is opinion fact if we want it to be?

This blog didn't turn out anything like I had originally imagined or intended, if indeed even if such events as intention or imagination actually took place in my brain, or as some might call it, the mind.

There were illusions that my so-called verbal articulacy would somehow magically translate in to the written word was misguided, to say the least. The only thing I know for sure is that I will look back on this post and all the others and most likely cringe, and wonder: "Who was this so-called author of this so-called blog?"

Justification of previous paragraph.
I have been called 'negative' on occasions.
Say something often enough to a person and they will become it.
The truth. I am actually positive.


In defense of myself.
I made no promises, I did not ask to be born, even if I am glad, in the most part, of the experience of life, I continue to insult, by merely being different, thinking differently, communicating differently. Here's the thing. So does everyone. I am not different, I am the same, and not the same, all in one fell swoop. That last sentence was the self-defence part.

Which leads me to why.
Why do I feel the need to constantly defend myself? The question is rhetoric. Logical.

I am a shit communicator. You see that fourth word there. That proves that sentence.

Why do I bother.
Nothing to lose. I lie, there is always something to be lost.

Really, why do I bother.

I

a drawing

tired of being judged

Invisibility suited her. It was all she ever really felt she was. Invisible. 

super moon eclipse

If rare can be measured. 
You come around more than once in a lifetime. 
The last time you were here it was 1982. 
The next time it will be 2033. 
But I'm glad you did. 
You roused my night, heightened my emotions, made me realise that most people are selfish. 
Most. 
I look at my blue butterfly and the irony makes me smile. 
It represents freedom of the spirit, yet will never use my wrist as a launching pad. 
Trapped forever, thanking it's lucky stars that it's not real. 
If it could thank, or think.
So, Super Moon, so bright and so large. 
Will your power awake me from my slumber, and draw me to you by your invisible silken threads? 
Will I stand by my window and... excuse the pun... moon over you... till the sunlight slowly vanishes your pearl-like image from the waking sky? 
If waking can be measured in day and night. 
I may or may not see you again, the odds are even. 
But one thing's for sure. 
It will be a still and peaceful night, lit by your single environmentally friendly bulb. 
And for that we should all be very grateful. 

F x

Read it or not Sunday - "Mass Hysteria" or simply "Life ain't easy"

I wonder if we're not putting too much pressure on the Western governments, in the wrong way. If we're not displaying a little too much "self-interest". There are bigger issues at large than "who does or does not own the water company". Only we can't see them for the trees. This little island, in my crazy opinion should be allocated as Think-Tank for the Best Global Interest. It has to start somewhere, why not here? A Think Tank is needed, one that thinks outside the box. One that is allocated specifically for A global humanitarian paradigm shift. Wasn't that meant to be Nato's job? Yep, I'm out of my mind. The drug: Life Today. The Big Picture.

I know that might sound a little crazy. Hey, I'm Fiocle- what's new?

Investigating the Milky Way

I came across a question on an FB status today: "What do other English speaking countries call the Milky Way?"

I have latched onto this question in much the same manner as the question was posed, in not-so-quiet desperation. I know this one. Milk in Irish is: Bainne, I wrote. The Way: is An Tra - so it would be logical to think that the answer is Bainne ar an Tra - or something similar. Not at all.

In ancient history, the Milky Way is regarded as a chain by which Lugh could raise the dead to heaven. This is also the name given to the sling which Lugh used to kill Balor. On occassion, referred to as Lugh's Chain.


The Milky Way:

In Spain: Compostela - Field of Stars

In Thailand - The Way of the White Elephant

In Vietnam - The Silver River

Japan - River of Heaven

Sanskrit - Mandakini (calm or unhurried) - my favourite

No matter whatever the Milky Way is named or whatever myths surround it
it remains a constant reassurance that as long as we are able to see it,
(petitioning the clouds on that one)
it will always be there for us as an impartial and beautiful constant.

words

words

some people
don't understand
that words are
only words
that actions
and how you behave
is what matters

words are your mind
filtering through your brain
and they are temporary
tools to get you through a moment

you can take them too seriously
or not seriously enough

just remember words are transient
like everything else
merely temporary

Happy 4th of May Day (it's my blog and I'll cry if I want to)

Google presented some fascinating information today.

