Expressions of me

Each performance, race, book, word and smile is an expression of a unique part of its creator. You and I are constantly creating exclusive representations of our beings with every act.

What unique memory of you are you sharing right now?

Home Bird

I am a home bird that loves to travel. An enigma? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been referred to in that way.

My home environment gives me peace and happiness, therefore I’m bound to enjoy it. I also love to travel – both locally within the country and globally. There are a few things that can get me to travel, well, the truth of it is there are a few people that can get me to travel to see them without a second thought. I love to spend time with them, where they are, or to have them with me.

I remember travelling thousands of miles on my own – without telling anyone else (apart from the person I was going to be with) until I boarded the plane - just because of love. It’s easy to do.

For years I have stayed close to home, making my nest. Then there was the fluttering of my heart followed by the fluttering of my wings and the inevitable flights away from the nest. It’s easy to do.

When you want something enough, you make a way. You figure it out. You have to.

We always move towards that which interests us. Our actions and hesitations are evidence of our desires.

“Movement illustrates the intentions and the interest of the person who is moving.”

Édouard Lock (Founder of La La La Human Steps – Canada)

Undercover sister

This is not about Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act, although it could be ... it’s about, well, you’ll find out if you read on.

(But just in case you want to know whether you have the time or not – this is about keeping secrets. There, the cat’s out of the bag.)

Right, where was I?

Ah yes, the undercover sister.

I guess many families have secrets. And we may never know about them because ... they’re secrets. I think that’s self explanatory really, however, I will plough on.

I have spoken to several gay people who, when they share the secret of their sexuality with people, are greeted with the words, “I knew you were gay ages ago ...”. Thus revealing that the secret was not such a secret after all. It was really a case of people actively avoiding the obvious to retain a facade for as long as possible. Somehow this facade helps to keep them safe ... from the truth.

Being undercover is about pretending to be someone else.

Being in a family is sometimes about pretending that everything is the way you want it to be. Holding up the curtain of social respectability so that internal and external relationships can continue in a seemingly smooth (and always false) manner. Each family has their own personal way of handling their specific secrets, be they alcoholism, child abuse, drug addiction, incest, sexuality, or ... anything.

At different times and in different places people who carry secrets have their own particular burden to hold. It is specific to that person in that family. No one else will know the weight of the shame or perceived loss of respectability that that secret carries with it. The only common factor is that everyone involved is an undercover agent and must retain their character at all times.

The initiation into secrecy often comes without formal training, just looks, sighs and head shaking. The importance of this secrecy is heightened by the fact that no one ever acknowledges it ... ever.

So, when this undercover sister broke ranks and spoke about the family secrets there was a change in the choreography, new secrets were made and the exclusion zones moved: I was now outside and removed from the bonds of the heavy family secrets. I was branded a traitor who could not be trusted anymore because I spoke openly about how my family worked and how they viewed me – as the enemy within, but I felt lighter and freer.

As I am now a free agent - no longer in deep (family) cover, I can present myself as I like, not as the family dictates: my life is not a secret.

Sadly, they’ve gone into deeper cover than ever now I’m out, they’ve taken the other secrets undercover with them.

“You have family secrets because you want to present your family as respectable.”

 Laurie Taylor, Thinking Allowed, BBC Radio 4, 26^th September 2011.

Knowing all sides

I heard a line in a film that went something like, “You cannot know your enemy until you know his god.” It was a Maori man sharing the wisdom of his fore bearers.

Who is my enemy?

Hopefully I don’t have many, but I would be foolish to think I don’t have any. They have their reasons.

I know there could be a long list. But I’ll start a lot closer to home as I know that I can be my own enemy sometimes. (Arrow pointing at me reads ‘enemy no. 1’.)

This same advice can be altered to read, “You cannot know your friends until you know what they love.” Of course, the same is true for knowing myself.

My loves and desires are an important part of my being. It’s all about knowing all sides of the story.

"Remember: the enemy has only images and illusions behind which he hides his true motives. Destroy the image, and you will break the enemy." ~ Enter the Dragon (1973)

Feed me, Seymour!

