Nil Sa Saol

24/01/12 20:24

 Dear diary

‘I saw the gap again today, while you were begging me to stay….take care not to make me enter because if I do, we both may disappear’

There is no love in fear

My biggest fear is fear itself. Anger is not only an emotion but an anchor; an ointment to still the throbbing of our wounds. This tourniquet absorbs fear like a supplement and thus it grows and rules leaving no space for reason or compassion, yet it is passionate and loving.

We’ve fought many battles… It is a struggle as the self breathes down my neck hoping that I may slip up and give her gap to surface again. I can never merge with that self if I am to fulfill my curious purpose.

15/07/1994

Dear Diary

‘I will choke until I swallow… choke this infant here before me. What is this but my reflection? Who am I to judge or strike you down?’

There is no love in fear

There is no escaping the monsters although I’m not entirely sure that they are real. Toys are extras in this thriller of incapability. Strawberry is my doll; I hold her face right next to my own then turn to look into my mother’s mirror. Strawberry’s face is vibrant and bright next to my own dull reflection. Through the mirror I see how small I am compared to the vast space filled with scattered furniture… it’s been so long and she still hasn’t called, my own mother doesn’t want me. I smothered her with all my love so she left, to teach me a lesson, so that I may know anger and resentment.

It distorts; the face that used to smile is dark, my eyebrows clamp together and a tear rolls down my cheek. This chest starts throbbing and my throat is tight and lumpy, mimicking my fantasy as I seek the strength to choke this reflection to death. I know anger so where is she?

In my mind I smell her perfume; she reaches out, touches my face and the anger subsides.

She may be gone but I am hers and therefore I must take care of this girl and overcome the longing to hate, judge and hurt her petite infant.

But you’re pushing and shoving me.

You still love me, and you push it on me.’

“Gin!”

No! It can’t be.

This was it?

“Gin, honey? Mommy’s home!”

I am stumped and my throat tightens some more. In a split second the self takes over with an emotionless expression.

“Aww sweetie! Come here, mommy’s home now and she isn’t going anywhere.”

Most little minds would be thrilled, happy, crying. I want her to get away, to stop touching and smothering me, I have so many questions…

“Say something baby, come on… mommy’s missed you she loves you so much. Hug me now will you?”

She clutches onto my clothes and pulls me, she pushes me.

(At that instant I knew; I knew what fake smiles looked like… I knew how to lie!)

“It’s ok mommy!”

The anger burns through my veins as I slowly get closer to her with a hug.

“That’s ok mommy, I love you too!”

11/04/2009

Dear Diary

‘Rest your trigger on my finger

Bang my head upon the fault line.

Take care not to make me enter,

‘Cause if I do, we both may disappear.’

There is no love in fear

Memories are the music videos of our past, only the instrument that triggers them is not a remote, no one hears your mind slipping way back as the faint smell of humidity fused with medicine kills your perception of time. It thrusts you right back into the arms of that dark, daunting space of yourself as your half grown hands shove at your Dad’s lifeless body for the last time; the smell takes me right back to when I stood there not even wanting to hold her back… I needed her darkness and anger; I needed not to feel pain. It was an easy goodbye, no tears… only that invisible rope around my throat. I don’t remember the last time I told him that I love him, but he knows now…I really hope he does.

‘Slipping back into the gap again, I’m alive when you’re touching me…

Alive when you’re shoving me down.’

My pillar faded with the sunset today, he lay as obedient as I had ever seen him in the ambulance as they drove off. The night brought with it the comfort of the arms I had longed for. I look for anger, I turn my heart inside out to try and bring it out, but her hands soothe and nurture, and for this moment she loves me again. I can’t breathe as she suffocates me with the arms of peace and the breath of mist, she responds to my body and I am willing to gasp just like this for as long as I live.

‘But I’d trade it all for just a little bit of peace of mind’

Hers are the eyes I look into as I force my own to open up. Our love remains nothing but a stolen moment as she sits up and calls me ‘friend’. There will be no peace now in my mind or in my heart so the two of me rise and walk away.

