the make up and gradually was able to walk into a restaurant in our local garden centre with two canes. It was a moment of triumph when I did that. I bought some new clothes in there too. Brightly coloured ones that did not look like death.

I continued to get better and I had started to go blind but I was determined that I was going to walk properly again. If I was going blind, then I needed to be able to walk so that I could still have a life. I went to a little church that I had found and it was tiny but the aisle was perfect for me to practise walking. I would walk down the aisle and back again doing more steps each day. I began by being able to do five hundred steps without stopping and gradually over a six week period got to ten throusand steps without a stop. I did it with two walking cances and could hange onto a pew at the side of me if I began to fall.

I was cock a hoop. I had much h hope for the future. As a blind person I would be able to walk and still function. I was full of hope.

Then I began falling. I was wobbling all over the place and I had to take to an electric power chair. I visited my doctor and he diagnosed peripheral polyneuropathy. It wasexplained to me exactly what that meant and was told it was progressive and had been caused by my chemo drugs. The future was no longer good but I still was determined to live. Also I was diagnosed with heart problems caused by one of the chemo drugs and also lung damage from another of the chemo drugs. I was gutted. However at that time my attitude did not change. I had no idea of the horror that was to befall me.

Gradually my muscles died and even my face has caved in until iI can heardly eat. All the muscles in my face have died and the muscles around my mouth have gone too. My body has changed so much and my skeleton has gone out of kilter and this causes immense pain. Nothing is in the right place as there are no muscles to support it. I now live on the bed. In excruciating pain and blind so seeing nothing. Some days I think I am going mad. I never expected this and I keep thinking that it was somehow or other my own fault that I ended up like this. Maybe I did not try hard enough or something. Maybe I could have stopped those muscles dying.

My attitude twards death has now changed so much too. I fear it. I fear it so much. Yet also I often want to take matters into my own hands and end it all myself to get out of this living death.

When the blindness reached a point where I could no longer see my iPad to write I determined that this should not happen. Writing was my life and still is, though I am too exhausted to do it so much now. Each movement that I make exhausts me. It also causes great pain. So often I wish that I was out of it. So often I do not know how to go on any longer. I do not think anyone else would be any different in such circumstances. I can still walk about twently steps with my walking frame and can still get to the bathroom from the bedroom but that is all.

I am not suffering from depression in the normal way, if indeed there is a normal way. I mean that I am not clinically or medically depressed, but I do become depressed with my circumstances and the constant fight just to exist.

I know that my poetry and postings are maybe becoming more black, but this reflects the struggles with my body. All of this is compounded by having no family or friends, my family having run away, and we are alone with all of this. No one even to telephone and chat to.

I both fear death terribly and yet want it to come. I try to keep finding ways of getting better but that is not going to happen and my body continues to deteriorate. I wish it were not so. My writing has definitely changed and with seeing only blackness now, I find it difficult to remember what things looked like. At the moment I am trying to remember daffodils and I feel great grief at not being able to see them any more. Spring used to be my favourite time of year. Who knows where all this will end?


I see you not this winter’s night
Yet in my heart I carry you
Remember how you called me home
That time in the summer’s sun
Little did I know what I would find
Beneath your branches generous
The one who hardly did I know
Who gave me to her God that day
You led me to her grave that strange warm summer
When I hardly knew myself
I’d sat beside the old church wall
For oh so many peaceful months
Not knowing then that she was there
The one who was my godmother
What was it then that drew me there
I looked at you the rowan tree
And knew inside that it was you
And so now I carry you this winter’s night
In memory in fond embrace


Yesterday I had a day out. It was hell on earth trying to get ready to go but we got out in the end, when we got home I became very ill again and did not sleep all night. Today I attempted to sleep and relax to get better, but I find it very frightening when it goes like this. Because of the day out and them becoming ill I have, once again, missed replying to comments. I love to read your comments and i will defo get around to replying soon. I finally came to a bit this afternoon and posted a few poems but still do not feel right but better than I was. It looks like I am paying for my day out.


