Weaving a Nest

I have long been fascinated by the idea that we perhaps, have 12 senses, rather than just the 5 that we are all so familiar with. It was Rudolph Steiner that first proposed this intriguing concept. I just love this post here at Fairy Dust Teaching that explains it all so beautifully. Having been raised in very conventional ways, myself- this news is thrilling to me. Suddenly, everything makes so much more sense, now that the missing bits have been delivered. It's like only ever having a set of five primary coloured crayons, kept in a very skinny pencil case, with which to colour in the world- so limiting. And then, quite suddenly, being presented with a complete rainbow box of delicious pastels to work with- everything changes.
I really like this homeschooling diagram as it puts the development of the 12 senses through childhood in to very helpful perspective.

And this is why I believe that a "good" childhood is so vital, a child's well-being is woven strand by strand with fine threads & teeny stitches in to a belief & value system that will travel with her the rest of her life. It may seem a very strange metaphor, but this belief system is much like a healthy pelvic floor- elastic & supportive & beautifully constructed to hold all the vital organs of creativity in place- effortlessly. The fabric of childhood values, is in fact, not crafted by the child, but woven by others around her. She may offer small snippets to be added in to the creation, but she is not the architect, nor is she in charge of the project. Some of the materials used are imperceptibly passed on by other generations, others are absorbed in to the fabric simply through the close & seamless bond with mothers & caregivers, as for some long time the little one does not see herself as separate from the mother, but as one & the same. Which is why I inadvertently absorbed so much of my mother's self hatred & melancholy. As a child you have no idea what is normal or healthy, or if it is not, it's just your life. Some of us are offered beautiful life blankets woven with love, richness & great skill, that we carry with us in to the adult world gratefully. Others are offered blankets of discordant colours & materials that may be scratchy & itchy & cause us no end of trouble & discomfort & do not serve us well. It is a very difficult thing to find yourself with a dumb life blanket. And the truth is, we are not at liberty to just throw the thing away, it's ours whether we like it or not & we must figure out for ourselves how we will re-craft the offering, in to a support that will more graciously sustain us. This work may mean a life time of unpicking.
I have come to observe that many people receive perfectly fine life blankets, others have a good bit of work making do & mending theirs, and then there are the others- the scapegoats & black sheep who have to face the truth that what they have been offered will harm, kill or disable them if they don't deconstruct the blanket almost entirely. The reason that we are not at liberty to simply burn the offensive thing is that by now it has also become part of our emotional & physical body.
I have become very aware of a troubling phenomena of recent times, as I observe many people around me suffering- really, really struggling with unsolvable, incurable health issues. And in every case I note that the life blanket given to them in childhood is a toxic/scratchy one. I  have struggled for the last 30 years with a lack of vitality & an inability to resolve health issues & become fully well myself, no matter what I have done to try & help myself, until now...now that I have fully separated myself from a father who intends me nothing but ill-will & has done so for over 40 years. You see, it never stops in childhood- the toxic thing, it goes on & on- sticking to your life life like dog poo on the bottom of your shoe. You cannot just simply, pull your socks up & get over such things.
Those who are so damaged that they have nothing to offer their offspring other than life blankets embedded with utterly inappropriate poison apples, are to be pitied.
Their legacy to their victims is a perpetual & gnawing sense of un-belonging & abandonment that follows us in to every nook & cranny of life, never allowing us rest. As a consequence we end up in a state of heightened anxiety & nervousness, struggling to trust others & the goodness in life- we long for even a little of the happiness & sunshine that others seem to so readily gather around themselves. Once activated by the life threat, we come to discover that the panic switch is set to always on & alert, & our rest & restore function is rendered faulty or broken.
So, how do these parentally disordered human beings come to be this way?
I cannot tell you.
All I do know is- that when you reach old age you have a lived your life daily, thirty thousand times over, making one choice, one response of love or contempt, kindness or selfishness- one decision at a time. How we came to have three such people within our family life, I also cannot tell you.
It has been a long 30 years of suffering the consequences, but we have done the work, we have used the tools that we have managed to dig up or find for ourselves & we have methodically bent our heads & worn down our fingers as we unpicked the corrupted & ugly threads & we have rewoven them with feathers & usnea & sheep's wool & joy. Snip, snip pull. Warp, snip, pull, discard, weft. Snip, snip pull, discard. Warp & weft.
It's not enough to proclaim "tell me if I ever start to behave like that!" the ink is indelible- the threads must be cut & pulled.
At various times through the years we have looked up from the work- to rub our aching necks & pause to consider what home means to us, what love means to us, what feeling safe means to us & what would healing from it all really look like.
Well it looks like this: photo credit: Linda Hallinan

 A work of art & perfection. Cleverly, beautifully crafted, little by little until the very best nest is formed. And it always fits the family, the person it is made for- just right.
I love too, the way that my beloved Wild Carrot (Queen Anne's Lace) mimics the nest- flowers giving way to seed & closing in on themselves to form a beautiful, natural womb of protection for the mature seed of her making. One of the golden threads of nature is the miraculous- humans don't always know that they can be part of the same lovely plan.