This is a contrary post (considering some of my recent posts) nevertheless I will continue.

I sometimes get hungry.

This is not the regular appetite type of hunger, This is when my skin gets hungry. I have a skin hunger that needs to be fed. And what exactly can satisfy this desire?

Difficult question and complicated answer.

Some answers are best served with an illustration. Let me try that now.

One evening Heather suddenly felt isolated in the middle of a hotel. A pleasant group meal had turned sour and she was unexpectedly under attack. She became child-like in her response. Heather wanted to turn away and hide. She found a corner and began to cry. When she looked for comfort and reassurance from those close to her she didn’t receive any. The space around her grew wider. 

She was a long way from home where everything safe and familiar. Heather didn’t know that she was having an intense desert-like experience. She had felt the pangs before, now she was hit with the full hunger. She had skin hunger.

The person she had expected to touch her did not. That made the situation substantially more profound. As Heather tried to escape to her hotel room to ride out the pain there was a breach through her boundary walls. Someone reached out, with the softest gentlest touch possible. A touch full of genuine concern. The intensity of that continued touch was like an electric current buzzing through Heather’s skin. She knew it instantly and she dreaded it as well because it woke her up to the void that had enveloped her before that moment.

Heather was sated in that moment. She would never forget it.

So, sometimes I get hungry and I want to be fed. Unlike the Little Shop of Horrors I will not devour everything that is put before me. I have specific needs and desires. My palate is sensitive and peculiar. Even I don’t understand it, but I do know the correct nourishment for this skin hunger. I don’t plan to deviate from my diet again.

I’ve used this quote before and I make no apologies for using it again:

“Every relationship is reciprocal ... when you touch something it touches you."

Fringe, season 3, episode 11.

Why I love atheists

I’ve been thinking about atheism for some time now.

This morning I had a walk, and a talk, with my man with a dog. I see Phil quite frequently on my morning jaunts and sometimes we get to stop and have a chat about ... well, this and that.

As we conversed this cold morning we happened upon the subject of God and belief in Him. Phil asserted that he was an atheist, although he didn’t condemn those who do believe in God. How different is that from the religious groups that you hear about?

I responded in the way some people do when they are confronted about their relationships with Black people, or gay people, or differently-abled  people.

I said, I believe I have more atheist friends than Christian friends. And that in itself is a major tell about me and what I hold dear. Then I went on to explain why. The frost of the morning was beginning to lift, but it was still bitter, so we shifted from foot to foot as we stood there talking.

I reasoned that most organised religions hold that if you don’t hold the same beliefs then you are heretics, evil, damned and condemned. That’s one reason why I love atheists. They also take full responsibility for their actions and do not blame them on God or Satan. That’s a good idea, don’t you think so?

They are amongst the most rational and reasonable people I’ve ever met and those are always a wonderful attributes to have around you. On the whole, most atheists I have met are very deep critical thinkers – and what’s not to like about that?  My friends, the atheists, also have a healthy perception of sexuality and are the least judgemental and repressive people that I know. Most of their beliefs (except the one about God) seem to coincide with mine. We are more alike than different.

So, there you have it. This particular Christian loves atheists. Do you?

I’ve just made a call to one of my atheist friends. I told her how much I’ve always loved her, since the very first day we met and had a heated discussion about Christianity and belief in God. It’s people like her that remind me what I really love people (many of who are atheists).

Glass walls

Many years ago my son said that he was going to design a house of total glass when he was older. It sounded like a fascinating project. He was excited about creating it.

Recently I was thinking about hidden behaviour and this idea came back to my mind. I wondered if we would behave any differently in our homes if different rooms of our homes had their walls turned to glass for an hour a day. Would we just avoid those rooms at those times or act as if we were in Big Brother?

The concept took root in my mind and I further considered how people would change if the time of the glass walls was random.

When people observe us we are changed by the observation.

If that change were always positive, then I’d put forward a proposal to the government to instigate glass walls in every home.

I know – it’ll never happen. It couldn’t really. But just the thought that someone was watching and prepared to speak up against things like domestic violence and other forms of abuse that are usually perpetrated behind solid walls and closed doors makes me wish for it to be possible. Just for an hour.