26/02/2011

Dear Diary

‘Put me somewhere I don’t want to be;

Seeing someplace I don’t want to see;

Never want to see that place again…’

There is no love in fear

There are shadows along the wall and they seem almost synchronized. I recognize them and I move along knowing that one of them is mine. I close my eyes and I go back into the forest where the ‘Jedi’ mind pulls me out from the tombs of ‘Krom’*. My body feels pleasure while my spirit cries and I am afraid to stay in the forest, afraid to taint the purity I found. Self registers spirit and recognizes the undeniable bond between fog, magic, love and fear. Reality is hot, wet and dirty, oh but now I know… concrete, ancient truth.

‘If when; I say I may fade like a sigh if I stay, you minimize it anyway then; I must persuade you another way.’

A woman’s silence says much according to her circumstance. Shakespeare is resurrected through the movement of my lips while the self attempts to choke and kill contentment. I see the gap I have left and I know the war is inevitable just as I realize that this battle will be the last regardless of the outcome.

24/01/12 23:59

 Dear Diary

 

‘Staring down the hole again

Hands upon my back again

Survival is my only friend

Terrified of what may come’

There is no love in fear

Education is the artillery with a lifetime guarantee and language is the indestructible force barging bravely through borders, barriers and between cultures, enabling a leniency towards others and their spirituality or the lack thereof. The old self turns her back to me, and the new self synchronizes with the movements of the old. Fear is now a polka dot skirt around the two, walking hand in hand with certainty.

A rainbow is most prominent in the act of letting go, of coming to terms with one’s own heart which loves, hates and sins even in purity…until the colours mix to create our own shade of grey.

‘Just remember I will always love you; even as I tear your throat away, but it will end no other way’

 

Darkness is the product of light when light willingly goes back to sleep in order to heighten the appreciation for both in amongst all living things.

You must go where I cannot,
Pangur Ban, Pangur Ban,
Nil sa saol seo ach ceo,
Is ni bheimid beo,
ach seal beag gearr.
Pangur Ban Pangur Ban,
Nil sa saol seo ach ceo,
Is ni bheimid beo,
ach seal beag gearr.
  – **

Life is mist. Life cannot be without a beating heart, yet mist cannot be without fear, just as a heart cannot beat without love.

 

*Krom – ref: Irish Myhology
 
** Aisling’s Song – http://thesecretofkells.wikia.com/wiki/Aisling’s_Song
 
Ref: Tool – Pushit (Salival 2000) lyrics
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Inspiring Hopeless

By Nimue Brown

Hopeless Maine, for anyone who hasn’t encountered it, is the island setting of a graphic novel series. www.hopelessmaine.com It’s dark, full of strange magic and peculiar creatures. Iva asked me to blog about what inspired it.

Tom always likes to claim joint ownership, but really speaking, this is his island. I just came along and filled in a few details, worked out a few explanations, that sort of thing. Mostly it doesn’t feel like making something up, it feels like a real place that sends me postcards now and then. In the beginning, Hopeless was a peninsula, not an island. I’m not sure when it changed. The gothic gloom, the fog, the creatures, are like a dark mirror reflection of how Maine is. There are a fair few horror writers from Maine – Stephen King most notably, and Tom’s explanation is that it is a creepy sort of place, and this is just a natural reaction to it. Having flown over Casco Bay and seen the islands, and a lighthouse that looks a lot like ours, I have a keen sense of a magical, mysterious landscape, a bit alien to me, very remote.

There is another strand in the creation of Hopeless though, and that’s my landscape. Back when Tom was on one side of the Atlantic and me the other, I’d sometimes help by looking out visual references for him. He’d ask what a space might look like, and I’d make suggestions. About the worst thing you can hear as a creative person is ‘oh, do what you like!’ Some kind of focus or direction is always helpful. I used to send Tom images from the town I grew up in – Dursley. The same Dursley that inspired a certain muggle family for a certain wizarding boy, as it happens. Hopeless Maine, as a consequence, is a strange amalgam of actual Maine, the English Cotswolds and the things we found in our heads.

Much of it comes out of playing with each other. One of us does a thing, and the other picks that up and does something to it, and passes it back. By this means creatures, landscapes and stories evolve. Tom drew some ruins, I had to figure out who built them, new stories resulted. It’s a very chaotic, organic sort of process.

These days, I will confess, we do a lot of our most creative thinking work in bed. Our life is quite tough physically, some days we fall into the duvet so wiped that we can’t move. When I get that tired – and this is probably true of other people too – things happen to my brain. Tom calls it ‘being punchy’ but correlations form where no logical connections should be made, and all kinds of ideas flow. Lying in the darkness, we ask what if? And why? And could you put goggles on it? Most of what we talk up in those strange, semi-comatose conversations never sees the light of day, but every now and then an idea turns out to be strong enough to survive the light of the following day, and some have enough legs to clamber out of our heads and get themselves established in the world.