By the river the willow stood
Weeping for all that was lost that was good
Bowed down with grief sore tears did fall
How could she bear this bitter gall
It seemed her name was written in blood

Her life was gone however could
She carry now her cross of wood
With every step she took a fall
By the river

But light would come, the green tree would
Bear again the bright Spring’s bud
Hear once more the sweet birds call
Hope spread its strong wings over all
There never would be old deadwood
By the river


I lie here dressed only in my skin,
Stripped bare, inglorious, colourless,
Just like the tree,
All that once I knew,
All that once I displayed,
Gone for ever,
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust………
……….But wait,
Inside me the sap,
It rests,
In my roots,
Safe from the cold winds of winter,
Safe from the storms,
Waiting to rise up
When the storms have passed,
No, I am not dead,
Just waiting.


Many years ago I used to be involved with Women’s Aid, an organisation that helps women who find themselves in violent and or abusive relationships. Also my Ph.D was in this same area. The question that is often asked is why the woman did not leave her violent or abusive partner. This is a loaded question. It can become another exercise in victim blaming. There can be many reasons why. People often say,

“OI would have……..” but unless you are or have been in that situation you cannot know.

There are many reasons why, and in the 1960’s it was very difficult to just leave. And it could be especially difficult if you were in a church. Often the abuser would be in the same church, appearing as a wonderful, attentive, kind, helpful man. No one would guess the truth.

Often in the past women had nowhere to go even if they did leave. They had to become voluntarily homeless and in that case the council would not help them with accommodation because they made themselves homeless voluntarily. Proving the violence could be very difficult because no one sees what goes on behind closed doors and even if a woman showed her bruises etc she could not prove who did it. The legal proof that is needed is just not possible.

Often the man convinces the woman that is is her fault and she comes to believe that. She cannot understand what is happening to her and she thinks it is her fault.

Another problem is when finally telling, the woman is often not believed. It takes great courage to say that this is happening to you.

Whilst doing my Ph.D I interviewed a woman who went to a Methodist church and her husband often beat her up. She ended up in hospital a few times. She was in desperation and her husband sang in the choir and appeared to be a lovely man. One time when she was in hospital she decided that that was it. She was getting out. She did manage to find a way of doing that and she found accommodation but her husband sought her out as often happens. In the end she had to have panic buttons fitted in her flat and eventually she managed to leave the area completely. But that Methodist congregation despite her ending up in hospital blamed her and continued to love the man who had put her there. This is a common sotry and the most dangerous time for a woman is the time she is trying to leave the man. He must not suspect or her may let loose even worse violence upon her and even kill her. A woman needs a lot of support in leaving a violent relationship andyet time and time again I have heard it said,

“Why didn’t she leave? I would have done.

This is no simple subject. Some women kill themselves in the end. Victim blaming is rife. It needs to stop.


There were lilac trees at the back of the farmhouse,
In many different hues of purple,
The scent was heady, in the summer’s air,
I will never forget those days,
A child could not have been happier,
The farmhouse now is gone.

Why should such wonderful things be gone?
Nothing was like the farmhouse,
No other place could I have been happier,
I remember the beautiful purple,
And all those heady days,
In the lilac scented air.

I breathed deeply in the intoxicating air,
But now those days are gone,
To be filled with sadder days,
No longer can I visit the farmhouse,
Or feast my eyes on hues of purple,
Can I ever be happier?

Maybe one day I’ll be happier,
And breathe a fresher air,
Air filled with reminders of purple
Flowers that are not gone
Just like those at the back of the farmhouse,
I will await those days.

Maybe soon there’ll be days
That make me feel much happier,
Though now there is no farmhouse,
There still can be scented air,
These are the things that can never be gone,
Days filled with memories of purple.

