The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde

Gosh! What a story. Why is it that when a loyal friend dies it is heart breaking?
I would like to tell you this story. I will only be summarising it.
A swallow fell in love with a reed. And all Summer amidst his fellow peers, he courted the reed. Flying low over the water and creating silvery circles with a light touch of his wing.
It soon became time for the swallows to move to warmer climates and his friends encouraged the swallow to travel to Egypt with them. But he was in love with the reed and said that he would stay with her.
As time passed he became tired of the reed accusing her of being a coquette ad flirting constantly with the wind. He was also bored as she did not speak with him and share ideas. Ad so he decided to set off to join his fellows in Egypt.
As the night feel he decided to settle on a ridge to sleep and just as he was tucking his head under his wing a drop of water fell on him. He was perturbed, looking at the clear night sky and bright stars wondering how it could be raining and so tried to settle again. He felt another drop of water and complained about the pointlessness of a statue that didn't shelter him from the rain. And when he looked up what did he see there. The statue of the Happy prince was crying from his sapphire eyes.
H stated his complaint to the Happy Prince who explained that he had been living in a beautiful palace with his family where sorrow wasn't permitted and so he was named the Happy Prince. The Happy Prince recounted " and happy indeed I was if pleasure be happiness. And so I lived and so I died. And now they have set my up here high above the city so that I can all the ugliness and misery ...". (This suddenly gave a different sense of what contributes to happiness - happiness includes taking pleasure from things but is not exclusive to this). As a statue he said that he could see sorrow even with his heart of lead. When he died the courtiers set him up on these high pillars in all splendour of jewels and gold to commemorate the Happy Prince. His eyes had been turned to sapphires and his clothes were a splendour of gold. His gold leafed sword hung from his belt and was studded with the most beautiful ruby brought from India.
The Happy Prince told the swallow about a very poor, sad woman who's son was very ill with fever and crying for oranges but all his mother could bring him was water. He asked the swallow to remove the ruby from his sword and take it to the woman so that she can afford to buy oranges to help her weeping son. At first the swallow resisted the request saying that he needed to rest as he was going to Egypt tomorrow. The Happy Prince asked him to stay just one night and help him with this task. The swallow conceded and did as the Happy prince asked.
Of course the woman was overjoyed and thankful. The swallow returned to the Happy prince and said how on this cool evening he suddenly felt very warm and joyful in his heart. (And of course this is another contributory factor in finding happiness). The swallow was curious about his warmth and the Happy Prince said it was because he'd done a good action.
Each evening this went on, with The Happy Prince asking the swallow to deliver various jewels from him and deliver to people in need. Each time the swallow resisted slightly but agreed to stay one more night.
He flew around the city and was recognised as a very distinguished visitor and felt good about this.
There was a student in his garret unable to finish a play but was too cold too write and he was so hungry he felt faint. The swallow with his good heart agreed to stay just one more night. The Happy Prince asked him to take one of his sapphire eyes. The swallow delivered the sapphire and the student believed that someone was beginning to appreciate his work and now he could make a fire and complete his play.
The next evening asking the swallow to stay one more night. The swallow complained that it was winter and too cold. The Happy Prince talked of a little match girl in the square. She has dropped her matches and this will mean her father will beat her and there was no food. The swallow didn't want to take his last sapphire as the Happy prince would then be quite blind. However the Happy prince insisted and so the swallow did as he was bid.
Returning to the Prince he said he would stay with him always as the Prince was now blind. He sat by day telling the prince of his stories of his travels. The Prince asked him to fly over the city and tell him what he saw. He saw the rich making money whilst the poor sat at the gates starving and he saw black corners with the listless hungry looking out at the streets.
Under the archway of a bridge too little boys lay together trying to keep each other warm. The watchman turfed them away. He told the Prince who said the swallow must take off leaf by the leaf the covering on him. The happy prince became quite dull and grey. The poor became rosier and were no longer hungry.
With the cold and the frost coming the swallow grew colder and colder and tried to keep warm by flapping his wings. He knew he was going to die but had enough strength to fly up to the Prince to say goodbye. The Prince though he meant to go to Egypt. The prince asked him to kiss him on the lips for he loved him.
He said he was dying and that death was the brother of sleep.
There was then the sound of a curious crack and the fact was that the leadened heart of the prince had broken and snapped in two.
The mayor was in the square below the next morning. As he looked up at the statue he remarked on how shabby the Happy prince looked - in fact he is little better than a beggar. And he saw that there was a dead bird at his feet proclaiming that birds should no longer be allowed to die here.
The professor at the university said that as he was no longer beautiful he was no longer useful.
So they decided to put the statue in a furnace and decided what was to be done with the metal. The mayor said that they should replace the statue with a statue of himself.
What a strange thing - the broken lead heart would not melt in the furnace and threw it on a dust heap where the dead bird was lying.
God said to his angels bring me the most precious things in the city. The angels brought him the leaden heart and the dead bird.
God said that in his garden of paradise the little bird shall sing forever more and in the city of gold the Happy prince shall praise me.



