Medicinalmeadows

medicinal words and pictures


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The Forest ……chapter 6… Storytelling for anxiety and all those feelings…..

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This morning I heard voices. I clung to the table in front of the window and eyed out into the daylight as I saw two people walking briskly by, I remember that, they walked side by side. I froze, they laughed, as they snaked the path into the greenness and were gone. It seems so long since I fixed my sights on other people. They were dressed for hiking with sturdy foot wear, like mine, I remember them stuck in the mud.

You know I wasn’t even sure at this moment that my voice actually still worked, I hadn’t spoke for so long. I hadn’t even talked out loud to myself, not a word, not a hum, a song, a phrase, nothing. I’m now aware that I need to be ready, I need to rehearse my vocal cords.

I have been following a set routine to last the day, finding comfort in the conformity. The cabin now seems familiar and I feel I have come to know every floor board, the ones that creak, where the drafts come in, where the sun rises, the sound of the birds, the stream running at the back of the cabin and the wind and the sound it makes brushing the leaves.

Something is not right within me. I see the world outside, people walking, talking and laughing, I stay quiet within, I hold my breath within, I keep myself within. There is fear within these walls and fear outside of these walls. I no longer have the presence of comfort. I feel I can not rest. So why do I stay hidden when I want so much to be found, to be rescued?

So what is it that I fear the most?

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The Forest… Part 5…Night..

 

The fire is a necessity for warm but it plays on the walls and disturbs me. I keep the back of the chair against the wall and my feet up. My breathing is that of a creature in the forest running from a predator. Every rib over extending, aching from back bone circling to breast with a final stab at the sternum. My stomach tightens pulling inwards bringing a secondary duller pain in the core of me. All muscles from feet to throat pulled to contraction even my neck gripped so tight it was painful to swallow.

The wind, the leaves, the rocking of the branches above the cabin all as if just behind me. I turn sharply. “Nothing, think, think outside not near, it’s all outside not in here. Wind, whistling behind me, not in hear, outside.  I wake an hour or so later. “What happened”? I am tightly wrapped in my blanket, I listen again. Chest tightens, round two begins.

 

 


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Garden of Peace

  magnolia

To feast the day long
Open wide my heart
To ethereal song

Eyes engage to see
The light inside the dawn
The possibility

Beam of true colours
The gateway to heaven
Is found here in others

The path seems so real
The garden on earth, here,
Today, in how I feel

Only now I do tell
Mind, printing paradise
Carries peace where I dwell

 

 


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Daily Prompt: Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

Fountains Abbey

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wasted Days

When time stands still
With hours to fill
Only clouds move by
Till dawn of next sky

Impatience is bound
For a new venture found
As days come to keep
The purpose we seek

The wasting of time
Wishing forward a crime
Anxiousness to weep
As golden days sweep

Longing to move on
A trepidatious song
Only keeps us from joy
With trickery, a ploy

Wishing time to the past
Hours to roll on fast
A life of speeding motion
A pebble in the ocean

Still the mind on track
Minutes, hours, to not lack
The seconds we have today
Are not stolen or mislaid


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Weekly Writing Challenge: Valentine

It seemed appropriate for this Weekly Writing Challenge for me
to share a previous post for the theme of St. Valentine’s Day.
I posted this in December but it seems more relevant for the
February 14th.

Haiku – Flower

dahlia

Hope is in a bud
A flower unfolds to love
Blossoms to dream of

The petals unroll
Like a story to be told
Like a fan unfolds

Elements display
Thought, and message to convey
That words can not say

(Image from Google images)

 


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Weekly Writing Challenge – 23rd December 1993

snow lamp

It wasn’t a problem we were left there together. Two young student nurses trapped in our large old fashioned stone museum of nurses’ past. Just two compared to the noise, the door slamming, music and TV of the usual 100 under one roof.

