I spent many happy years in ‘the rooms’ – twelve step programmes like Alcoholics Anonymous which help us to manage our unmanageable compulsions. I especially loved the group that meets at the Buddhafield festival, where those of us with different preferred addictions come together and find out what we have in common. Lots, it turns
Yesterday we had a very simple day. We woke in a leisurely fashion, went for a long walk with Aiko, ate a vegan fry-up for lunch, napped, read our books, did a little bit of writing, and had a pizza-and-television evening. I remember several times thinking, ‘I am happy’. It wasn’t because of anything complicated,
Let’s praise the man who upset me yesterday, for showing me a corner of myself which is bitter and hurting, and which needs more soft attention. Let’s praise the battered stalks of kale, stripped naked up to their shoulders, for having spared us some leaves after plumping up several armies of caterpillars. Let’s praise the
He came in the form of our cat Fatty, yelling for his breakfast. He gained his silly nickname almost two decades ago when the vet told us he was a bit too pudgy. It’s become ironic, as he’s a bag of bones. He’s on three kinds of medication. He’s completely deaf, his back legs are
The recipe is saved on my computer as ‘yummy cookies’. They contain a high percentage of peanut butter, and so are short in a way that I miss as a vegan – crumbly and rich and delicious. And generously studded with chocolate chunks, of course. After they came out of the oven and I tested
Today I had the whole morning free to work on my new e-course. I began by setting up the mechanics of the automated emails. I encountered a technical problem, and then another, and then another. Over the course of an hour, a tangled knot formed in my stomach and tightened and tightened. Eventually it exploded
I’m not a natural walker. As a child I couldn’t see the point of walking unless there was something good at the end of it – a park, or maybe a sweet shop. I hoped that getting a dog would encourage me out of your buildings, Earth, and under the high ceilings of your skies.
Us humans are experts at using objects as extensions of our delicate selves. I look in my wallet and think, ‘new gloves for me’. I look at my cat and think, ‘purr for me’. I glance at your autumn colours, a procession of fiery finery, and think, ‘cold out, a cosy evening inside for me’.
I’m not usually an angry person. I can live and let live. And, when people tell me that the facts of global heating or the dying coral are confected conspiracy, darling Earth, I get so angry that I don’t know what to do about it. I’m wondering what’s going on for me. I get that,