I have a fantasy about getting together a few of my favourite creative people for something a bit like a sleepover. Professor Elemental, Edrie Edrie, and Dr Geof are high on my current wish list, and then, pyjamas, and pillows and barely awake conversations. I think the consequences would be wild!

In terms of themes and ideas underpinning Hopeless (to get back on topic), those are very much shared. We wanted to explore what effect apathy and little acts of carelessness and unkindness have. Most evils are not very big, after all, and the larger ones are often made out of the little ones, slowly escalating towards a banal, complacent kind of horror. The normalising of cruelty and indifference, the rationalising of hate are all things that I want to explore and challenge. We knew from the start that we wanted a heroic tale that was not like superhero tales at all, and that hangs on the characters. Salamandra does have magical powers, but she doesn’t really have any drive, or ambition, she’s just muddling along. As the story unfolds, it’s the non-magical Owen with his overwhelming desire to make things better, who really drives the action. That’s important to me. All the magic in the world, is of no use at all if you aren’t using it. All the talent, skill and genius imaginable are of no use if you have no sense of direction, no ambition.

We also wanted to tell a good story, that would entertain people, and hopefully inspire others a bit. That’s one of the functions of it all being a bit grim. The darker the night, the brighter the stars shine, and the descent into darkness is often a quest to find light. It’s very hard to make sense of anything without seeing the contrasts, and so Hopeless, is very much a story about hope, in a roundabout sort of way.

Finding Nimue

There are not many things that inspire me actually. This means that every time I find something that does seem to stimulate the creative flow, I tend to keep it as closely as I possibly can. Among the chaos I am lucky enough to stumble upon something really great and worthwhile along the way.

All in all however art is the pinnacle of most of the individuals who inspire me, be  it the art of writing, of singing, drawing, painting, loving or teaching… after all there are so many different forms of art. I believe that everything we do could be seen as a form of art, I am quite sure I’ve mentioned this before. My creativity is still at its worst, but the aim of this blog is to give thanks to those who had inspired me enough to start with Born For Copper just a few months back.

Thinking about all the inspiration that was simply just transferred from a few images and words, a part of me feels rather guilty about the fact that I allowed for a silly dream to devour it all. I am currently reading a fantasy novel called ‘Lord Foul’s Bane’ and it is written by a great man whose name is Stephen Donladson. Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever is the main character and part of why it is taking me so long to finish this book is because I see so much of myself in him… his hate for himself, the anger, the weakness… and once he is thrown into a better world where things are mainly simple and magical, he decides that none of it is real, that he is dreaming and that at any moment now he might wake up to find himself, back in his abandoned house, having to live in constant fear of his leprosy. Waking up and realizing that the white gold ring on his finger no longer represents the ‘Wild Magic’ with which he could save the world, that its power has disappeared and the painful memory of his wife walking out on him returns.

I came across Nimue Brown’s Druid Life blog page one day as I was trying to broaden my knowledge on Druidry. Frankly I had never been a blog reader but something about it grasped me and I found myself unable to stop reading, and with every word I read a certain feeling of contentment and gratitude seemed to soothe my  strained spirit. My curiosity sparked friendly correspondence and soon after that I discovered Nimue and Tom Brown’s Hopeless Maine… So far I do not recall having been more excited about the release of anything as much as I am about this one. If you’re a part of my friend group in SA, you’d have heard all about it, but since SA does not include the rest of the world I thought it might be good to ask Nimue Brown if she would be kind enough to provide us curious souls with more info on Hopeless Maine and what inspired it. She has been awesome enough to go with it so I am very excited about the next post! Really! I am!

Those were my main sources of inspiration, I felt like Covenant does in the Land… now I feel like I have been shaken out of that world and placed right back into my own… this world where nothing is magical or inspiring, just tiresome.

Although lately… my head’s been in the clouds I still feel dead to my words.

So if the next blog seems way more grammatically correct and interesting, it’s because it isn’t mine but Nimue’s.

This is all for today though…

I’m desperately working on my writing problems, I do apologize and thanks for reading!