G talked about this fairy tale and also the Selfish Giant both by Oscar Wilde. G is quite an extraordinary man and is interesting to talk with. I like it when people can introduce me to new things. He told me that when he read this he cried. I cried in my heart although not actually tears. I can feel the pain just as I did with the Velveteen Rabbit, That connectedness of love between tow unlikely beings. And the injustice of death and loss. It seems so unfair when they had bonded through adversity.
But more than this I can see in this story ways in which happiness is an action from within. Doing things despite oneself and because one can. Doing things for other people and bringing joy to them. Taking care of others when there are so many that cannot or will not. All that kindness and generosity and love. And yet there are so many striving for happiness through pomp and self gain. They appear happy and untroubled but I think they are blinded by their "things" and their ego. They cannot see beneath the surface of themselves and their leadened hearts.
It is heartening that God takes them into the garden of Paradise. And by this I don't know if there is such a place. If it is actual or not. But what I do know is that they died with true happiness, with love and achievement and fulfilment.
I was wondering what it is in me that I feel so sad for their passing. The Happy Prince died with a broken heart. The swallow died for his love of the Prince. is that just the way of things? I suppose it is. His time was up. But I'm thinking that if he'd gone to Egypt sooner he would have lived longer. But in living longer he would have missed out of the happiness of togetherness and love with the prince and the warmth of heart in doing good things for people in need. He would not have shared his experiences and memories like he did with the Prince. I can see that the happiness is there and is a culmination of many things. But that sadness that I feel? Ad the fact that people who are taking and have things even live longer, it all seems so unjust. Yet those people never get a to feel the way the swallow and the Prince felt. They can often by-pass those beautiful soulful things.
It's a battle and it's the battle I've had for a long time. Reconciling that sense of injustice, why bad things happen to good people and vice versa it seems. It's a lifelong project to make sense of and I probably never will until I die.
It is how it is.

Then there is the issue of G. I have enjoyed mulling over ideas. I am uncertain as to his motives and perhaps I need to be clear about my motives rather than concerning myself with what he is wanting or not. I can get easily sucked into the excitment of attention. And I need totake stock of this. Three have been the texts and now this has progressed to phone calls and they are late at night and lengthy. So we are simply mulling over ideas and that's very likely all it is for him. However for me it can mean anything. And this I need to be aware of. It creates unmanageability as well. One, there is the wondering and that in itself causes problems of not telling people that I am wondering because in fact I do not fancy him for what he presents overall. I can see he was probably once an attractive man but today he has a well lived in face and one tired from drinking and angst. Two, his financial situation is not at all sound. Three, his sense of self care shows thourhg his standard of dressing, i.e. dirty old trainers. That may sound fickle but he doesn't present himself as someone who is taking care of himself. However, to get to know as a friend is OK. Within that I need to be boundaried. I cannot talk for hours late into the night. Unlike him I do work and do have studies and need to sleep. I cannot spend hours ad hours chatting as much as I'd like to. I also am not in any way wanting any kind of relationship. So I need to be better around this. If I cannot tell people then I muct not do it.
So from now on how do I set boundaries God without being rude and rejecting him especially as he said that the slightest glance away would be received by him as rejection of him. I want to be thoughtful and that would have meant knowing this in the first place.
He has been in fellowship about 25 years and when I asked how long without drink, he said he struggled for many of them. I understood this to mean drinking and when I asked how long he said 24 3/4. So now I don't know how long he has actually been abstinent and there are times when I wondered if he'd had a drink.
He has been very honest with me abnout events and behaviours within his life and within his drinking and that is something I feel very honoured to have heard. I do not want to create a bad feeling and yet I need to be boundaried.
Please God can you guide me here for the best of me and my well-being and for him and his well-being.
Thank you God. I trust you will show me how from a position of love and compassion.

You know what is attractive about him? His depth of thought, his openness to discuss these sorts of things, the way he draws from little things like films and fairy tales (it appears that he is a man with emotional awareness then), his obvious intelligence, his wit and his laugh. These things are the things that I am drawn to in him. They are there and very real but they are all it is. I need to keep that realistic otherwise I can end up sucked into something blinded by these few things without seeing the bigger picture. And then I feel ashamed of the person because I am ashamed of my selection. I feel ashamed for what I choose that is not good enough for me.
Does that make sense?
It's not the person I'm ashamed of at all. I make no judgement on the person and all those things pale into insignificance anyway so long as I keep in mind that I am not enetering into anything more than friendship.
Of course I make a judgement on what is OK for me but not in a judgement as in right or wrong of them. Am I amking that clear? I probably need some clarification with other people. I know what I mean. I hope someone else will understand me. I do not crticise any individual in my judgement, it is merely of what meets with my own needs and principles that I am judging on.
It wasn't like that in the past though.

Bliss
XX



 

The Third Man

Graham Greene creates an intriguing opening. Harry Lime has been killed before his friend Holly Martins arrives. A British Major wants Holly out of Vienna by the following day but suddenly there are a number of people interested in Holly.
The intrigue is upon us from the very start and I guess that's what makes a good story. Interest needs to be aroused in the first few lines otherwise the writer is lost in the sea of meaningless words.



Here's my short story so far. Are you intrigued enough?

For many this is a chronicle of converted beliefs, bedevilment, lotions ad potions and witchery. For others, myself included and probably you too now, it’s about vanity, insanity and come-uppance. You will decide for yourself; evil forces or Higher Power yielding justice.

My curiosity was aroused the first time the camper van parked up. It struck me as strange, stopping for lunch on our forecourt, on a trading estate, off a roundabout, on a road leading out of Basingstoke. Not even the centre of the town. They were waiting.