Proof?

Head.

Banging against a brick wall.

Sometimes with some people, it seems like this is all I am doing. To me it gets a bit pointless – and very painful!

They (you know, the invisible crowd that is them) say that my reality cannot be true.

They say that there is no proof for what I assert to be true.

You want proof?

I’m the proof! See me.

Just being ...

I remember visiting someone in hospital after he was involved in an accident. It was a traumatic time for all involved – especially him. He was rushed into the hospital via the emergency ambulance service and after hours in the operating theatre he was in ICU for several weeks.

Once when I visited him – when he was not deeply sedated for the intense pain – after several hours by his bedside, he briefly opened his eye and looked at me. Something resembling his previous smile formed on his face and he said two things to me: “Your voice is like a cool breeze in a storm,” and “I love you like a farmer loves a red sky”. Then, satisfied that he had shared his thoughts with me, he slipped back into his sleep.

I didn’t know that he had been aware that I was even there, chatting nonsense (so it seemed) to him, but it obviously got through and he appreciated it.

When he was finishing his recuperation at home he let me know that he was always aware of my presence at his bedside and how much comfort it brought him.

It just reminds me that sometimes we just have to keep being ourselves and doing the best we can even when we are not sure that others are even aware of our being.

Internal Journeys

I know that some of the most difficult journeys I have ever taken have been in my heart and mind. And some of the most glorious journeys have taken place in the same arena. This blog has been a witness to a small portion of those excursions, especially over the past year. I have been writing my thoughts and dreams down since I was a child. I still have the diaries that I wrote in as I tentatively entered into my teenage years.

A major change happened in my life just over four years ago. December 2006 was the start of immense joy in my life. Everything in my life changed almost overnight. The impact of this external life alteration did not bring quiet reflection and an enduring residual calmness, instead there was a chain reaction of activity as I chose to instigate some long-overdue changes in my internal life as well; I wanted symmetry of movement internally and externally. Subsequently it was in August 2007 that another great shift occurred. Sometimes the changes that we go through can disturb us enough so that we never settle back into a listless existence: this happened to me. There was no way that I would ever want to – or be able to – return to the flat existence I had before.

So, there I am three and a half years ago reawakening my dreams. The dreams that had lain dormant for over a decade.

This was the start of another internal journey.

If this were a sea voyage I would say that the waves have been tossing the ship from side to side but there has never been any chance that disaster would strike. As the main occupant I have got wet many times as I tried to be Jonah-like and run away from my destiny, however, this was not to be. I am glad that I faced my fears and realised that as long as I continued to do my best as a parent and remembered to really follow my dreams I would be all right.

When I first decided to put some of my thoughts into a blog I had just let someone precious slip away, but there was nothing I could do about that then. I didn’t see the future but, regardless of that, I could not alter my choice at that time, I would just wish for a different outcome. In an attempt to heal myself from that intense loss I decided to return to a tried and tested method of reflection: I decided to write – to myself – about how I was really feeling and what I was thinking. This has become my online journal. It is better than any pill in a small brown bottle. This exposure of my thoughts has been a lifeline to me.

Sometimes this blog was not enough for me and I resorted to good old-fashioned pen and paper: they still hold an intense magic for me. I had to leave this space for a while but when I returned I felt stronger. This wonderfully intense journey has continued here for a long while now with nearly 300 posts in the last year. I have even started other spaces where I also write about the joy in my life. I am continually amazed at the many great experiences I am having and I know that this journey is only going to get better.

This is not a journal of Gulliver’s travels, it is a partial peek into my life; this is a bit of the internal journey of Marjorie Morgan. Welcome aboard the next leg of the voyage!

Trust

Trust is easy when you believe.

A dear friend said a simple phrase to me many years ago, she said “You’re safe with me” and I believed her. I still believe her. It’s easy.

She is a most wonderful woman and those simple words taught me that it was OK to trust people, starting with her.

I don’t know how or why I chose her to start my journey of trust but I have never regretted my first steps. They were my foundation to learning to trust people again after many unsteady years. Her friendship has remained consistent through the decades.