Now the sky looks purple,
Heralding the return of the days
That cannot ever truly be gone,
I could not now be happier,
My lungs fill with the scented air,
Reminiscent of the farmhouse

The farmhouse smiled in the summer days, when I stayed,
I played beneath the purple lilac never happier,
Swathes of blossom swayed in the air, such memories will never be gone.


Once upon a time there was a flea called Sheila. She was quite a quiet little flea and she had really good manners and she treated everybody kindly. When she got a bit older she married Tom and at first things were lovely. She had been attracted to him because he seemed quiet and gentle and she thought he would never do her any harm.

Sheila and Tom had not been married for long when Tom started taking charge of her things. He made all decisions and he took her certificates and put them in a place of his choosing. She lost all control of them because she did not know where Tom had put the box he had put them in. She needed her certificates in order to get a job.

Things started going very badly for Sheila. Tom turned out to have a ferocious temper and one night he put his hands around her neck and started to strangle her. She was in shock but did not know what to do. It was not something that was spoken about in those days. Domestic violence. She had no one to confide in and nowhere to go. Plus she could hardly believe that their romance had gone so sour. She thought she was to blame and decided that she must better herself.

Things continued to go wrong at times and it seemed that they followed a kind of cycle. There would be a period of time when everything was find, and Sheila began to relax again. But then something terrible would happen again. Tom would hit her or put his hands around her neck and start to strangle her. He blamed her and she came to believe that she must be a dreadful mess. She must be a terrible wife and her personality must be so bad. One day Sheila returned home from shopping to find Tom out in the garden with his head pokiing out of a deep hole that he was digging in the garden. She asked him what he was doing and he said

“Digging your grave”

Sheila was horrified but still they had not been married for that long and there was nothing like Women’s Aid in those days and there was nothing she could do.

The marriage continued and it was true to say that there were good times as well as bad. The good times made Sheila believe that things were alright really and that she just must try to be a better person to stopp the bad times happening. But inside she was hurting and damaged.

In later life Sheila became sick and Tom looked after her. He seemed to the outside world to be a wonderful, kind and loving husband, but secretly he was cruel and controlling. Sheila began to lose her personhood. Tin had cibtrik if everything and Sheila had nothing of herself left at all. She became more and more miserable and felt she could bear it no more. But what could she do? She was too old to do anything now, and too sick. She became more and more depressed and thought more and more about ending her life. There seemd to be no other way. One day she stood at the top of the stairs and threw herself down the stairs.she died.


Sometimes being “helpful” can actually be control. It can be very insiduous and demoralising. It can happen in all kinds of relationships and sometimes to make the other person helpless is to control them. Often the perpetrator can seem to the outside world to be a wonderful person but the truth is far more ugly than is apparent. We need to be on our guard about making judgements where we do not know the circumstances.


Sometimes the things that we choose to post, for whatever reasons, make us feel very vulnerable and even afraid. But we do it because we need to. Sometimes people come along and make crass and hurtful comments that are tantamount to pushing a man when he is already down. I trash such comments.

Last night during the night I did post a post that was very painful to make. I was awake all night long in really bad pain. I did not sleep at all and ended up posting about my pain. I received some lovely replies. So thankyou so much to you who made those replies.

Sadly some people use such situations to hurt someone further. I mean by making insulting and cruel comments. This I will not haave and as I have said I will immediately trash such things.

Often the things we post, we post in fear and trepidation, as I did during the night, but we need an outler if we have no other outlet. My blog was never meant for such posts but just sometimes I do post such things. At this moment in time I am not my normal self. I could go into it furhther but I choose not to. Some things would be better explained if I did, but that would not be fair. So I don’t.

I will say again, walk a mile in my shoes and see if you find yourselves ok with it. We are human and we have our breaking points. I feel like retreating for a while but will not give in to that. I am made of sterner stuff.