I’m not sure if I’ve embellished my memory with my fantasies or whether later speculation fuelled my imagination but the driver had long dreadlocks. The angle they were parked in relation to the position of my desk, and the distance between us, made it impossible to see her full. She was side on, as they talked to each other. What were they saying? She resembled Tia Dalma in the Pirates of the Caribbean: At the Worlds End, the trader of magical charms and pretty damn exciting.  The other one looked like Kim Basinger. If I were making this into a film Kim Basinger would definitely play her part.

And then of all major surprises I was distracted as I noticed weedy Johnny, as the others called him, took off his thick-rimmed glasses and went over to his North Face jacket.  Johnny was so weedy I used to be amused at the way he sort of walked into the jacket and disappeared, as if engulfed by it. A jacket with skinny, little legs dangling from the bottom. You couldn’t even see his head. He just fed the fodder for the lads to take the piss. I did feel sorry for him sometimes but asked for it somehow. I used to have to curb my chuckles. I was the only one he ever spoke to at all. He had to talk to me really to report his movements for the week. They were always the same, “onsite”. He had no sales visits to make, he didn’t nurture any deals with any of the local businesses. I never bothered to listen to his sales technique on the phones; I just assumed it would be pitiful. Mind you he made good sales figures, there was also repeat business. Someone liked him. And it was enough to make it worthwhile to keep him on. I had some crazy, romantic notion that he was selling to some gangster group. Well after all, there were regular buyers and often cash sales. Who buys a BMW for cash after all? He sold a lot of the Sports models too. He just didn’t look the sort if you know what I mean. Then again he didn’t look the sort to be involved with a gang either. He did enough for me to keep him on, that’s all that mattered. His onsite sales were mediocre. He got the odd one, but he’d be so feeble in his approach it was like a sport for the lads to leap in before he could make an approaching utterance to a customer. He’s put his head down quietly and return to his desk and pick up the phone. I thought this was a way of covering his embarrassment. Maybe he phoned his mum to tell her they pipped him to the post again. Who knows?

Anyway this day was different and intriguing. Mr boring, predictable Johnny, who never uttered a word of complaint against all the shenanigans or ever did anything other than arrive on time, eat his lunch at his desk at the same time every day, and left after the others walked out in a cluster of rowdiness. He looked calm enough. I followed him with my eyes. I wondered amused if he’d had enough and this was his way of protesting. He didn’t look up or around him or make a sound. He padded his way out of the door and blow me over with a feather, right over to the campervan. The girls, women, whatever, got out of their seats and headed into to the rear. Weedy Johnny entered via the side door. What the hell? I think he momentarily glanced back towards me but I was so taken aback I put my head down quickly so as not to be noticed I’d seen him.

When I thought he was safely inside, I looked back. With sordid thoughts, that I wanted to feel guilty for but actually thought lucky bastard, I watched for a rocking movement. Maybe it was some kind of sex-mobile. After all they were really sexy chicks. Nothing! It was like a vacuum of information. What were they doing in there? The bloody thing had curtains. I couldn’t even make out any shapes or shadows. He was gone for about 15 or 20 minutes. Then the door opened. I caught his eye and swear there was a bit of a smirk as I quickly averted my focus back to the papers on my desk, as if casually taking a sweeping view of the outside world in business thought

This weedy little bloke, who looked as if he’d got stuck at age 12 physically, gangly 5’ 10” geek, had just pulled it off with two sexy women. Surely not? I mean, he couldn’t even talk to Shy Sue at the Christmas bash when the lads teased her into approaching him. She’s not a beauty by any stretch of the imagination but she’s very nice to everyone. You’d have thought at least he could strike up a bit of a flirt with her. Even she gave up. He just sipped away at a beer, didn’t even watch the dancing and then entered into his jacket world and left.

As he came back into the showroom, I noticed he had a holdall. Did he go in with that? What was in the holdall? What on earth was going? I was in agony with nosiness. I wanted to know what this strange little fella was up to. As he settled back at his desk, I got on with my work and gradually as the weeks went by I returned to normal just as he continued be weedy and geeky. Except there was something different about him, an air or an attitude change I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was my imagination? Maybe that was his first lay? Anyway I let it go.

I did for a while anyway. Until I noticed that weedy Johnny wasn’t quite as weedy. I couldn’t make out whether he was actually physically different or whether he just seemed to be holding himself differently. I think it was the latter. His head wasn’t hanging loose off his shoulders. That was it. He was looking up more, even looking people in the eye. I didn’t like what I saw. A man with hubris. Confidence is one thing, it is attractive even in another man. But this was sort of sickening and quite something else other than confidence. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

 

Comments please ... shall I continue?

 

Bliss

XX

 

 

 

 

The Myth of Sisyphus

He is not poor in health who is great in soul - Albert Camus

What did I notice about me today. Well in comparison with yesterday I was feeling much more comfortable doing my style of therapy. Yesterday and even this morning I was wondering what I thought I was doing?? What the hell do I know? How can I sit and be a therapist? People come along, they talk about the things they want to talk about, I summarise and paraphrase and at times question or suggest. T for example wants to reject every idea and yet comes to me to ask if he can do this or do that? I asked him about asking permission. He didn't own it, he side-tracked it completely. He is certainly not very present or aware of the here and now. He doesn't want to go anywhere near emotions apart from as an intellectual exercise.
I wonder if he would be an ideal candidate for day care with PD. I will pose the question to him.
Oh well anyway, you know the kind of thing.
I went to therapy to get someone else to sort out my life. But that isn't really what happened. I got more information about myself. I got some understanding. That's what helped me to sort out y own life - well to some degree. It's not sorted, it's unravelling. And will be until death to us part - me from life. But the support helps me to manage on a daily basis. I remove addictive behaviours an then I'm left with the feelings and then what. Just get on with it. But sometimes I can't just anything. What on earth is it all about. It's absurdism. Trying to make sense of things that have no sense. Trying to find purpose but never finding it, always looking for it.