When we came across that lovely Danish concept of Hygge- making life cosy & warm, we were so delighted & we set about infusing our lives with as much Hygge as we could muster. Recently we came to see that the fundamental thing that must be in place before Hygge makes any difference at all, is the state of The Nest. We each get to craft our own nest through our adult years, but we will only do a fine job of this creation if we have truly assessed & dealt to the state of the life blanket we we've been given so long before.
The first of the 12 senses is The Sense of Life, or The Sense of Wellbeing.
Fairy Dust Teaching suggests that one of the fundamental things that children long for is a rhythmic life-
"And it is the rhythms that hold life- rising and setting of the sun, seven days a week, the cycle of the moon, the twelve months in a year- that we build our rhythms upon. Children require rhythm and actually long for it!! The more rythmical the life of a child, the healthier that child."

Here in this home we return again and again, as beloved children to the basic threads, materials for building a cosy nest- the scents & the beauty of seasonal flowers growing in our garden.

 The wonder of lettuce going to seed.

 The gratitude for the delicious Red Shiso that volunteers each summer in cracks all about the garden.

 The medicinal plants like yarrow...& the visitation of bees.

Seeing once again the wonder of the process of metamorphosis right before our eyes.

 Knowing, always knowing that Lucy is just there, keeping company with the hydrangea Bloody Marvellous. Lucy feels like home- always.

 Eating a rainbow from the garden- because there's nourishing magic in such food.

 Standing in awe before an echinacea flower- such astonishing form.

 Gathering so much glorious summer produce from our little community garden down the road, then sharing it with others.

Harvesting Kawakawa fruits from the school down the road & eating breakfast with joy.

 Gathering wild flowers for their colour explosion. Wow!

 Picnicking by the river at Sacred Hill in the heat of summer, having taken the time to prepare delicious food for our dinner.

Marvelling at the setting sunlight through double Thalictrim blossoms.

 Holding the nourishing gift of red clover blossoms- also offerings from the summer garden.

 Bothering to peel the mountain pawpaws & making Nan's old Fruit Delight dessert recipe with them.

 Taking the time to carefully collect one of every begonia blooming in pots. Their petals are tangy & lemony & so much fun in salads.

 Sitting a sunflower head on a wee seat- like an important visitor.

 Reading snippets of fabulous books like Apples for Jam to each other, warms our hearts & makes us feel loved.

Memories-
"There's children's laughter escaping through the iron gates & past the oleander, and the daffodils, sprinkling on the just-cut lawns that line the road and fluttering up to me through my open window, falling over my shoulder's like fairy glitter. And that atmosphere of sleeping head to tail in trains and on holiday, and knocking on walls to see if others are still awake". Tessa Kiros

 Staying to watch the moon come up even though it's long past tea time & then running to the car 'cos we're freezing.

 These are the threads of life that we now weave- rhythmically, daily, joyfully.
Vintage French enamel bucket- op shop find.

Because all that really matters are the moments- knowing that you are loved, will always be loved & you are truly, fully awake & alive.

The moments...

"Observing freedom" 

 Captured in a split second by David (son). Click photo to enlarge
 Life. Gift to see.

Moulin Rouge sunflower in Matthew's amazing, productive garden.
Photo- Matthew (son).
Life. Gift to see.

Also snapped in a moment of time. Setting sun. Effects- produced by Australian wild fires.

Photo- mother. Life. Gift to see.

Photo- father. Me age 59. Life. Gift to see.

When The Nest is woven with threads of love, kindness, care & acceptance...warmth naturally comes to fill it & grace abides.

Life

All is well.

Giving The Fairy Feet

I've never really been a wishful thinker or a flibbety-gibbet. I'm not a dreamer or a schemer, nor do I get lost in fairytales. I would have liked a happy life.

Just that.

But we don't get to chose our heritage, do we. We are given what we get!

And then it's our work to do, to resolve, heal & redeem.

My journey has been hard. Many times I have nearly drowned, yet here I am, having plumbed to the bottom in the murk, now gliding in calm clear waters.

The tools I need to build with are now in my hands, the strength is in my back & the fairy now has feet, at last.

I am well practised in the language of authenticity & the arts of imperfection. I have let go all the structures & the judgments of the past & I now rest.

I rest in being me; fully.

In the early days of blogging I "met" a dear kindred soul who wrote at Fading Grace. Many are the metamorphoses of Sophie who quite recently wrote this truly charming dedication to her followers & friends over at 
hettie brown : 

...."It seems a shame to me to give way, to the more popular, more stylish, younger, thinner, perfect bloggers, although they too have their place. What about the not so perfect, the slightly wonky, the ones who admit to their failures and crapness at times, I think we are worthy too.

So I continue to scribble away here, with my heart on my sleeve, with my successes and total pants failures. I am being brave, I have no idea who reads it, and some idea of those who do who i wished didn't.  When i dont write , I miss it, when I stop missing it, Ill stop writing.....