Tend not to the darkness within your soul,
Except in as much to know that it is light,
Do not let this darkness take you from your goal

It seems that oh so many afflictions roll,
Descend on you, pleasures take their flight,
Tend not to the darkness within your soul

Darkest nights that assail you take their toll,
The pain you know so well begins to bite,
Do not let this darkness take you from your goal

Do not see the part, but know the whole,
That even darkness to your God is bright,
Tend not to the darkness within your soul

Within this state the dark your pleasures stole,
Never had you been in such a plight,
Do not let this darkness take you from your goal

Soon will come a time that ends your toil,
The prize you aimed for then will be in sight,
Tend not to the darkness within your soul
Do not let this darkness take you from your goal


There was a little street in Lincoln where they sold pianos. Often I used to go inside and look at and try out the pianos. I love playing the piano and I tend to buy them lol. Quite a few years earlier I had gone to the auction to buy and dining table and came home with no dining table but a piano and three stuffed birds. Well we had to wait for the piano to be delivered but you know what I mean. We had moved though and not taken the piano with us. It was a very old and rather out of tune one. So when I found a perfect second hand piano in the shop I had to have it. We duly bought it and had it delivered. I still have that piano to this day but I can no longer play it. I used to play all sorts on it from Beethoven’s sonatas to The Entertainer and Rondo a l Turka. Have I spelled that right ?

We really should get rid of the piano now but I cannot envisage being without one.


I am sitting here in my bed in the middle of the night. The world is asleep but I am in such emotional pain that I cannot sleep. I am supposed to smile and be happy. I am supposed to be positive. I am not meant to be in anguish. I am meant to be an overcomer. But I feel that I do not know how to bear the pain of my life any more. This is not a welcome kind of post. But it is real. It is true.

I have never really set out the details of my days because it would not be acceptable. I struggle to be positive and to put on a smile. But in the end the pain is there. I cannot ignore it.

I am lonely. So so bloody lonely. I have my husband but he has the beginnings of dementia or something. His brain does not function properly and on top of that he has lost his speech largely so we cannot have conversations. He struggles to keep going. He suffers from exhaustion from his post polio syndrome. I am living looking only at darkness and in constant pain. I take pain killers but they do not work too well. I cannot walk far and cannot go out. I am on this bed all day long. I do not choose to be like this. It just is. Things are getting worse which was predicted and I an shit scared. I have no family and oh GOD how I wish I had some family or at least a friend. We asked our old church if they would bring the eucharist to us but the priest said that we were a safeguarding risk with being vulnerable and because of all the abuse in the church and us being vulnerable he could not bring it himself or get someone else to bring it. We are not allowed to be visited by any of the people we knew at church because of this. My heart is broken and I do not think I can ever get over this. I know that some will say that they always knew the church was a terrible place and so because of that they do not believe in god but even given that we are still human beings who need human contact.

This evening all that I wanted was to be held. To have some arms around me. I do not know how I can continue to get through this life.

In saying all of this I am making myself so very vulnerable and people can make comments and throw things at me but I can keep this in no longer. I hurt. I am in pain. I am afraid. We need people. We need them so badly.

Inside me the pain is so bad. I know that the light is there but I am in the dark and being smothered and am so frightened. I try to cover over how I really feel with all sorts of things. But I can’t keep doing that. The pain always breaks through in the end.

I hate that bloody cancer that got me and the bloody chemo that brought all this on. I am not old. But I feel old. I am scared shitless.

I know that writing like this drives people away from my blog but I can’t help it any more.

I do not know who I am any more.


Looking back
I see a tumultuous sea
The waves surgin over my head
So much trauma
Can this really have been my life
I sit in my bed in the night
And wonder
As I travel towards the light
How did I come through this
Did I sink
Did I learn to walk on water
Did I fly over the mountains
Did I fall on the rockly way
Did I die of thirst in the parched desert
Did I starve in the winter’s cold
Once I was held right over a river
Saw the water foaming below
Felt myself falling from my mother’s grasp
My three year old form rigid with fear
No arms were ever there to hold me
I sange at night
To keep the demons away
The whole of my life was spent singing
First a song of fear
Becoming a song of love
Just in time You found me
Took me into Your loving arms
And now
Three things remain
Faith hope and love
And the greatest of these is love


Despite everything that is happening in my body, I still feel in my head just as I did when I was 18 years old. I lie on my bed during the day going back in my mind, digging up memories as if I was still the same as I was at whatever age I was then. It is as if that life still exists but yet it does not.

