Glastonbury Tales, pt.5

It was six months ago today that I met Stephen Cole in person for the first time, here in Glastonbury; at a café a couple of minutes walk from our house, as a matter of fact.  It’s been a very impressive half a year, I must say, even though anybody following this blog can ascertain that for themselves and no one might even need me to say it to notice it!  It’s no secret that Stephen gave me a push forward in my healing even weeks before we met, which is why today I’m marking it as a special date.  Even if calendars are just numbers and time as we know it is just a way for humans to keep track of what they’re doing with their lives, I have to admit that this moment of “First half” is very significant indeed!  It was a mix of elements that could have only been achieved by all the other decisions I made before in my life, which include: Changing my BA from Graphic Design to International Relations (I knew it would come in handy some day); waiting to begin my MA to have a family instead (failed); coming to Europe to do some workshops instead of my MA (getting on the right track); deciding to apply to Newcastle, and consequently to Leazes Terrace for accommodation and furthermore to the Santander Latin America Scholarship (definitely the right track!); making friends with Cata Largacha so that when we went to London for a scholarship reception we decided to do a “Secret and Unbelievable London” type of tour, instead of a traditional one, because we’d both been there enough times to know most things by heart (except Westminster, Stephen would say, given that *that’s* where I got us lost the day we got together… I still can’t understand how I could have been expected to focus on where we were walking if they’d left me alone with him!), we’d rather do the quirky and mysterious bits of London that most people don’t know about (ding ding ding ding ding!); going with her to The School of Life and buying the book Londoners, by Craig Taylor, where I read about Christina Oakley Harrington and Treadwells (best choice of book ever made!); moving to London after my MA, instead of staying in Newcastle (bingo!); going to Treadwells to hear a talk by Mani Navasothy there (wham, bam, life changed irrevocably now!); casually mentioning  Doctor Who to him, even though I was positively amateurish then, and nervously accepting his invitation to join his fan production team as none other than the very Doctor him(HER)self (happy nervous floppy Christmas dance); going to a couple of healing workshops in Mexico when I couldn’t get a job in England (just a little pause here, getting energized people!); deciding to come to England for the summer and try to get my novel from the MA published (poking my head in to see if things might go my way…); applying for a business workshop in Newcastle instead, but opting to do a full cleanup of Wideawake anyways (ding ding ding ding ding!); deciding not to come to Glastonbury on a particular weekend while I was somewhere nearby but waiting instead till Mani said we’d come for filming (Stephen and I both know that it wasn’t yet the right time to have met…  yep, this intuition thing seems to be paying off); and finally, coming to Glastonbury on the last weekend I would have been here before I got the acceptance from Newcastle…

… sigh…  Serendipity, they call it…  I followed my intuition in my decision-making, and though I’ve said and done some pretty stupid things, because either I’ve been too headstrong and not wanted to listen to myself, or I’ve just been blinded by fool’s gold (which ultimately heals us, too, btw, the stone), I could not be any more grateful for those mistakes!  And this is not a new way of thinking for me, incidentally, because just this morning I was surprised by a song in my computer… well, not surprised by the song itself, because I’ve had it in there for fifteen years or so, but by what it meant fifteen years ago: Graziemille, by 883, a song that I used to thank my parents with when they gave me the opportunity to do a year abroad in Italy.  I don’t know how much I’ve talked about those times, so I’ll make a brief recount of it, starting with what 883 meant for me in high school – not the band but the actual number: I had a friend who fancied the same guy that I did, but she was a couple years below us and I only spent time with her on recesses and afternoons; the guy we both fancied was my best friend back then, and she’d say that I didn’t deserve him because I spent so much time with him doing homework or watching basketball but never did anything romantic, so that others should have a chance with him instead (as if it was me who was holding him back from it… and he was *still* not the first reason for my being so incompetent with men, yikes!).  Anyway, she had a friend in her class and they called each other “8” (I was never sure why), and they’d say that I was “3”, because I was only with them half the time, so we were the “883”…