The gift that I received that day when she told me that I was safe has never faded.

This has been a case of amazing love, trust and faith. I will never forget her. I have told her this.

My staff team at Mandela House 20-12-95

Me, JC and the gang!

She is a magnificent woman and all who know her will echo my sentiments. JC – I love you for all that you are just as you have always loved me for all that I am.

I just hope that everyone is as fortunate as I have been to have this particular friend in their lives. Everyone needs a JC as a friend.

Life enhancing emotions

Some time ago I was thinking about writing about positive emotions that have enhanced my life. Then I got all caught up in living these emotions that I almost forgot to write about them!

There are 10 of these that I try to regularly experience and here are my first 5:

1. Love and emotive expression.

2. Appreciation and gratefulness.

3. Curiosity.

4. Daily excitement and passion.

5. Determination.

I am either a curious or a nosey person, so that is one of the first 5 ticked off the list. I am curious about people and what makes them who they are. I love spending time listening and sharing with different people. This curiosity of mine has not led me into a feline state of near extinction; instead it has brought me to a place of friendship and growing acquaintance with many, many people. It may just start with a smile, and from there I never know where it is going to end; I just love the adventures that I undertake. Real people are much more interesting to me than any soap opera on television.

I am happily growing in gratitude as I learn to appreciate the different learning experiences that I encounter each day. It is the prospect of this daily excitement that fills me with the determination to repeat and enhance the practice of listening to my emotions.

It was like a sudden awakening from a deep sleep when I realised that listening to how I feel was a positive and loving thing to do for myself. I have never returned to that deep slumber although I have occasionally taken brief naps on my way.

I am grateful to several people who have encouraged me to be kind to myself. And when I listen to all emotions - both negative and positive - and take action on them I always experience a sense of well-being.

I appreciate that certain people took the time to see beyond the mask that I felt was permanently fixed to my existence and cheered me on as I fought to begin the transformation into the butterfly I was destined to be. To them I say a sincere ‘thank you’.

More on this soon ...

Confident visibility

You have to be who you want to be to be happy; you have to be who you are to really be.

We are, after all, human beings, so we have to continue being ourselves.

Before I was confident in who I really am I was there – everywhere - but I was also invisible. People saw the part of me I projected, but they didn’t see any of the real me. I was cloaked – in the manner of the Star Trek Romulans - like a stealth fighter jet. I would move in and out of people’s lives, do what I needed to then retreat to a safe place where I would unveil myself.

Since I have invested time in getting to really know myself I have achieved confidence in my visibility because I am now standing on solid ground that I have constructed: it feels so good. I have accepted myself, totally. Life is so much better now that it was before.

While hiding vast portions of my identity I did not exist in a plane of freedom or clarity. It was as if I was living my life behind a smoke screen. I no longer live in that manner. I live clearly and freely.

My difference is not comfortable for many others, but I am not about to take on their discomfort. I lived with my own discomfort for many years. It was during those times that I wanted to stay hidden; it was my preference because of the overwhelming fear of being rejected. I would have done anything to melt into the background. Not many people desire to be wallpaper, but there were times in my past that I wished I would be as noticeable as the background wall hanging: invisible. My confidence was low because it had been constructed on shifting sands.

I am now happy and confidently visible.

I am on solid ground.

I am being ... me.

Charades and Impressions

I know how uncomfortable I am with standing in front of people and talking. This fact was confirmed yesterday when at a friend’s house. Someone suggested that we play a game called ‘Impressions’ where we imitate how we see each other; all the children readily agreed and eagerly jostled for their turn to take centre stage and do their acting bit.

It was fun to watch them as they all exaggerated the behaviour of us all, but when my turn came I was without an ounce of confidence. The same thing happens when I play charades – even with a small intimate group of people. I find myself floundering and immediately unable to think clearly. I am sure, in that moment, that I sound and look stupid so I feel myself becoming jelly-like in my actions. I’m standing there, smile nervously placed on my face just wanting my turn to be over. Scared that if I refuse to take my turn that more attention will be focused on me than currently is. I’m already convinced that if there is any positive response to my act within an act it will only be because of the sympathy vote. I know I am dying on my feet.