Sisyphus by Titian (1490-1576)

The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labour. If one believes Homer, Sisyphus was the wisest and most prudent of mortals. According to another tradition, however, he was disposed to practice the profession of highwayman. I see no contradiction in this. Opinions differ as to the reasons why he became the futile labourer of the underworld. To begin with, he is accused of a certain levity in regard to the gods. He stole their secrets. Egina, the daughter of Esopus, was carried off by Jupiter. The father was shocked by that disappearance and complained to Sisyphus. He, who knew of the abduction, offered to tell about it on condition that Esopus would give water to the citadel of Corinth. To the celestial thunderbolts he preferred the benediction of water. He was punished for this in the underworld. Homer tells us also that Sisyphus had put Death in chains. Pluto could not endure the sight of his deserted, silent empire. He dispatched the god of war, who liberated Death from the hands of her conqueror. It is said that Sisyphus, being near to death, rashly wanted to test his wife's love. He ordered her to cast his unburied body into the middle of the public square. Sisyphus woke up in the underworld. And there, annoyed by an obedience so contrary to human love, he obtained from Pluto permission to return to earth in order to chastise his wife. But when he had seen again the face of this world, enjoyed water and sun, warm stones and the sea, he no longer wanted to go back to the infernal darkness. Recalls, signs of anger, warnings were of no avail. Many years more he lived facing the curve of the gulf, the sparkling sea, and the smiles of earth. A decree of the gods was necessary. Mercury came and seized the impudent man by the collar and, snatching him from his joys, lead him forcibly back to the underworld, where his rock was ready for him. You have already grasped that Sisyphus is the absurd hero. He is, as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. This is the price that must be paid for the passions of this earth. Nothing is told us about Sisyphus in the underworld. Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them. As for this myth, one sees merely the whole effort of a body straining to raise the huge stone, to roll it, and push it up a slope a hundred times over; one sees the face screwed up, the cheek tight against the stone, the shoulder bracing the clay-covered mass, the foot wedging it, the fresh start with arms outstretched, the wholly human security of two earth-clotted hands. At the very end of his long effort measured by skyless space and time without depth, the purpose is achieved. Then Sisyphus watches the stone rush down in a few moments toward the lower world whence he will have to push it up again toward the summit. He goes back down to the plain. It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. A face that toils so close to stones is already stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock. If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works everyday in his life at the same tasks, and his fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious. Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that can not be surmounted by scorn. If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy. This word is not too much. Again I fancy Sisyphus returning toward his rock, and the sorrow was in the beginning. When the images of earth cling too tightly to memory, when the call of happiness becomes too insistent, it happens that melancholy arises in man's heart: this is the rock's victory, this is the rock itself. The boundless grief is too heavy to bear. These are our nights of Gethsemane. But crushing truths perish from being acknowledged. Thus, Edipus at the outset obeys fate without knowing it. But from the moment he knows, his tragedy begins. Yet at the same moment, blind and desperate, he realises that the only bond linking him to the world is the cool hand of a girl. Then a tremendous remark rings out: "Despite so many ordeals, my advanced age and the nobility of my soul make me conclude that all is well." Sophocles' Edipus, like Dostoevsky's Kirilov, thus gives the recipe for the absurd victory. Ancient wisdom confirms modern heroism. One does not discover the absurd without being tempted to write a manual of happiness. "What!---by such narrow ways--?" There is but one world, however. Happiness and the absurd are two sons of the same earth. They are inseparable. It would be a mistake to say that happiness necessarily springs from the absurd. Discovery. It happens as well that the felling of the absurd springs from happiness. "I conclude that all is well," says Edipus, and that remark is sacred. It echoes in the wild and limited universe of man. It teaches that all is not, has not been, exhausted. It drives out of this world a god who had come into it with dissatisfaction and a preference for futile suffering. It makes of fate a human matter, which must be settled among men. All Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is a thing. Likewise, the absurd man, when he contemplates his torment, silences all the idols. In the universe suddenly restored to its silence, the myriad wondering little voices of the earth rise up. Unconscious, secret calls, invitations from all the faces, they are the necessary reverse and price of victory. There is no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The absurd man says yes and his efforts will henceforth be unceasing. If there is a personal fate, there is no higher destiny, or at least there is, but one which he concludes is inevitable and despicable. For the rest, he knows himself to be the master of his days. At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning toward his rock, in that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which become his fate, created by him, combined under his memory's eye and soon sealed by his death. Thus, convinced of the wholly human origin of all that is human, a blind man eager to see who knows that the night has no end, he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling. I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy. The garden of Gethsemane - where Jesus is believed to have prayed the evening before his crucifixion. Painted by Andrea Mantegna (1431-1506). There are several sites that are claimed to be the place where Jesus prayed. And Gethsemane is cited in the Bible. Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1821-1881) painted by Vasily Perov in 1872. His novels, short storied and essays explore human psychology in the troubled political, social and spiritual context of 19th-century Russian society. Acknowledged as a great psychologist he is best known for his works in his later years such as Crime and Punishment, Idiot and The Brothers Karamazov. Demons, mentioned above, "is an extremely political book. It is a testimonial of life in Imperial Russia in the late 19th century. As the revolutionary democrats begin to rise in Russia, different ideologies begin to collide. Dostoyevsky casts a critical eye on both the left-wing idealists, portraying their ideas and ideological foundation as demonic, and the conservative establishment's ineptitude in dealing with those ideas and their social consequences. This form of intellectual conservativism tied to the Slavophile movement of Dostoyevsky's day, called Pochvennichestvo, is seen to have continued on into its modern manifestation in individuals like Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Dostoyevsky's novels focus on the idea that utopias and positivist ideas, in being utilitarian, were unrealistic and unobtainable. (Wikipedia) How