So, when I got to Italy, and I heard that song by 883, I was captivated – For every day, every instant, every little moment, that I’m living today, thank you so very much!  Those lyrics, even though the rest of the song did not apply to me, got to the very core of my heart.  Remember, this is Italy, where I was still friendless, socially awkward, struggling with not one but two new languages, living with a family that had horrible problems with me because I wanted to shower every day (and because I opted not to learn German because of how painful the grammar was becoming for me), and pegged as dangerously depressed –enough to be sent back to my parents before the program was over.  This is also the time when I was shunned by not only one but three school groups – all those that I took different classes with, because I managed to get into a couple more Art classes and a Religion course instead of Maths, Physics and Chemistry, given that I’d already graduated from high school…  Granted, I did keep a bit of correspondence with some of the few friends I made, but things grew a bit cold between all of us after some years…  And what's more, this is also the year when I fell in love for the first time and got burnt quite badly (the first “mature” love, I suppose, because even I know that whatever I felt at age 12 was pretty different, or anything else I’d  felt for friends before, for that matter).  Why would a person in that situation wish to be thankful for ongi giorno, ogni instante, ongi attimo, che sto vivendo?  Every little moment?  Really?  Well, the answer to that is: Yes, really.

Yes, yes yes yes!  I know it deep in my heart that back then I was feeling the gratitude with the same strength as I’ve manifested over the past few months.  See, in my life I’ve been told so many times that “I have to be grateful for the good things I already have”, and I never quite understood why people never saw that I already was!  I think that’s why over the past few months I went into full emotional disclosure, and that’s perhaps why I believe that this might help someone as well…  Some people might need to be listened at closer to hear the thanks they’re giving…

 Anyway, I need to go back to serendipity: I had a moment the other night where I saw myself as someone completely different from who I am now; not worse, not better, just different… The me that managed to get a job in London the first time around, that lived in Angel (not so much because of Angel Islington anymore, but rather because that’s where the young people are living “the life”); I was the one dating a suit and drinking wine over dinner with a neck covered in pearls and dainty roses and a deep and loud laughter because she’s bored and needs to seem as if she wasn’t – wait, I made it sound worse than I intended to… I mean, I specifically said “not worse, not better, just different” because I really mean no disrespect to anybody who actually lives that way!)…  To everyone their own, I always say, and truth be told, I probably wouldn’t even notice that I was unhappy unless I’d seen anything of what conforms my life now, and something stirred inside of me to let me know that I’d strayed…  No matter, I guess if people are happy living that way then there is nothing wrong with that!  Yet, forgetting about Angel Islington because too many people rejected them for being nerds, that’s where life gets sad, because that’s when the person lets go of their essence.  I cannot imagine my life any different than what it is now, especially when two years after my first encounter with Angel Islington I come to find him with Peter Capaldi’s face on my very own living room in the flat I share with Stephen in Glastonbury!

I’m sorry, but too many people are going on and on online about how to do your makeup this way or that, or how to create a perfect hair thing, or about exercise or how to be cool and whatnot…  And there is nothing wrong with wanting to look better or with wanting to know about the things that most people say are cool, but when we lose ourselves into that “in” crowd instead of letting our true selves shine through, that’s where it gets sad (again)…  But let’s not all become nerdy now, okay?  That’s not what I’m saying…  Now that being nerdy is cool, so many people want in just because that’s what everybody is doing, yet one thing is being accepting of everyone and another is trying to become like everyone!  Although, kudos for those closeted geeks that are finally coming out!  And also, one thing is to want to learn about those things that everybody is talking about to see if we like them (and if things are likable, then go for them), but another is to try to seem like you like something even though you don’t just so you feel accepted…  Another sigh…  I’ve done both, the second one is very energy-consuming, indeed…

I will go now, before I start myself in yet another subject…  See you next week and keep on the lookout for my literary news as well – that “Sliding Doors” type of mental-episode thing is becoming its own story as well!