Let me contrast this dread with an earlier incident. I still don’t believe it was really the same person: me.

This time ... I spoke without hesitation on a subject I believed in and I did not shake or worry what the listeners thought of me; there were many more people present on this occasion – most of them I didn’t even know at all well.

I know that this time, when I was talking in front of people that it was the belief that made the difference. Believing made it possible for me to eliminate any desire to waiver or back out early of the interaction.

In the first situation I was acting as somebody I was not, and I was totally unsure if my impression would be shared or received with charity. In the second case I had no doubt about my position. I was strong and had a firm foundation. Nothing could shake me, not even my usual ever-present self doubt – it had been silenced by my belief.

Homecomings - DADT

Homecomings are times of celebration. These are great occasions when the people who have been away return home. They return to a place of safety and comfort. A place where all barriers have been removed, all formalities have been taken away and you can relax and be yourself. Homecomings are occasions when the ones who have been away are greeted with joy by those who have remained and also happily reacquaint themselves with those other travellers who are returning to the familiar base. Well, that is the theory…

I knew that there was a homecoming anniversary gathering and I was going home. Yet I was nervous for a multitude of reasons. The relaxation that should have accompanied me was missing. The barriers that I hope were absent were present and the formal behaviour replaced the friendship that used to easily exist.

I went back to my home church to celebrate 50 years since the building had been dedicated for worship. I was greeted, with genuine affection, by several people. I had expected their continued friendship; we had kept in touch over the years. I was also met by sideward glances and frosty practiced smiles on an otherwise bright and beautiful day by those who evidently didn’t expect or want to see me there. 34 years ago my family moved to the area and joined the local church. We grew up in that environment. It was my home.

The day of celebration was punctuated with songs, readings and gifts to recognise long service within the church. The rolls of honour were read. People were applauded, lauded and honoured for their contributions to the Christian ministry and local community. I did not go there that day with expectations of any reward, and I was sat there quietly enjoying the shared memories until my son, who was sat beside me during the ceremony, spoke and it was then that I really acknowledged the missing evidence of my presence in the records.

Morgan was listening to the list of officers who had taken part in the youth club over the years and when they finished reading and were stepping down from the platform, he looked at me, aghast, and said, to everyone and no-one in particular – in what I thought was quite a loud voice – “What about my Mum?”

Embarrassed feet shuffled and heads turned away.

I hugged him and said “Never mind, darling. I know I was there. God knows why they left me out.”

The same thing happened again and again. One after another groups that I belonged to reformed without me. Some people suggested I go and join them on the platform. I laughed at the idea of a mass exodus if I went to the front of the church. I declined politely and remained where I was. The church authorities, in their wisdom, could not see me so I chose to remain invisible to them that day.

My nephew, who now lives in Swansea, and who also grew up in the church community decided not to attend – for his own reasons. When he called me on my return home he asked a simple question.

“Well, how did they treat you?”

“They ignored me for the most part, Daniel,” I said, with a deep sigh. “To be expected I guess. I don’t fit in their picture. They can’t bring themselves to tell me outright to keep away, however they can choose to publicly ignore my contributions.”

I mainly went to support my sister and another nephew who have remained in the area and who are alienated within the church, but my presence seemed to exacerbate the situation - being part of my family means that they are treated as contaminated as well. My link with them is also a constant reminder of my ‘leper’ status within the church ‘family’.

My home is not with them.

There will be no future homecoming events for me with people who don’t acknowledge the person that I am. I’m sure that Christ, the Man the church congregation claims to follow, would not agree with the estrangement of His family members.

I broke the cardinal rule with them years ago. I ignored the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell law. When homophobia was rife in the groups I was part of I stood up and said I found it offensive and unChrist-like. I outed myself, and they’ve never got used to it. They cannot accept that the person they loved and played with through all those years is gay.

It’s not my problem. It’s theirs.

I am home now.