After my reveries, I come back to earth again, brought there by physical darkness and physical pain and immobility, and I feel so cut off from other people and the world. I cannot quite believe that it has come to this, but it has. I know that life is carrying outside whilst it is not carrying on for me. I am tied, a prisoner in this bed. Sometimes I feel as if I don’t exist. Everything is slipping away from me so fast that I feel it will soon all have gone and I will have died. I feel I am losing control and I want to control things and hang onto things but I can’t. It scares me. To lose total control is one of the most frightening things in the world. To let go. You realise as you get older that so much of what made up your life and that you had does not really matter in the end. You do gradually let go of those things as the dross that they were. But to let go of EVERYTHING. Well that really is too much. As your body deteriorates, you have no choice but to let go but oh how it hurts. I do not think I am the sort of person who can let go of life graciously. I think I might fight and rebel. Not that that will do me any good, for I know in the end I cannot fight it.

Every day at around 4 pm I start to have terrible fear. Another day is going, and I will be letting go again but I do not want to. A large part of me wants to run out into the street and LIVE. But I know that this cannot be. I am tied in. It is very frightening.

I hate the dark. I know that all day long I see nothing but darkness, but when night time comes, the dark feels ever darker. I have to try and push my hysteria down. I long for peace. For this fear to go. Letting go is horrible. I hate the unfamiliar and we are entering the unfamiliar at the end of our lives.

I plan to live until I am in my nineties, but I think my body is deciding otherwise. It is so scary.

WHAT I DID IN LINCOLN. A 10 mile walk to the cathedral

I had forgotten about this adventure before. When I was fifteen years old I belonged to a Youth Fellowship. There was to be a special event at Lincoln cathedral for young people and it drew people from all over Lincolnshire and farther afield. We all got on a coach from our town and it dropped us off ten miles from Lincoln. We had to walk the rest of the way to the cahtedral. When we got there it was so thrilling to walk into the cathedral and hear the organ pealing out and it was playing Sheep May Safely Graze by Bach. It was an amazing sound and so many young people were all entering the cathedral at the same time from all over the place. I cannot explain exactly how I felt but it was simply thrilling. The fact that we had completed a ten mile walk added to the feeling of triumph. I think that was my first time ever in Lincoln cathedral.

A PUENTE POEM with thanks to SADJE

This is the link to Sadje’s poem –

I craved the love I never had
Yearning longing for its touch
The cruelty I’d known was black
As I stared into the river
I always thought that I was bad
Worthy of the blame
I ached to know forgiveness
Simply for existing

~O Love that wilt not let me go~

One day I found that there was Love
Greater than I had ever known
It was a Love which filled the world
I ate at this Love’s banquet
I knew that it was there for ever
I found eternity
Only Love could heal my soul
And now my heart is full


I wrote about this a little while ago but I am still so frustrated by it.

In a morning I go to my emails to see what everyone has posted and I see ones that I really really want to go to, but when I click on them with my voice over on, it will not take me to that person’s blog and so i cannot like or comment. It really really gets to me because I so want to like and comment on things. I have to wait while my husband can take me there but mostly he does not have the time. He has to help me so much by getting peoples’ comments on my own posts open to me and allowing me to respond and then sending them.

I get so frustrated at being blind and not being able to use a laptop with JAWS on as I believe that works much better for blind people but I cannot use a laptop for various reasons. I used to be able take part fully in WordPress but not now. I know how important interaction with others is and just know that for me it is not so possible. I get bothered by this every morning. Please know that I am reading your posts as much as the email gives me but often it only gives part of the post.

The WP Reader does not work for me with voice over either. Damn.