They all departed by parents’ cars, taxis and bus to return to their homes for the Christmas holidays. All an hours ride home from our Hospital. Just us two, that lived further than an hour’s travel were left. Our journey was the next day, but as we sat at the large window looking down we wondered what we would be doing on the 24rd December. We watched as the snow drifted down. The snowflakes turned to blankets of white cotton, as the ground was covered over in one drape. Everything that was once familiar, the paths to the roads, the rose beds along the driveways, the iron grates to the drains, all disappears to one perfect covering, like glistening white marble.

No entrance path or exit was visible as the tall mast of a street light blinkered and lit. Our home now an island and the two of us desolate within the darkened corridors above the white sea below. Tomorrow’s journey was far more thwart with chance. As the elements now determined our fate, we were at the will of the weather.

Our evening ahead did not fill us with trepidation and worry. Instead we settled on as many cushions and pillows as we could pile up.  We gathered our provisions from parcels delivered earlier that week, homemade Christmas cake, mince pies, Stolen, all sent from our Mother’s kitchens back home. We sat and watched the festive entertainment on TV, the Sinatra and Crosby specials and Carols from Harry Connick Jr. We slept as we were and come morning the paths had been cleared our calls to the main Hospital informed us trains were running and tracks and roads were set for departures. Together we made our first leg of the journey to the city train station. Said our goodbyes and went on our separate ways.

The train was cold, frozen even. Some ice around the window slowly thawed and pooled at my feet. I made it home for Christmas Eve as the day dimmed back to darkness. Our story of two left in the stone museum of our student residential home was not abandonment. To us it was an adventure, an experience to remember all 23rd of Decembers. Homemade cake, companionship and friendship everlasting. Sometimes an experience made through chance can be richer than the end journey itself. It reminds us that all is well, all will be well and that faith takes us to another day.

(Image from Google images)


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Weekly Writing Challenge – “glimmers of a beginning”

This week’s challenge

To recap, here’s what to do for the challenge. As always, feel free to adapt the challenge as you see fit. The object is to get you writing:

  1. Pick three original details from encounters during your day or your week that you’ve observed.
  2. Once you’ve collected your details, your “glimmers of a beginning,” write at least one paragraph containing your original details.

Traditions

Today I read a blog by the Hitch-Hikers Handbook to my husband as we sat drinking coffee organising our day.  It was  about traditions for a Polish Christmas. I particularly liked the well organised structure of celebrations beginning on Christmas Eve. My husband also agreed that our Christmas Day is packed with meeting all expectations. We discussed the Polish way of having our meal Christmas Eve and then to the vigil service at church, but in the end, we have traditions of our own and if we change what we do “we’ll be missed” I said. We have family to meet, and friends home for the holidays, friends with news of their year gone by and time to reminisce about our younger years ….

Later that day,  a tradition of our own is a visit to what the town call the Christmas shop. In fact the shop is open all year round, as an upholstery and furnishings shop, but at Christmas they open all three floors and decorate at least four trees on each floor with vintage Christmas themed gifts, decorations, basically everything under one roof for Christmas. At the shop a friend of ours works behind the counter and jokes that it’s our once a year visit to the shop. We exchange plans for Christmas and where we will meet up next and then she said “as usual she is at her mothers for Christmas day, but her grandfather passed away last week, and he will be missed”. With all the presents and fairy lights it all looks like a joyous occasion but this is also a time to remember those that are no longer with us….. people we miss.

Daylight disappeared with a short display of a pink sky in the distance then the velvet navy clouds hung down like curtains as we passed the sea shore road in the car, on our way home. The sound of the sea could be heard behind a slab concrete barrier wall as waves drummed close to rocky mounds of sea breakers. The car was dark, all but the orange neon lights in places around the dashboard. The radio was playing a Christmas carol, O Holy Night.  A less popular carol I thought but a lovely mesmerising tune heard maybe once in the festive period amongst the top hits or the Sinatra oldies. The sounds had a wholeness effect that seems to penetrate into your chest. You know the one. Of emotional in-pouring that fills you full of smiles from your feet to your eyes where the joy overwhelms and pushes tears  into the corners of your eyes.  The music plays with emotions and the surrounding sound of the elements outside percussioning the shores seemed to soothe, all at the same time.

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