now

Birds and Toddlers do it.

| Mairead

1

(A Robin)

The birds are singing outside the window again as I write and I continue to be amazed at how much their singing affects me. For the better. I’m cheered just listening to them do their thing. They have no idea I’m here enjoying them. They are definitely not doing it for me. In fact I don’t know why they sing. It makes me feel good to imagine that they sing because they enjoy singing.

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(More birds)

They remind me of the daughter, when she was a toddler. She used to sing to herself as she played with her toys. The tune was never recognisable and the lyrics were a jumble of words and syllables. One day I told her I would write down the words so she could keep her song forever. She didn’t seem that interested but she let me write every word and syllable.

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(Rory, a long, long time ago when he was a toddler)

To the little toddler forever is right now, this moment, because this moment never ends… now is always now. To the adult, now is just a passing blink as we head straight for tomorrow. The singing birds halt everything…… and bring my attention to now, here and now, exactly where I am… now.

Now, where are you? Mairead.

Hello blog, whatcha got today?

| Mairead

2

(Brooklodge Hotel near Aughrim, Co. Wicklow)

Every day to write this blog, I sit down facing a window with a view to the sky. I never know what I’m going to write about. I never know if anything will turn up. I just start writing. There are some things I do know from experience. One, whatever turns up will take an hour to fully form itself on the page. Two, if I worry that nothing will turn up, nothing turns up. Three, if I edit as I go, I end up with a blank page. Four, if I worry that it’s not good enough, I won’t be able to write anything. Five, if I stop to worry that no one will like it, I won’t start up again… some days I don’t.

1

(Window with sky view)

So my best advice to myself is… just write it… just begin… just keep going… just finish. When I just write it stuff turns up, stuff I didn’t realise was available to me. Then I can get rid of bits and play around with bits and at the end of an hour I have a blog and I’m finished. Today that makes me think this advice could be useful for any endeavour.

3

(Just make… a cute design in the sugar)

Like the book you want to write… just write it. Like the picture you want to paint… just paint it. Like the workshop you want to attend… just attend it. Like the holiday you want to take… just take it. Like the food you want to cook… just cook it. Like the story you want to tell… just tell it. Like the work you want to do… just do it. Like the self you want to be… just be it… just begin… just keep going… just finish.

Just start, Mairead

Every day to write this blog, I sit down facing a window with a view to the sky. I never know what I’m going to write about. I never know if anything will turn up. I just start writing. There are some things I do know from experience. One, whatever turns up will take an hour to fully form itself on the page. Two, if I worry that nothing will turn up, nothing turns up. Three, if I edit as I go, I end up with a blank page.
So my best advice to myself is… just write it… just begin… just keep going… just finish. When I just write it  stuff turns up, stuff I didn’t realise was available to me. Then I can get rid of bits and play around with bits and at the end of an hour I have a blog and I’m finished. Today that makes me think this advice could be useful for any endeavour.
Like the book you want to write… just write it. Like the picture you want to paint… just paint it. Like the workshop you want to attend… just attend it. Like the holiday you want to take… just take it. Like the food you want to cook… just cook it. Like the story you want to tell… just tell it. Like the work you want to do… just do it. Like the self you want to be… just be it… just begin… just keep going… just finish.
Just start, Mairead

St. Patrick’s Mother’s Day.

| Mairead

2

(The Rock of Cashel – St Patrick definitely may have visited here (before the scaffolding and stone buildings))

Memories of my long weekend:

Saturday… sitting in the lounge of Brooklodge Hotel looking out the window, listening to wedding guests all dressed up and on their way to the church to see their friend/ sister/ daughter/ cousin/ brother get married. I sip soup. Very cosy here in the armchair.

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(St Patrick may have passed by here…)

Sunday…. sitting in my bed reading The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. The sun is streaming through the window, it’s 1pm and I’m waiting for the immersion to heat water for a shower (it’s an Irish thing possibly related to St. Patrick). Feet warming up nicely as I wait.

Monday….sitting on the sofa drinking a glass of water, after a marathon floor washing session. Positively baking hot here in my skin.

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(St. Patrick could have visited here…..)

Tuesday….. sitting in a car park in Maynooth waiting for the son to come back from an appointment. The birds are singing and it’s quite balmy here in the car. Whatever else happened during that weekend is gone, I can remember it… but it’s gone. If I read this in a year’s time or a month’s time or even a week’s time I may not even remember these bits. What’s real, here and now, are the birds singing and the warmth of the sun through the windows of the car.

What’s real, here and now? Mairead.

Perfect as you are…..

| Mairead

(The leaves and wine red shoots)

Ok I seem to be drawn to the perfect as you are theme again today, so bear with me…..

We have a plant in a tub in the back garden. Every year in June it sends up shoots and green leaves unfold from these shoots. The shoots are deep wine red and after a few weeks yellow flowers begin to open out from the tips. A few more weeks pass and the flowers die, the the leaves go brown, and eventually the shoots go brown and dry and break off easily. Then there’s nothing left to see in the tub. At this point I usually move it out of the way and forget about it.

(The tip of the shoot about to flower)

This year I haven’t been out in the garden much so it surprised me when I noticed the cycle had begun and the shoots were up and already producing leaves. So I moved the tub back to a place where I could see it unfold beautifully. And it is…. unfolding… beautifully.

(The yellow flowers)

So I was thinking….. is the plant perfect when it’s flowering? Or is it perfect when the shoots are shooting? Or is it perfect just before the flowers unfold? Or is it perfect when it’s dormant and out of the way? And the only answer that comes to me is…. it’s always perfect.

(The shoot with friend)

So….. could it also be true that no matter what stage in the cycle of our lives we are in, (on top of the world, down in the dumps, flowing along, crying our eyes out, laughing our heads off, making loads of money, spending too much, eating too much, having too little, doing too much, doing too little…….) that we are always perfect too?

How would you be if you knew you were perfect? Would you be unfolding as beautifully as the plant in our back garden? Probably!

You are perfect. Now, allow yourself to unfold… beautifully, Mairead.

PS anyone know what the plant is called?

You are Here

| Mairead

(Where are we?)

In the cathedral building on the Rock of Cashel, there’s a map of all the buildings on the site. This map is on a stone plinth in the centre of the cathedral. Somewhere on that map there’s a label that says You Are Here. But of course we  all know that’s not exactly true…….. As a child playing in these buildings I used to walk my fingers around the map as if I was walking around the buildings.  But the real me wasn’t in the map, the real me was in the cathedral.

(Do birds have maps?)

There’s a map in my head too. It’s a map of the world around me. I’ve been drawing this map ever since I was born. It helps me find my way around relationships, around work, around society. It’s very useful. It’s also a bit misleading. Especially if I assume everyone else has the same map as mine in their head. The don’t. It also causes me a few problems if I think it’s real.

(Sometimes circumstances make the map incorrect…)

Like the map in the cathedral, the map in my head is just a picture, a representation of the real world. I’m not really in the map in my head, I’m here.

Get out of your head, you’re here, Mairead.