So I dedicate this blog and all its writings from this post onwards to the

Wonky, broken people who happen to stop by,
to the shy and introverted, and maybe not so,

who always drop their dinner down their fronts and mostly look like they've been dragged through a hedge backwards,

to those who wear big knickers and knit their own socks,

who are fraying and maybe greying a little round the edges......

To all the misplaced souls who strive for perfection and never quite reach it

I write this blog for you

Love

hettie brown"

Here I am one of the wonky & not quite so broken ones, only dropping my dinner down my front on occasions. As to the big knickers...well you'll never know!

Sophie's words make me feel right at home; found.

Another friend passed on the writings of Jeff Brown on Facebook about New Year. Every day I am encouraged & expanded, empowered & strengthened by what I read.

It's about giving the fairy feet.

It's about finding romance in the naked fires of everyday life.

Oh yes!

Jeff Brown

(The little ballerina is me, by the way)

So what does all that mean?

It means taking Pollyanna & making here real, grounding her...& I don't mean sending her to her room! As an old Pastor friend once preached....let it work grace.

In the fiery yet enervating heat of summer we fill our paddling pools in the garden & sit & rest & chat, not fussing that there's nowhere to swim. 

We fill our pretty jug with cool water & lemon & we drink!

A little music might be nice...streaming jazz is great, the reception not so much.

So he put the little speaker up here. That's better.

A kindy teacher from way up north kindly sent me some of her giant sunflower seeds. I figured growing up the nice high wall might be good

 but the traitors just stand there waving at the neighbours!

 The birds come & feast on the early figs & they are welcome, yet time & again I go to the tree & find one is being eaten & right beside it one is ripe yet untouched. That's kind sharing, don't you think?

 Bright & early one morning, quite recently, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find...

 a long package containing a stick!
Fortunately the other half was waiting in the letterbox.
Shoes everywhere, leaves & debris scattered all around.....not so perfect (fairy feet)!

A spontaneous & thoughtful gift from my dear & treasured friend Julie who lives a creative, crafty & truly inspiring life near Te Awamutu.

Our birds are so used to us by now, they made themselves right at home immediately.

I have been trying to grow hollyhocks in my garden for years now, without success & especially trying hard to grow the double dwarf variety. I've tried them in all the places I was sure that they would love & even in pots but time after time they would curl up their toes until...just one, grew right here. Apparently they are an oak-leaf variety.

 I have tried some more along Margaret's front fence next door. Some are single, some are double most are quite wonky but they all make the most delightful hollyhock fairies.

 I think I may need face drawing lessons.

 It's easy to walk in to the Garden Centre (Green Door...marvellous place!) & see everything flourishing & vibrant & fabulous & feel discouraged that at home it's all flagging, messy & pooped

 and that the snails have crept out night after night & munched through the middle of your petunias,

 that even though you followed the instructions for pruning hydrangeas to the letter they are so late & lanky & are being very sparing with their flowers, like there's a shortage.

 Sometimes life just feels like the paint spilled in the middle of the plan.

 But then you turn around & look again & there...right there in front of you is the most stunning fragrant beauty that you'd forgotten you even planted & you inhale the heady fragrance & wonder whoever chose the name Heart Broken?

Outside the kitchen window high up in the neighbours elm tree we realise that the tuis have built a nest....right here in town! The tree should have been a golden elm but part of it reverted & got taller & taller & made suckers that come up through our garden...yet, had it not, the tuis wouldn't have built 

right there for us to watch them & hear them feeding their babies.

But even in the beautiful & happy-go-lucky world of the tui things go wonky. This wee one arrived on to the middle of the lawn. early one morning  The parents were extraordinary & we all looked out for him for a week until one day it all became too much, his wing was damaged & he'd never fly. Margaret found him last week under the fig tree, dead but unharmed. So....we rang Anna & she came & collected his wee body & will use the rarely found & beautiful feathers in her flax weaving.

And so...having "got to the bottom of things" in me, it was interesting to notice as I drive past every week the old house, the funny little place where we lived when I was little...where I fell madly in love with feijoas, made my first attempt at concocting perfume, got a little potato stuck up my nose & had to be carted off by flustered parents to see Dr Earle to have it removed, 

where we lived when I first started school & where my best friend Wendy lived just down the road (still a bestie after 53 years!) was empty & being prepared to be removed. 

Just the right time to say goodbye to the past.
Peace.

Everything seems overwhelming in the sweltering heat of summer & we wonder how we normally manage to do life & feel a lot less prickly. Best idea is to plan an hour or two at the river & revive,

however, upon arrival the river banks were busy, someone was in "our" spot, another crowd had their builder's boom box up full bore tuned to the radio & there was rubbish all over the show so...we had a little paddle & a wander round & found another little shady spot to picnic that was quite perfect & very soon the noisy one drove off on his way,

leaving us to gently descend in to peace & tranquility.

Life is just about the moments.
So here's to hettie brown & Jeff Brown (entirely coincidental!) & Pollyanna...to the wonky ones, the cheerful ones, the kindly ones, the ones still getting-to-the-bottom-of-things, to fairies' feet & you.
Much love,
Catherine x0x0x