very interesting reading this essay by Albert Camus. I have read parts again and again wanting to be able to make sense of the sentiment. At first I felt a sense of hopelessness from the relentless tasks of life. Doing the same thing over and over again because one has to to live. Is it proclaimed and therefore is? In Sisyphus' case he was set this task by the gods and it seems there was no escaping it and so the task became to find contentment within the situation. And their punishment was the result of his disobedience. He did not follow the principles of the gods, he rebelled. By this I mean he was functioning on some different level, not a spiritual one. I relate this to myself. Reflecting on my life, although some things were done to me at a time when I was vulnerable and mould able, in later years I made choices that caused troubles. My behaviour was rebellious, deceitful, destructive and dishonourable. I didn't have this as an intention deep down. I was in conflict with other principles that were loving and caring, truthful and dignified. I had compassion and respect. These two parts were in constant conflict but often the louder voice was the destructive one. Whether that was unleashed through experiences or stronger from the offset, no one will ever know. I tend to think it's a little bit of both. That there is an individual tendency towards heightened sensitivity and when this is coupled with environmental experiences that do not nurture and surround that sensitivity, then there is the potential for another mechanism to be triggered. And often experienced by others as "bad" behaviour. To exemplify this, I think I am a very sensitive person. I can recall being troubled by many things that I observed. I remember being concerned for one of our neighbours sons, Paul H. I was under 4 when I was concerned. I cannot say why I was concerned for him but something didn't feel right. I was also concerned for K next door. perhaps it was my mothers concerns that I picked up on I really o not know. But I felt a need for them. I was sensitive. And I was also sensitive for myself. When my friends were playing with not such nice kids and stealing from me, I was upset that they could do this and I didn't understand. I didn't understand why people would do mean things. I was creative with stories but they were stories of loss and disaster afoot. This was from a young age and all through my play stages. The earth cracking up, being taken away and locked up, being treated cruelly by the master. That sort of thing. Was I born with this bleak and black attitude towards life? Or was this created out of being sensitive and surrounded by anger? A bit of both I am certain but putting into words is difficult. It comes back to the Transactional Model of Arnold Sameroff, nothing occurs in a stand alone position.Everything is interconnected and cannot seemingly be separated.        Gosh I am a long way off Camus' essay. So Sisyphus who apparently emerges from a lowly life into the life of the gods, seems to bring with him a degree of rebellion. He is testing the limits which sounds quite childlike. He is given responsibility and living but takes things beyond the principles by which the gods give everything. So then there is the question are those spiritual principles the right ones? Within me yes they feel right but every so often a naughtiness descends that can take me away from following those principles, wanting what seems to be a freedom and a lot of fun. It can be but there is a price to pay. Whereas following more Godly principles seems to bring tranquillity and gently arrives rather than is something strived for and gained. So Sisyphus is be4lieved to have worked against the gods in different ways but ultimately it seems his disrespect for them earned him the thankless and endless task of rolling the rock to the top of the mountain and then have to start all over again. It's similar to me. I work, I earn some money, I pay bills and then I need to work again to get the money to pay the bills. In between time there doesn't seem to be a lot of pay off. I cannot afford to do the things I desire, as with Sisyphus he has not time for rest and he cannot let go of the rock because his task is to get it to the top of the mountain before it can roll down again. I do not understand the relevance of his wife throwing his unburied body into the square thus ending up in hell. He tested her love by asking her to do this and she obeyed. Is this not obeying him or should she have disobeyed in the name of decency and respect for his body? To me it is a body and the soul had left already so what matters the body? However, there is something quite important about respecting the vessel for the soul. Honouring it's toil and the job it does. So perhaps she should not have obeyed and instead heeded more the respect for the man she had loved. She had no backbone perhaps to stand by her principles? I'm not sure. If it was this unquestioning obedience that he wanted to return to avenge then I understand. But his desire to return to earth was it to punish his wife? Coming from hell I guess that is what it would do to you. Hell would breed resentment so there is a need to stay out of hell. And the warning is perhaps not to put people to the test, they are bound to be fallible and therefore what I sow I reap. He asked and she obeyed. The consequence was dear and dire. Yes I can relate that to my life. Principles I crossed, such as terminations of pregnancy and promiscuity and dishonesty and excess of many things like spending and self-centredness and thoughtlessness. These attitudes and the associated behaviours have all resulted in a high price. I pay the price of an increased rift between me and my dad. I pay the price of never being able to make up for the worry that my mum went through and the fact that she couldn't really trust me. I have not been able to settle with any man and I have not achieved in a way I would have liked. I have no family. I have lost reality with honesty. I have been in a heap of a mess. High prices to pay for the many years of fun and hedonism. Fond memories exist but looking at the greater picture would I do it all again? Part of me says yes but the other part says I would go back and learn somehow to do it differently if that were possible. I don't think it's all out of me just yet as there is that urge to say - "bring it on". I would pay the price for some more if I could have it now. And I can but I am also aware of the risk of it getting worse rather than still being fun. So Sisyphus returns to earth and suddenly likes what earth offers. He hides from the gods until eventually they catch up with him. I was ducking and diving for a while but all the time could feel the hounds nearing until the breakdown occurred when I could feel their breath on my neck and their saliva running down my back. The sound of their pants was in my ears and I cold hear nothing else. I had to surrender or there was certain death. Sometime I welcomed it to get me out of the current futility that I saw. And being conscious of the futility, fully aware is the thing I grapple with. At times I have total contentment with the way things are. Me and my interactions, the need for work and the things that I can and can't do. But the contentedness comes when I am acceptant and grateful for the things I have got internally and externally. When the futility takes over then the discontent arrives with it. Of course this myth is an analogy with my life. I am struggling at this time with not only being short of funds for things other than basically covering costs, and at times I can be expensive because of choices. I am also finding it difficult being