Jealous Guy

Old words new version. Both John Lennon and Hurray For The Riff Raff. You speak from my heart.

 

I was dreaming of the past
and my heart was beating fast
I began to lose control
I began to lose control
I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh my I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy

I was feeling insecure
You might not love me anymore
I was shivering inside
I was shivering inside
Oh I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh my I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy

[Whistling]

I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh my I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy

I was trying to catch your eyes
I thought that you were trying to hide
I was swallowing my pain
I was swallowing my pain
I didn’t mean to hurt you
I’m sorry that I made you cry
Oh my I didn’t want to hurt you
I’m just a jealous guy
watch out baby I’m just a jealous guy
Look out baby I’m just a jealous guy

Acts Of Man

Trust Midlake to pen something so great. It mirrors my yearning to return to something simpler. My ground has broken open, from the inside I want to be inside and part of it.
If all that grows starts to fade, starts to falter
Oh, let me inside, let me inside, not to wait
Let all that run through the fields through the quiet,
Go on with their, own with their own hidden ways

When all newness of gold travels far from
Where it had once been,
Born like the earth over years
And when the acts of man
Cause the ground to break open
Oh, let me inside, let me inside, not to wait

Great are the sounds of all that live
And all that man can hold

If all that grows starts to fade, starts to falter
Oh, let me inside, let me inside, not to wait
Great are the sounds of all that live
And all that man can hold

Great are the sounds of all that live.

The Snow Leopard

This one is for my beautiful super moon tonight.

Written about reading Peter Matthiesen’s book of the same title:

“I wanted to write a song that reflected the exalted/frustrated way I felt when reading the book, rather than responding to it in a more literal way. Did you see the “Planet Earth” footage of a snow leopard hunting in the Himalayas? So surreal and beautiful…”

The way is to climb
the way is to lie still
and let the moon do its work on your body

and then to rise
through forests and oceans of lives
and through the way of the black rocks, splitting, wide,
and flow
ten thousand miles.”

well, I’ve had enough,
wasting my body, my life
I’ll come away, come away from the shallows

but can this sullen child,
as bound as the ox that i ride,
climb to the heart of the white wind, singing, high,
and blow
through my frozen eyes?

Do you know what’s really tough?

Only believing that you are deserving of bullying.

Being showered by love is the one and only time you’ve feel it,

Because it’s the one and only time you have,

And now your chance has gone.

 

You think you know that no one will want you.

It’s easy when your hearts been stamped on again and again.

You will continue to be lied to, over and over,

Because you are so small it doesn’t matter.

 

You’ll always tread on eggshells,

Because your being is wrong for this world.

The guilt you carry never lightens,

And they will always know exactly which button to press.

 

It’s an addiction that goes round in a loop,

Empty images and sad songs.

Now they tell these lies to another,

And they’re welcome to them, enjoy the ride.

 

Right now I’m being me, I think,

Being good enough, being loved in the right way,

Breaking the cycle and fixing what was broken,

That bit that was broken before they met the Narcissist.

 

They can’t hurt you more than you hurt yourself,

If there is nothing left but love in it purest.

Dear Narcissist do you know what’s really tough?

Me.

http://thoughtcatalog.com/john-w-howell/2013/05/a-narcissists-love-letter/

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The Art of Slow

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Well I’ve chatted a lot about the negativity of chronic illness, I’ve also searched hard for the positive.

Recently I’ve managed to find myself in crisis, one of those moments when it never rains but pours. I made a list of ‘losts’:

  • My health
  • My work
  • My heart
  • My home

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Pretty huge things and I don’t have much left. But to reexamine the list, stop and breathe has truly been insightful. Despite my stubbornness I’ve been forced to halt and reassess.

  • My health  I do less things and a slower pace. These are things that I enjoy.
  • My work I transfer my skills to find something that fits with the above. Work is about love not money.
  • My heart It’s about time I stop letting others destroy me and love myself. In turn I make room for good people.
  • My home I simplify my home and living to make it work for me and love everything within it

So I welcoming ‘The Art Of Slow’ whatever this means! I’m discovering it day by day as a personal journey. Adapting to the seasons and the needs of each day as it comes. Savouring moments and building them into something special.

To start off I’m going to do a few of these 25 suggestions to savour November

Thank you chronic illness, you gave me the gift of slow…

 

The Hill

The past few days are the biggest rollercoaster. I’ve laughed and cried with people all week and discovered that I maybe a ‘good’ person. I’m finding that bit hard still. I realise how much I am still learning and unlearning. The boat has been nudged in a slightly different direction and though I’m still me it’s moving somewhere slightly different.

I have more love and thanks and respect than in humanly possible for strangers who have shown me nothing but kindness. Friends for life even if we never meet again, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You know who you are if you read this, as I hope you will.

I still don’t feel at all well and last night almost wobbled off this world but I I know there is more and the light that was so painfully snubbed out recently is returning.

Markéta Irglová says it better than I ever will..