Cheers!

Sandra Tena ≈ Writer, dreamer, seeker, lover

Glastonbury Tales, pt. 4

It’s been a time of intense reflection, a whirlwind of activities keeping me from typing away as I’d wish…  Typing away, I say, yet thankfully not unable to write in general!  After a long meditation/inner debate about which of the original ideas actually work (presently, in my grown-up form), and which are obvious childhood hiding-holes, I’ve finally settled on a core story for Pentacle, huzza!  This has been quite a lot of work, especially since it has involved touching plenty of memories that I’d thought I’d never have to think about again.  I went down the rabbit hole, but for the first time it was an unpleasant experience because of the things that I had to recall, so Wonderland turned into the Burton version; the only reason I came back safe and sound was because Stephen held my hand during the whole time…  I guess this might mean that we may both have a story to tell, huh?

Frankly, I’m fully aware that this exploration of my different realities wouldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t blurted it all out before within this blog.  Once again, writing has saved my life, figuratively and literally at the same time!  I know I’d already said that I was going to refocus this blog and edit many of those fully-open entries because I felt like my energy was leaking from them, yet I haven’t been able to find the time to do it, and you know what? I learned something new!  Yay!  I learned that as soon as I addressed the situation, “My energy is leaking, let me see what I can do about it without hurting the essence of my writing”, the leak was fixed!  I think it had to do with my being honest about it, in the same way that I’ve been about the experiences that needed healing.  The thing is, as long as we let the Universe know what the issue is and what we want to do to fix it, the Universe will answer with support and tools; you still have to do the work, but you’ll have a higher chance of success because you’ve already established it in your mind and sent the right energies into the world.

Anyway, these reflections come from a state of acceptation of myself and my story which I’ve been in during the past few weeks, and which could not have been achieved without all my previous purging.  That’s what gave me full access into my characters: a few weeks ago I said that I was ready to take control of their lives and develop the series with a balanced mind and heart, so I went deeper into the things I had to fix and this is the result, so you can imagine how happy and grateful I am.  Still, clearing those issues also meant letting go of things, places and even people that I’d always deemed important to the story, because they’d marked me for better or worse, so Cassandra had to deal with them as well, didn’t she?  Given that she’s mirroring my life in fiction, doesn’t she have to go through all of the psychological and emotional ordeals that I went through in order to get her power?  That is how good writers work, giving their characters all of their rises and falls, right?  Wrong!  I would have liked to post this entry on Friday 6^th, because it was the first anniversary of Gabriel García Márquez to be celebrated after his death last April, so talking about A Hundred Years of Solitude would have been perfect!  Everyone who knows him knows that Gabo, as he is also known by friends and fans, based plenty of his fiction on his own life and family saga, A Hundred Years of Solitude included, yet he always made it so that things were sequentially or characteristically different enough so that he could call it fiction instead of bio, delivering at the same time an amazing taste of Magic Realism in which his characters (real or not) displayed all the depth and strength of presence necessary so that the readers didn’t have to even care whether they were based on reality or not…  I admit that such is my biggest wish!  I mean, those who know me will know which real names in (close enough) real events I’m using in my novels and short stories, just as which names in fake events and what real events with fake names there are…  Yet what’s the point of pointing them out? If an author catharsizes something within their writing, it’s likely that they’re not assuming that everyone will realise that it is true and point it out, and whether they choose to disclose it themselves or not (for healing, literary or commercial reasons, that’s another story!), that’s something else entirely.  Regarding disclosure, one thing I have to say in regarding how great Stephen has been during this whole process, is that he admitted from the very beginning that he felt he knew me very deeply because of how much of myself I’d been pouring into this blog; so, for him, half the things that I worked on during these past few weeks and that I needed his support to pull through, were already known to him, and the other half weren’t even a surprise!  Oh, but I wouldn’t advise this approach with any starting couples, okay?  I mean, if things come up that weren’t expected, then be empathic and honest and deal with it from a supportive position, but it’s not a very good idea to sit down together over the first few dates and say: “Yo, this is all I need to heal, will you still like me?”.  It’s probably even a good idea to stop saying Yo altogether, at least after you’ve gone into your twenties; but that’s just a personal suggestion.  Unless you can really pull it off.  I tried and it really, really doesn’t work for me.  Apparently I’m too white and nerdy to use it even as a joke, who knew?  Anyway, don’t go telling people you fancy all the things that you need to heal, unless you’ve proven to each other that there is empathy and trust!  If you’ve got neither of those things (and they have to go together), you might get burnt even worse and considered weak or needy, even if you’re neither or even if there is nothing wrong in being either!  See, in our case (Stephen and me) this works because he already knew so much about me from what he read here, and showed me empathy about it all even before we met in person, and so we’ve been honest all the time about everything from the very beginning…  And, hey, I went through six and a half years before I found trust and empathy in a man I fancied, so I’m pretty sure I know what I’m talking about.  So, in the case of new couples, if things that need healing pop up and give surprises, the best suggestion, seems to me, will always be to keep it honest and to advance through it with empathy.

