16-12-2021: Day 189
So, I lopped off the trunk and fanned out the branches of the Christmas tree, all to the festive decorating delights of a Slade-free seasonal playlist. I was having my baubles broken, as the household tribe gathered round the spruce and tried to wedge the tree in the designated ‘sweet’ spot under the lounge shelf. It’s the most wonderful time of the year the family realises our compact Wimpy estate home is too small to accommodate Christmas and all its trimmings.
It’s around this time of year that its beginning to look a lot like ‘Crisis-mass,’ as the seasonal meltdown begins, the hard work for many kicks in, and the long nights stretch on forever like the street fairy lights.
It’s also the time the expectations of the fun police darken the door, and the relentless avalanche of advertising rolls 24-7, selling the soul, lifestyle, and plastic consumer credit of the silly season. So, it’s time to put on the fake reindeer antlers, neck a tray of Snowballs, and wake up to the two blurry faces of January.
18-12-2021: Day 191
Even the pigeons were wired. Pecking frantically at the pavement outside the hyped-up supermarket like concrete licking crack addicts. The supermarket carpark was heaving with social anxiety and carbon fuelled chaos, under the dark auspices of the Viral cloud, with no silver, glittery tinselled, lining for the masses and classes in sight. The perfect storm was brewing on the horizon, as the rush for turkey crown and trimmings began in the ‘Strictly Come Dancing’ trolley tango.
Inside, the masked-up shoppers were bobbing like the pigeons – pecking and poking the produce – from fingering waxy plastic looking cheese boards, to man-handling gigantic, modified salmons. A kaleidoscopic abundance of festive fare to cream the frothing head off the healthiest of bank balances and pop the button on the favourite jeans. And, as the corporate tills chattered and sung out with pound sterling power, so the Blitz spending spirit of carrying on regardless begins in earnest.
20-12-2021: Day 193
I was deep in the self-realisation, soul soothed and peaceful chill of meditation when an intrusive thought bubble burst forth. The year of 2021 was the real year when meditation was back on my lifestyle agenda – healing the pain, trauma, and anger of thirteen barren years – when the only real escape from myself came through the suffocating pillow of dreamless sleep.
Over that time, I had no relationship bond to my true self. I was a lost soul wrapped in a rusty barbed wire shell.
The thought came and departed, interrupting a fathomless meditation of the mind’s eye, of being in the picture of a Himalayan Mountain scene, somewhere near the rooftop of the world. The scene – of a raw, rugged, and unforgiving environment – was a timely vision of the metaphorical peaks to climb, to achieve the dreams all hearts and minds covet.
And I came round with a string of dribble on my chin.
22-12-2021: Day 195
The boy was leaping like a river salmon in the back-room conservatory, clearly feeling pure gaming FIFA joy, as the clock ticked close to midnight on the eve of the winter solstice. It was the longest night of the year, and with a little shiver, I felt the window to the soul crack open. A little light, little shoots, and little seeds were infusing and germinating somewhere in the darkness visible. And I was seeking strength for the corruption, conflict and change in the darker times ahead.
I’ve never given a hoot for winter solstice. Back in the day the longest night meant more time for blind drunken shenanigans, soulless white lines, or other self-destructive urges, under the cloak of darkness. But for this solstice it was something of a recalibration of the soul, checking the meaning, and honouring the Self – wise in the knowledge it was only three sleeps till Christmas.