The birthday of the guy who invented the piano.

He has a marvelous name: Bartolomio Cristofori. (try saying it)

Translated as Bartholomew, I wonder did they call him Bart?

Bart the piano-maker. Undoubtedly an Italiano.

In five years time there will occur one of those beautiful numerical/wordical coincidences

Bart will be 365 years old, in the amount of years that there are days in a year - bar leap-year.

Leaping rapidly forwards, not only do I love piano music but Google gave me a reason to blog today.

I think that is going to cheer me up quite a lot, or at least keep me ticking over til the next time I need to be inspired.

In the meanwhile: my favourite pianists are: Chopin, Holland, Joplin, Monk, ahhh.... the list goes on, I love them all.

And I ain't going to play a violin story about how I wasn't able to effectively communicate that I would have liked piano lessons as a kid. So I learnt off my friends while they were practicing. Stood there watching on, and they graciously allowed me to sit and play, sometimes. Ok, I'm bigging this up a bit.... I'm no great shakes on the ivories, but I do like to try sometimes. And THAT my dear friends is what it's all about! Trying to do what you love!

Yours in love of life
that's my story and I'm sticking to it,
 Fiocle.

Happy May Day

There is a lot I could say about nothing, but no real reason to say anything much about anything.
Nobody can be very bothered to write one sentence to me without a typo in it these days.
It's not that I don't care anymore, more like, nobody seems to care much, so why should I.

I will tell you why. Birds get animated and sing when they see me walking down the road.
I have had a lot of experiences recently concerning birds. Rare birds have shown themselves to me, probably because the bird world has spread the message that there is always some food on the pear tree.

I refuse to be cynical about birds or any other kind of animal. That's one reason why I still care.
There are many other reasons why I care, but the bird reason is the one I wanted to mention here, now, today. No real reason only that I felt the need to write something and share it somewhere I didn't feel crazy.

26-4-15

she stood on the spot and turned around in a steady spin

500 miles away a helicopter slam-dunked onto a land-mine

when she stopped her world spun around her

it blew into smithereens

It was time to erase

She stood staring towards the mountain for hours, dazed at the notion that none of it had meant even so much as a backward glance at the carnage that he had left in his wake, that they had caused together, that she would be left alone with, and only her to pick up the pieces and do whatever she was to do with them, that which she couldn't fathom. So. With her whole world having crumbled around her, she realised that the only thing that was making her feel these hot tears, the only thing came between her and that, was her memory.

Prayer of blessing

bless this mind
bless this body
bless this inner child
bless this adult

be kind

listen only to these who speak self-truth
hear others similar and different
send only healing thoughts of love and peace

bless the water that you drink
bless the food that you eat

above all today be strong in mind and in body and in spirit

‘There she shook the holy water from her heavenly eyes, And  clamour moistened, then away she started to deal with grief alone’
- gentleman - King Lear

as ever
Fiocle

Message from a roller-skating van man travelling inter-dimensionally

Yesterday's date contained the numbers 12345.  I noticed as I was drifting off to sleep and thinking it was after midnight, I actually thought it was todays date. On a day like that you have to have an interesting experience, it's mandatory.