It’s almost midnight now, so I’ll try and close up, but before I go I’d like to share another couple of great things that marked my Friday 6^th: Stephen and I paid a little tribute to Leonard Nimoy by playing The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins at Folk Club (my first time singing in front of a live audience, btw – did not go well… but you know what they say: if you don’t get it the first time, try and try again!  And we will!!  I’ll have to keep you posted on that one, wink wink!).  And I was also kissed for the first time ever under the mistletoe…

…Erm, yes, I know it’s March.  March the 9^th, in fact.  Who’s to say that using a little mistletoe brooch doesn’t count for these matters?  After all, Stephen didn’t know that such an event was a first for me, but it’s really really hard not to kiss him when he goes all history and legends and literature on me, what was I suppose to do?  Wait for real mistletoe?  Okay, I sense that this is the part where I should stop my rambling and explain the context: remember how I’ve been on and on about how I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere until I met him?  That whole “Not even in London, what am I suppose to do now?” thing?  Yes, of course you do, I probably overtalked about that subject, so I won’t blame you if you’re sitting there rolling your eyes at the screen right now, but I have to mention it because it so happened that we were talking about Stephen’s Cornish ancestry and I said yet again how nice it would be to have that sense of belonging, to be able to jump up and down in joy and point to your roots or blood or whatever, just like I say to everyone (my family included!) who mentions their roots with the passion and fervour that Stephen was talking with about Cornwall.  Long story short, he said I was mistletoe!  He said that there is nothing wrong with flying about until one is able to find a nice tree where to grow and develop oneself, and that roots do not necessarily have to grow on the ground (which finally explains why it has always been so hard for me to ground myself), but that becoming part of the chosen environment has as much merit as everything else in life…  Now, before you go all “But it’s a hemiparasite!” on me, remember that it has been recognized as a keystone species because of its role on ecological cycles…  It doesn’t just “live off its host”, but its role in the roosting, nesting and feeding of many birds make it important for the continuity of biodiversity.  Moreover, if it’s seen within the areas of spirituality and healing, it’s one of the oldest holy plants known in Druidism and myths and legends in other ancient religions.  Nowadays, Druids and many other Pagans give it its place during the winter rituals: they position a white cloth under the oaks when collecting mistletoe, so that it never touches the ground and thus keeps its holy properties.  As for the oaks, it’s an honour to be chosen by the mistletoe, because that’s what makes them holy… So, either way I look at it, I love to understand myself as mistletoe now, and to have chosen Stephen as my tree as well…

Anyway, before this starts becoming all “Dear Diary” again, I’ll leave you all with my best wishes for the week, and I’ll return on Friday with the next entry…   Now to sleep!

Love and blessings!

Sandra Tena ≈ Writer, dreamer, seeker, lover