with L's personality at work. It challenges me sometimes more than at other times. At the moment it is challenging. Now there are day when this can really get me down and I want to run, to do something completely different. These are the days when I am not drawing from the inner gains. The knowledge I can get from this situation day in and day out is extraordinary. But I don't want to hang around and do that. BUT God is making it so that I have to. I feel jealous of other people who are making moves to achieve. I like it better when there are others in the doldrums just like me right at this time. Sometimes I taken steps into things I'm pleased about and other times I feel stuck. It doesn't expose me as the failure I feel that I am. There's the defect of self-hatred speaking out loudly in that last sentence. This is mental illness. And I truly have it in monumental quantities. Not that mental illness is quantifiable, I don't believe in such a way. It can not easily be said that this person is worse than that person. Often the physical behaviour is what people are judging against. Mental illness shows as unpredictable and sometimes as different from the norm. So I think this breeds fear in others and indeed from within. But once again it can all seem futile suddenly when I see it only at the level of pushing the rock up the mountain only for it to roll down and start all over again with the agony of the journey upwards. Only momentarily getting a sense of achievement and able to enjoy the scenery at the top of the mountain.If, however, I can observe the entire experience, each journey up the mountain brings it's own variety. And if I observe myself in the situation, it's not futile, it's an experience, it's growth, it's strengthening and all contributing towards the next lesson. Nothing then is futile because everything comes from within. As the Dalai Lama said on Thursday, oh yes I was there in Aldershot when he visited. He said that the Buddha is within, it's not something external. It is my path to reach that internal Buddha and on the occasions when I do I feel grace and serenity. In those moments the external does not matter at all. Acceptance. Today I am agonising about things that seem unsaid from my sponsor. I get a sense that she strongly objects to therapy. Now this affects me on several levels. It's also interesting as it's upsetting my internal sense of self when actually I feel very comfortable that I know where I am heading. My practice is not only to bring about self actualisation but more importantly about the person finding the way to move forward, and take action for themselves. To move away from dependency on historical voices and messages, to move away from dependency on therapy and individuals and to achieve a sense of self worth and faith. It seems to matter what she thinks and this morning I have become aware I was being quite underhand or manipulative when I started trying to express what my style of work involves. I wanted her to realise I was good and to be on side against L actually. I realised this and didn't like my manipulation. IN the same way I didn't like the way I manipulated a public arena on Tuesday during supervision to expose L for her exaggeration and deceit. My dad used to be like that. He would make statements to damn me or mum or another person and it would be actually unfounded, merely a manipulation of information or facts to try and control the situation. So with compassion I wonder what it is that leaves her in such need of this. If only she could be comfortable with the fact that she's the boss and no one is questioning that, then she wouldn't need to control the people and they way they are. However, me me me. I made a comment that I had called B (the person she had said made a statement about people arriving without having the foundations of recovery). The implication was that we were not doing a good job even tough she did add it wasn't directed at us. So my opening statement made it sound as if I had called specifically to enquire about her comment. I said it on purpose as an exposure because B said he was not referring to us. She went quite mad at me, saying that I could have asked her, that she felt let down by me and ended by saying she didn't want to talk about it anymore. Others seemed as confounded as me by her reaction, implying that we cannot be curious and cannot speak to other people. I did later apologise saying that I was sorry that she had felt offended and that it had not been my intention. I clarified that I was speaking with B about another situation and raised the question out of curiosity and made it clear I knew he wasn't referring to us but wondered what he thought needed to be done. She just looked at me. Later apparently S made a comment to her privately about her reaction and L commented back that there is history between us. Well there certainly is. Now here is my struggle. I felt very down the following day. S and L were working cheerfully together. I felt out of it. I can relate to that with childhood situations, even with my mum and dad being together and feeling as if they were against me. The same happened and is a fear in friendships. Just this morning, M mentioned that S had called her and suddenly I felt left out. My first inclination is to pick up the phone and have a chat as if by chance with S. Crazy. Just sit back observe and trust. I can be at peace within these struggles. At other times I can see only futility as yet another situations presents itself to me as a problem to be overcome. At least my problems are varied. poor Sisyphus had the same struggles and pain day in and day out. I am certain though with each roll of the rock up the hill he must have been physically stronger and wiser, knowing better and better each time how to overcome little difficulties and developing strengths to manage the struggle. So here I am thinking about that. I know that I can keep my mouth closed and observed. I know it has worked. I know that I could not be so devious, spiteful and manipulative when I use information. I know it is possible to feel OK n myself and confidant that I am doing my best and my best is enough for today. I am learning and growing within myself and how to handle different situations. I am gaining knowledge to help deal with things that can be tricky. Back to my sponsor. I get a strong sense and from what she's shared to be frank, that therapy is not something she believes in. And so going on a workshop with my therapist seems to have triggered a disappointment or something in her. She feels a little distant and maybe even cross with me. Now I do believe in therapy and for more than simply self-actualisation as she said in the AWOL. It did feel as if it was directed at me. Do I speak with her God? I want to sort it out in a phone call this afternoon. I want to find out if my sense is correct. What do I do God? Now there is a part of me that thinks just sit back and observe. See what happens over the next few days about this. Stay out of my fear and then the ways in which this manifests in codependency. Observe, observe, observe. But at the same time don't try and manipulate. This sense of insecurity drives me to be deceitful and underhand. I don't like it in me. Do I talk to others about this self realisation and find out what others might do? This is when I'd prefer it that people don't know who my sponsor is. I suppose I could talk about it without using the term sponsor. I could talk about it as a third party whose opinion matters to me and with whom I have a lot of contact. Hmmmm - please show me God what is the next best thing to do here. So as I've written this I see more and more what Camus was bringing to my attention

