The Convent Diaries 21-30
 
 
The Soundtrack!
 
1. Simple: The Beta Band - Heroes to Zeros
 
2. Little Girl Blue: Nina Simone - Nina Simone Gold
 
3. Bluebeard:Troubadours of Divine Bliss - Dressing Room For Eternity
 
4. Little Wing:
Jimi Hendrix - Experience
 
5. Alone in Kyoto: Air - Talkie Walkie
 
 
 
days - twenty-one to thirty 6th February 2006 “Owe no-one anything, except to love one another... love is the fulfilling of the law” (Romans 13:8, 10) Today is the Day of Recollection - a day spent in total silence... There is no work, except for food preparation and no interaction. It is a time for recollecting one’s experiences, thoughts, activities. The convent, though normally quiet, is still with the hush of private contemplation. They do this once a month - what a wonderful idea! And what do I recollect? What do I carry through in all this living? I waste my days in wanting to hold on, and miss the best but what is this broken head to do? Love is all that circles free, not tethered, named and pinned for our display, categorised and kept in a case, its bright wings dead in formaldehyde. Love is for flying, sometimes falling, sometimes dying. What can I do? Like some demented lepidopterist, I use these words, my net, to try and catch the butterfly, pour through books to find its name, and in the naming, own it. Yet love is energy reborn, again, again - flows through our spirit-veins unseen, unknown, flies outward, comes to settle, flies again. But there is nothing to own, nothing to keep preserved, I need to let it go, let beauty unfold, fly free, flow... 11th February 2006, The hyacinth on the window has blossomed pungent white heads and now tinges brown. This is the dying away stage and the being reborn. This is also the time when fears grab hold... But I no longer want to be afraid....I have two weeks. I ask this: You brought me here to understand, to heal, to open and unfold - or so I understand - now I open to you - who am I and what am I becoming?...I am tired of running... each night I wait for the hand to reach out, take the throat that I bare to the moon, hold tight... All this, and what have I become? Broken biscuits in a metal tub - see, here is my ear, my mouth, my hand. I came here offering these parts of me, held them up like a child holding up a shattered bird, looking up and asking “can you mend it?” - there was no reply. I realise that I must hold this fragile body, cup it in my own hands and keep it safe. A tear falls. The bird returns to life. I feel the cold bone touch my skin. I turn and there she is, her body hooked to my line, clatter, clatter, clatter. She has run over the ground and finally, she is here and I face her, this shadow woman I have dragged around. The faster I have run, the faster she has come. Am I to die then? Is this the time the shadow falls and all is forgotten? No, this is the time I am to live. I see her white bones twinkle mica tears under the moonlight. We are both tired... Time only now to stay. I take three sticks and light fire. These will be our desert days, and we will sit. 9th February 2006, The meanies have hit. I have spent a lifetime trying to ‘cure’ this out of myself, feeling guilty for how I feel, feeling pathetic, self-indulgent, ashamed. I do not believe in labels... It is not a fault in me, like people in my past have said, and I am not only a delicate flower... I have a bright, effervescent side, kind, intuitive, funny, inspired - and I have a part of me that is dark, night-born...So I have battled with myself, castigated myself, tried to hide it or cut it out...But it is part of me, part of what gives me my voice. St. Francis had these fear times too. The union of the whole is to embrace both parts. How can I celebrate both parts?... What would happen if I embraced it...? later... In love, when the illusion falls, we face Skeleton Woman. When it feels everything is falling apart, that is when, if we face the depths, that true love starts. When the soul is ready, the teacher appears... In coming here, I am stopping the running and turning to embrace Skeleton Woman. She took my child and broke my heart in order that I should learn the ways of the life, death, life cycle, to open my heart fully to love. I have tried to run, tried to hold still, force a mask over my face and exhausted myself. Let the tears come. Let the drumming begin. Let the song rise up and touch the sky, kiss the moon. 13th February 2006 And so we sit, she and I, and by the fire’s light we wait. O, Bag-o-Bones, O Hideous Sister, you have snared me at last and made me stop. Now we are here, come - take bread at my table and together we will watch the moon mark the months. One thread, two threads, three threads. I scatter hairs into the embers, grow sparks, grow flames. You hold out your bony hand to my skin. I feel the cold creep in. We wax. We wane. We wax again. Silver shines across your alabaster cage... In the dark, you dance and beat your flesh out onto its chambers. Breathe in Love; breathe out Fear... Each night I throw a hair upon the fire. Each night, you steal my heart and do your secret moon-dance as I sleep. By the third day, you are whole again, flesh and skin and bone. I look at you, hold my hand out to yours and smile. I see me: I am Bag-O-Bones, underneath.
 
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