Walking up the hill tonight,
When you have closed your eyes.
I wish I didn’t have to make all those mistakes, and be wise.
Please try to be patient, and know that I’m still learning.
I’m sorry that you have to see the strength inside me burning.

Where are you, my angel now?
Don’t you see me crying?
And I know that you can’t do it all!
But you can’t say I’m not trying.
I’m on my knees in front of him!
But he doesn’t seem to see me.
With all his troubles on his mind, he’s looking right through me.
And I’m letting myself down beside this fire in you!
And I wished that you could see I have my troubles too!

Looking at you sleeping,
I’m with a man I know.
I’m sitting here weeping, while the hours pass so slow.

And I know that in the morning, I have to let you go.
And you’ll be just a man once I used know.
For these past few days someone I don’t recognize.
This isn’t all my fault!
When will you realize.

 

Hawthorn (Maytree)

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She awoke.

It was so dark she didn’t know if she was really there.

She inhaled.

Her face full of the metallic earth, all mud, and rain, and rot.

She twitched.

Her fingers grasped the crisp mulch that seeped into her clothes.

She rose.

It was so dark her eyes could only make out shades of black and blue.

She felt.

Her hand reached up to her matted hair and pulled at a leaf.

She blinked.

The shadows became giants, then trees so tall they scraped the sky.

She noticed.

How much more she could see if she stopped and waited.

She discovered.

The moon shone between the holes in the canopy providing just enough.

She moved.

Clambering to her feet she stretched her damp limbs.

She listened.

Around her the world was slow but more noisy than she ever knew.

She considered.

The path ahead was her way out, why she had come here; to die.

She turned.

The path back from where she came still remained.

She paused.

As she did her eye caught sight of a tree; clusters of flowers as bright as the stars.

She was drawn.

It seemed to become the night sky, full of hope in the dark.

She neared.

And walked with open arms into the mass of branches discovering thorns sharp and true.

She cried.

Each snare snatched at her clothes and tore at her skin, but she pushed forward.

She persisted.

Feeling something ok was on the other side, knowing it was something different.

She emerged.

On the other side of the hawthorn there was a path she hadn’t seen before.

She bravely walked.

With leaves in her hair, the moon in her eyes, and blood on her skin.

She began.

A new life on a path she didn’t know but one that could never be the one she’d trod before.

#SeekingBeauty

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Right now I’m no words all emotion. I’m genuinely 💔  for America (and the rest of the world). We are a global community and need to extend our love beyond it’s borders.

My dear friend Beth @wisewordsfest posted her son’s wise words: “If we all stand close to the people that are unkind then they’ll learn from us how to be kind. If we are all a long way away they will never see that being kind works better” – he’s 5 going on a 105 in wisdom.

There’s so much truth and hope in his words. So let’s all take stock and breathe. We need baby steps to figure out this crisis on humanity. As part of my recent breakthrough in recovery I started using the #seekingbeauty. Finding small and beautiful sights and moments in the day. Please use it too and share all these tiny things that make the world a better place in the comments below or with me on instagram. If you use the # or tag me I may share a few of my faves in a future blog post.

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Stay on my shore

I often visit the sea in a little boat in my dreams and when I meditate. There’s more on this to come soon. I love the words in this beauty. At the moment my boat is broken out on the rocks. But I’m letting the smoke do the cleaning, the pages of my story are about to begin. Happy adventures all.

Stay on my shore, and don’t desert me
And if you go, the wind will blow you back to me
And if your boat is broken out on the rocks
It wasn’t anger but a longing
We feed the birds, syrup and seed
So they stay near, so we can see

Flashing red and blue amid the green
When the fruit has long since rotten
Rolled in the needles and wrecked our skin
Gave it all to be empty
Wrapped in leaves, wet and clinging
In reeds, so holy

We split the cord
Of cedar and holly
And lie indoors
Let the smoke do the cleaning
And sweeten our skin with the salt and a stone
There’s the pages of our story

Joan Shelley

Hero

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Dear America, thinking about you all tomorrow and your ‘American Dreams’. Keep fighting, I hope the election is better than we can all hope and a little more kindness and a little less judgement is exercised. All of us are fighting the same battle, go vote and make your voice part of your future.
america
Let me go
I don’t wanna be your hero
I don’t wanna be a big man
Just wanna fight with everyone else
Your masquerade
I don’t wanna be a part of your parade
Everyone deserves a chance to
Walk with everyone else
While holding down
A job to keep my girl around
And maybe buy me some new strings
And her a night out on the weekend
And we can whisper things
Secrets from our American dreams
Baby needs some protection
But I’m a kid like everyone else
So let me go
I don’t wanna be your hero
I don’t wanna be a big man
I Just wanna fight like everyone else
Oh
So let me go
I don’t wanna be your hero
I don’t wanna be a big man
I Just wanna fight with everyone else
Your masquerade
I don’t wanna be a part of your parade
Everyone deserves a chance to
Walk with everyone else
Family of the Year