My little cousin creating

It’s been this way since we were young…  (Where We Land - Ed Sheeran)

           

Hermione walked out of the door looking very pleased with herself. Harry knew he would have to face her results eventually.

“What did you get then?” he said half-heartedly. Hermione’s face beamed with happiness.

“Well I don’t mean to gloat, but I got all O’s” Ron’s mouth dropped open.

“How did you manage to get Outstanding in everything?”

“Well unlike you Ronald, I studied!” she said spitefully. Ron just rolled his eyes. He wasn’t happy with getting two Acceptables, 3 Poors and one Dreadful. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell his mum. Harry on the other hand, had done slightly better. At least he had got an E –Exceeds Expectations- in potions! And he had had Professor Snape that year.

            Draco stared down at the parchment that held the answers to his future. As he untied the green satin ribbon he was expecting to see how badly he had done. The first subject on the scroll was Potions with Professor S. Snape. As Draco carefully moved his eyes to the end of the line he was shocked to see he had received an O. Internally he cheered. He didn’t really care much for the rest of his results but he noticed how he had received a mixture of O’s, E’s and A’s. With a smug look over to a depressed Weasley he couldn’t help but notice how Hermione was so happy with herself. In the spare of the moment he decided to go over and ‘congratulate’ Hermione on her good results.

            “Why the long face Weasely, realised your girlfriend is going to be bringing all the money into this relationship?” Draco sniggered.

“We are NOT going out!” Hermione said in a huff before turning around to congratulate the Patil twins on their results.

“What do you want over here with us Malfoy!? Shouldn’t you be sulking over your failure with all your fellow Slytherins?” Harry looked over to Crabb and Goyle who were looking depressed and standing beside their ripped up result parchments. Draco pulled out his wand to threaten Harry –now that they were allowed to use magic at any moment-

“Actually for your information, my results were probably better than your Quidditch skills!”  Harry gave Draco a dirty glare.

“At least I don’t have to pull my wand out every 5 seconds to protect myself” he muttered. At that moment Professor McGonnagall walked over to congratulate her house.

“Well done students, I hope you are all happy with your results I am proud to say tha-- Mr Malfoy, why are you standing with the Gryffindors? Go back to your house at once!” she spoke in her quiet but stern voice. Draco gave Harry and Ron one final glare before returning to a bunch of moody Slytherins and Professor Snape.

You can’t play on broken strings….  (Broken Strings - James Morrison)      

Draco looked up at the sign above the giant green door. ‘Hogsmede Medical Centre’. He carefully hung the plaque ‘Founder, Draco Malfoy’ by the entrance. With a sigh of relief he opened the door and stepped inside. As he walked towards his new office his assistant Felicity Bell greeted him with a butterbeer and a list of people applicants.

“Thanks Felicity”

“That’s quite alright Mr Malfoy” she replied in her melodic tone. Draco walked into his office and chucked the list onto his desk. He hadn’t even bothered reading the names of the applicants. As he tucked into his butterbeer he placed his feet up on the corner of his desk and relaxed. Several moments later he placed the empty glass down and got straight to work. Ever since leaving school Draco had developed a serious work ethic. He wanted to prove everyone wrong and become a successful business man. He could hear Felicity outside talking with someone who had a very soft tone, a tone he recognised.

“Yes, he is expecting you”

 Draco looked up at the clouded window in his door and saw a silhouette. What looked like very frizzy hair and a slender face. Her body -assuming it was a woman- was very thin also. As the door handle turned Draco was not expecting to see this certain someone standing in his office

___________________________________________________________________________

            “Draco?” Hermione questioned. She was startled to see her former school enemy sitting in the office of which her interview would take place. Draco immediately picked up the list Felicity had given him and saw Hermione’s name right at the top.

“What are you doing here? God help me if you are here for an interview to be a consultant!”

“That’s what your paper says doesn’t it!” Hermione said.

Draco rolled his eyes. What was the mudblood know-it-all doing in his office? But surely he could have fun with this interview.

“Well, let’s do this professionally then, Granger, just because we know each other don’t mean I would treat you any different.”

Hermione took a seat opposite Malfoy.