It happened while walking down the road today. I was thinking as I normally do about random things and this time I began to drift into a memory of when I used to take my sister ice-skating. We had to take two busses, and I being the older was now proud custodian of our mother's beautiful white skates which she wore while being courted by my Dad. These same skates also co-starred in a recurring dream I used to have as a child. My sister is seven years my junior so I liked to do fun things with her when I was allowed.  While I was mentally skating down the cigarette-butt lined concrete paths on the way to get my weekly groceries, my mind suddenly switched to the fun I used to have at a roller-disco with my first boyfriend. Suddenly a van took a left in front of me and turned into the car park which I was approaching, mentally on roller-skates. On the side of the dark green van were written in large white letters - ROLLER-SKATING. I gasped. Was this a coincidence or was this something bigger? I had not thought about roller-skating for many years.
So I hid behind a post and waited to see if the van driver's appearance could give any clues and I was eager to tell someone about what had just happened, but thought better of it.
He came towards the shop smiling, (people rarely smile around here) and went to get himself a trolly. I went inside and began my shopping. The van driver vanished, but the van was still there when I came out. By that time, in the chaos such places render to my mind, I had almost forgotten the incident had happened.

The questions that bug me are these.
Was my mind playing tricks?  First came the thought then out of nowhere comes the visual in the form of a solid. Did my mind conjure this image? Was the image real, or imagined? I did not touch the van and I did not touch the man, and I did not verify the existence with anyone else.

The thought I prefer to think on the topic is that there was someone in another dimension trying to tell me something important or maybe no so important. I know this much though: I spent a lot of the early impressionable watching Dr Who in front of our old two-station black and white TV.

I sure as hell don't know...

...that's for sure
who can remember everything
I can if I try, but I prefer not to


                                              Ban Bullfighting, it's a cruel and evil sport

 

They were both Taurus, the reason I came into the world.
There was a poster in the kitchen something like this only more arty
Did it subliminally destroy their marriage?
I can only ever wonder, because I know I'll never know

 

Ist day of spring

did you hear the cuckoo and did you hear the sound
of rustling nest and baby birds falling to the ground?
did you hear the silence of what will never be
can you hear the lonely wings flapping in its tree
can you hear the leaf fall, rocking to the ground
don't you know love lives forever without making a sound

 Fiocle today

I spent a lot of my childhood in the country-side and there were many myths or sayings which
involved birds. One of them was that spring hadn't started until you heard the sound of the cuckoo,a simple sound which is almost onomatopoeic - I'd have spelled it Cookoo to be more precise.
The Cuckoo is unique in one respect. She lays her eggs in the nests of other birds who hatch and feed the chicklet. Before I had not had the maturity of thought, orthe time, to wonder why this bird behaves this way. If you think about it is extraordinary behaviour among all strange natural behaviours, which raise so many questions. But why should I be surprised?  Humans have been doing it for centuries. Giving birth to a baby and then telling themselves they can't look after it and giving it away for adoption. Why not the cuckoo too? In the secret language between birds does the cuckoo agree terms and conditions with the surrogate parents. Do they get anything in exchange? Nobody knows what goes on Birdworld. I certainly don't claim to and thus this mystery remains just that.







 

Just a poem

I look for letters that have never been written
I wait for friends who will never call
I beg forgiveness for sins uncommitted
I reach for your weak hand when I fall
I listen for your voice on the phone
All I get is the dialling tone

If I was Robinson Crusoe at least I would have something to do, so.
A beast to trap or a palace to build, with no one around to send me ill-will
but I have the clothes upon my back and an animal trap,
because I continue to work to the bone, to make myself some shack of a home,
till the day when I will no longer be alone

But here, it's all words and games, running in my mind with names
of those who have gone before, and those who are here who are here no more
and those who may run in through this open door, of those I cannot be too sure.

Part two (reversi)

I write letters that I never send
I have friends who I never call on
I forgive your sins committed
I reject your strong hand when I'm up
I plug my ears when I hear your voice on the phone
There is no dialling tone

I'm not Robinsoe Crusoe, therefore I have nothing to do, no
No beast to trap nor palace to build, with someone about to give me a thrill
yet I have no clothes upon my back, no animal trap
I don't work myself to the bone, nor make myself some shack of a home
til the night when I will be alone

But there it's all silence and stillness, outside nameless time
of these who are yet to come, and those who are still here
and thee who walked out of this open door, of that I can be sure






 

It's International Women's Day today and unlike Valentine's Day and other "card days" I think this one is important.