I know why I live so far from them now. I know why for the first time in three decades I haven’t moved every three years; I have now stayed in one place for 14 years. I have found a home and I keep coming back to it.

I don’t need their homecoming to celebrate my existence. I do that everyday when I awaken in my peaceful haven.

I am home.

The gold refining process

It’s been a bit of a struggle to focus positively since Mother’s Day. When I started remembering my mother I also remembered what happened when she was gone. It was painful.

It was then that I thought that some records should be deleted.

I have been reading my diaries that I started when I was thirteen years old. At the start of my entries I smiled as I read them. Each day I ended the note with the following words ‘Thank God for today’. Two years into my recorded thoughts I stopped writing that for a lengthy period and while re-reading them I came to the conclusion that some things in our past should be forgotten.

I have been reminded of the terrible sadness and isolation I felt from that young age even though I was part of a big family. On the flip side I also met a strong determined girl who championed fair treatment for all from an early age – even when threatened with being placed in care (and further isolated) for daring to speak her mind to her tyrant father. I stood up to him while barely fifteen because my large family shattered when my mum was gone and it was just me and my younger sister left in a house that ceased to be a home to us, with a man who found us a burden, didn’t want us around and never tried to understand our fragile states of loss and fear.

It was when I recognised my strength that I was glad I still had my diaries to remind me of my past.

I feel as good as gold tried in the fire and refined.

Now I can really say, Thank God for today.

To be known …

Taken from a secret source …

‘My biggest fear and my biggest desire are the two sides of a single coin: to be known. I know it is life changing to want these things. I need my life to change. I guess that’s what frightens me so much. That’s what makes me sit and do nothing or do so much that I have no time to think about what I really want.

I met someone recently, well I knew them a long time ago, but I started to get to know them only recently. With them I have the sense of freedom that I usually get only when I’m alone. You know, those quiet moments when your mind is completely open and honesty is the only emotion that holds reign. Anyway, I felt afraid when I first opened up to them, but also a sense of unbound joy! I felt like I was flying without a parachute because I didn’t need one – a safe landing was guaranteed.

There was this intense feeling of happiness at releasing my thoughts without censoring them. Especially the thoughts that I had held in my heart for years, the ones that had kept me alive and the ones that put vital distance between me and death. Those thoughts. My dark thoughts. The ones where I think the worst things about, seemingly, the best people.

Then one day I dared to speak some of this hidden part of myself to you. You know who you are, I don’t need to name you here and now. I started speaking and carried on at breakneck speed because I was afraid that if I stopped I’d never start again. I didn’t dare to look at you for the first plunge into the truth pool, but when I paused to take that vital breath essential for continuation, I noticed that you were actually listening to me. Really paying attention, not just to my words but also to all of me. I felt it. I sensed the genuine interest. It unbalanced me although it was exactly what I’d been hoping for.
(I’d been searching and finding imitations for a long while, so when I happened upon the real article, I was suspended into a state of shock. For ages I could not understand if it was a game to you, or if you really liked me and wanted to be my friend. I often felt I was in a dream, but I was awake and you were there – because you chose to be, again and again. I’d ask myself what were you getting from this contact that made it worthwhile for you. My life and actions were set out like an accountant’s profit and loss book. Sterile and precise. You still came back to me and looked right into me. Your eyes never lied.)

It had come to a point where I just needed to be with you. To know you in my life and most of all, for my sanity, to have you know me. I decided that day that I wanted to be known by you. So I decided to spill some of my heart.

I guess it was a kind of test. To see if you would balk at my revelations. Show disgust and remove yourself from the circle of my life. I wanted to tell you the hidden parts of me. The secrets I’ve been to scared to voice.

I’ve already told you some things, some little pebbles of information compared to the mountainous load I want to spill now. I told you things I was ashamed of and things that I was scared to own but were all mine. You heard me, you breathed normally and carried on with the conversation.

You did not dismiss me and my heavy heart as totally naïve, too sheltered, neither did you label me as an inexperienced fool. My life experience was valued by your true attention.

My response to your reaction to me is laughter, peace, relaxation of my whole self, increased confidence in my voice to speak.’