I knew this woman who had been accused of many things.

- hating men because she needed to defend herself from attack
- of being a racist because her attacker was a different race
- of being a slut because she was attractive
- of being a precocious child into causing someone to want to try and groom her for child sex
- punished for walking away from the situation - told that if she said anything she would never see her family again
- abandoned by her parents at a young age
- yelled at, ignored, lied about, lied to..... need I go on?

I asked her - Do you think any of these things would have happened to you if you had been a boy?
Her reply - Maybe so, I don't know.

I am sure there are many boys who have been treated equally as badly by women, and I don't think there should be a gender stereo-typing about abuse. Also this is the perfect opportunity to say that this woman who has been through the mill in her life, should be a bag of flour by now - but she isn't and here's why:

She felt empowered by others. This empowerment gave her back her courage. A part of this empowerment came from the society she lived in.
A society where a woman had social freedoms. A society of women who had fought for equal rights with men.

This is one reason why International Women's Day is important. 

the mystery in the family history

I have been teasing certain members of my family about a snippet of info which was lurking between the lines of a genealogy book which was written about both the Massachusetts branch and the Irish branch of the Clements family tree. The common ancestor between the two sections was Robert. Robert had been married three times. His much loved first wife was Lydia with whom he had shared seven children had died in 1642. There is no record of why she died and there is also no record of her surname:
Her Tombstone reads:
IN MEMORY OF LYDIA CLEMENTS BURIED IN THIS CHURCHYARD 1642 WIFE OF ROBERT CLEMENTS WHO MIGRATED TO NEW ENGLAND 1642 AND BECAME ONE OF THE FOUNDERS OF HAVERHILL MASSACHUSETTS
It  is interesting to notice that nowhere in any of the documents is Lydia's birth family name uttered or mentioned, therefore it will be difficult to find out who exactly she was, other than wife and mother of Clements.

The same year Robert had decided alongside his eldest son Job, that they would move with the remaining children to the New World. (ie. East Coast America)

The two youngest sons, Abraham and Daniel, both eventually found themselves landed on the shores of Waterford, Ireland, via the current army of the time, Cromwell's. They were just eighteen and twenty years old respectively, mere boys, who had been conscripted. All families had to enter at least one family member into the

Rather than stealing land from the Native Americans, they had met with a local tribe and bought the land for x amount of money. There was a river running through it (just like in the film of the same name), I love the romance about that. The decision to leave Lancaster, was not because of poverty or to 'better' themselves, it was to run away from their grief concerning their beloved wife and mother, and to have a new beginning. I view this as an act of love, rather than an act of trying to conquer a new land. There is another reason, and that was the political and religious oppression of the times.
I quote Percival: XX

Another blog will reveal more about subsequent generations after their arrival, which is fascinating and almost unbelievable. For now, I must post this as promised.

Meanwhile our long lost, already departed ancestor Percy Clement-Wood from MA took it upon himself to investigate into the Irish branch of the family, how we got there, when and why. Nothing we didn't already know, but I admire that he had taken an interest as the majority of the original siblings had gone with their father to co-found the town of Havershill on the river Merrimack. This is where the eldest son , Job, must have have taken an exploratory trip and bumped into the tribe who they eventually bought the land from.
I felt blessed and relieved to find out that this was the case and that they had not stolen land through force.

In my travels through his book (of which I had been presented on a CD/DVD) I discovered the actual piece of paper on which the deed was sealed signed and delivered.

I also came across his discovery concerning the roots of the English branch of the family and had traced the name right back to The Wars of the Roses. That sure is a pretty name for a war.

This is where my little secret comes into play....

The name stops with Clement Baker of the Peak.
Before his two sons went off to fight for \Henry Tudor, in tribute to their own father,
they changed their surname from Baker to Clement, and this is the root of the current family name.
Had they not done this, we would be merely Bakers which would have suited me fine, because I do like to bake my own bread!

signing off as Fiocle Baker
(for no particular reason)

(I have yet to find out where The Peak actually is ( It could possibly be somewhere in South Wales, on the top of a hill, which is ultra-cool)

The need to understand

Rape is a topic which people shy away from or maybe not, I don't even know. It makes them feel uneasy and so it should. It makes me feel uneasy. More than that, not only is it one of the most abhorrent violations of the human body, but of the spirit.

Some live their whole lives feeling forced into denial about what has happened to them. It could be seen as being easier that way. But it isn't really. The oppressed emotions, the trauma, affects almost every aspect of a person's life, changes them irretrievably.
If it has happened to you, you should know that it was not your fault. It just takes one person to say: "You must have brought that on yourself." to devastate you and cause you to sink into a deeper sense of self hate. If people close to you don't offer up sympathy or compassion, dump them - you're better off alone. Someone who reads this, decide for yourself, but that is my experience.

Talking about it in a secure environment helps. It took me a long long time to get to the frame of mind to do so. It can take a long while to feel safe enough to express yourself openly, because one of the losses attached to this, is Trust. Isolation is also a factor. Even though you know you are not the only one, the isolation comes from feeling misunderstood. An understanding person can make all the difference. While talking about it is hard, brings back the painful emotions, (which actually don't really ever go away) There is some relief in looking at the situation from a different perspective, and helps to free that block of old emotion weighing you down and get it out into the ether. Let the ether take care of it. It is not a cure though. There is no cure - not something anyone want to hear, but helps to know.

I don't like the word 'victim' as it conjures up other words like 'weakness' and 'self-pity', the need to be molly-coddled and patronised. Others might tell you "Pull yourself together" or "You brought it on yourself". The truth is, (if you have survived rape, and can still function, you rock) It is not just 'rape' it is an attack. It may involve being beaten, threatened with your life, being held hostage, subjugated, conquered. It takes a long while to recover from this. Don't get me wrong, you can go about your daily life, even fall in love, have children, work, be creative, but there is always the under-pinning fear that it might happen again to you or worse to one of your loved ones. This causes massive anxiety. I am not going to pretend that by writing this, the anxiety is going to magically disappear because I know it isn't.
You're always looking over your shoulder, sleeping with one eye open, panic attacks. There are moments which trigger the emotional memory, even though you have forced your mind to forget. It could be a combination of elements which are memory triggers, and though they can't be avoided it is useful to know what they are, so at least you can understand what is happening to yourself, even if no one else does. Not doing this can make you think you're going crazy and there has been many a time when I have thought just that.

There is no happy ending, there never is. The best that can be done, is to do as much as can be done to recover. It is never going to have not happened. You are never going to feel great, or have a great day. What you can do is have the best day possible, and accept anything better than bad as good.

One of the dangers is that you stop worrying about what people think because your self-esteem drops to rock-bottom.  The problem with this lack of caring of what people think of you, is the possibility of losing your boundaries. Not caring what people think will leave you socially isolated with no friends and in an even worse place than you might have been otherwise. Pushing people who you are in danger of getting close to away.  A lot of effort has to be put into regaining these. If not, the same thing is likely to happen again, at least there is more chance of it. So you reel yourself in tight, real tight. You get to the point where you isolate yourself, or try to at least, in an attempt to feel safe. This has an adverse effect. Isolation is not necessarily a safe place to be, especially for a woman alone.
Unraveling the 'tightness' has to be taken slowly and carefully. But it is possible to do up to a point and you have to keep on keeping on, regardless.

It is important to point out that this thing that has happened. You should not allow yourself to be defined by it. It is a part of who you have become since, but it is not who you are. You are still you. Still the same you that you were before and this is a bump in the road.

If this post helps even one person - my job is done.