“Well I know that”

“Talks back” Draco said whilst making a note on an application form.

“Hey, I wasn’t--“

“Interrupts whilst busy” Draco said slyly again whilst making notes. Hermione sat abruptly in her chair and folded her arms. She knew Draco was going to be annoying, but she didn’t imagine him this bad. Whilst sitting there, waiting for Draco to finish jotting notes she noticed a band on his ring finger where she guessed a wedding ring would have previously sat.

“So what happened then?” she asked, smirking to herself.

“What are you talking about?” Draco scowled.

“The missing ring, I’m guessing the poor girl realised what she had married” Hermione chuckled

“That private business Granger, nothing you need to know about. Do you know that this could harm your chances of getting this job?” Draco spat.

“I’m not really worried about your bloody job!” Hermione said angrily

“Mind your language Granger, that’s another bad remark going on your application” Draco said with an evil glimmer in his eye.

“Wow Malfoy, after all these years I thought you might have matured at least a little; I thought you would be able to hold a decent conversation. But I guess I was wrong. You’re just a joke, and if you think that anyone is going to see you as a successful business man then you might as well give up now!”

Draco slammed the papers down onto his desk.

“Right, now you’ve done it!” he took a step towards her.

“Don’t even think I’m still going to consider your application. As if I’d have someone like you working for me, I would never be taken seriously. You might as well get out now, your time is up!” Draco shouted.

“Gladly!” Hermione snarled. As she walked towards the door and turned the knob Draco called after her; “Now I feel bad for saying that the Weasely boy liked you! Even he is too good for you! You’re just a good for nothing mudblood!” He shouted. Hermione turned her head to look at him. She just shook her head and exited quickly. Draco slumped down into his chair. He placed his fingers on his temples and sighed. Felicity entered the room a little worried.

“Well…um…how do you think that went?” she asked politely.

“Felicity, just get out” Draco sighed. 

Aint Never Gonna’ Change…  (Change - Daniel Merriweather)

            Hermione strode down the streets of Hogsmede. The sound of her heels beating the floor was being to aggravate her even more. Her face was pink and flustered and her frizzy hair was bushier than ever. As she stopped outside The Three Broomsticks and looked at her reflection in the window she undid the button on her pinstriped blazer and took off her shoes. She pushed open the door and the little bell rang. As she walked in and looked around she spotted Harry and Ron sitting in a booth in the corner. Ron also noticed her and stuck his hand in the air and beckoned her over.

“New look Hermione?” he smirked

“What?”

“No shoes.” Harry added.

“Oh right…the sound of them was annoying me” She said shyly. Harry and Ron chuckled a little, but when they noticed how upset she looked they stopped.

“I’ll go order then shall I? Butterbeers all round?” Ron asked. Harry and Hermione both nodded. After Ron walked off Harry broke the silence.

“Dare I ask how the interview went?”

Hermione glared at him. He gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Its okay, there will be other jobs”

“That’s not the problem; the problem is that I lost to Malfoy!” Hermione said sternly

“Did someone mention Malfoy?” Ron moaned, balancing 3 butterbeers in his hands. As he placed them in the middle of the table Hermione nodded limply to answer his question.

“I wonder what that freaky blokes up to these days?”

“Wasting people’s time that’s what he’s doing” Hermione said viciously.

“Please don’t tell me he was the one that interviewed you” Ron said worryingly. As Hermione took her butterbeer she rolled her eyes at him.

“Well - don’t worry - about him, he’s always been - an idiot” Harry said, between slurps.

The three best friends continued to chat when the bell above the door rang melodically. Ron looked over, let out a little snigger and nudged Harry in the side.

“Look over there!” He pointed.

“Where?”

“The door!” As Ron pointed to the people walking in they noticed it was Neville holding hands with - was it? - Luna? Hermione just sat, staring at the bottom of the glass. She couldn’t stop thinking about the interview; she thought she would have been a shoe in on nabbing that job.

As the tall figure turned his head and caught a glimpse of Ron sniggering at him.

“Hi guys!” Neville chirped.

“Neville! Long time no see mate, take a seat. Oh and you too Luna.” Harry replied, giving Luna a half smile as he invited her to sit down. Neville pulled up two chairs and took a seat. He then put his arm around Luna and pulled her in close to him. Luna looked into his eyes lovingly before wrapping her arms around his torso.
“Something going on between you two?” Ron questioned.

“I thought you guys knew? -the three friends looked puzzled- Me and Luna are engaged” Neville said happily.

“You got engaged to Loony Lov--” Ron stopped mid sentence after Harry stomped on his foot to warn him not to go there.

“Congratulations Neville” Harry said politely. Neville smiled at him, and then turned his head to look at Hermione.

“Hi Hermione, how are you?”

“Just fine” she replied quickly, not bothering to raise her head. Neville took the hint she didn’t want to talk.

“So did you guys hear about Malfoy? I heard he’s got his own business now! Luna was going for an interview, but who wants to work for him eh?”

Hermione acted as if Neville had punched her in the face. She immediately pushed her empty glass away from her, picked up her shoes and walked away from the table. As she stopped half way to balance on the bar to put her shoes back on Luna left Neville’s side and walked over to Hermione. She placed her hand on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry Hermione, you’ll find your soul mate some day, just like I found Neville”

Hermione shrugged Luna’s hand off of her shoulder.

“For your information Luna, that is NOT the reason I am currently in despair” and with that Hermione left the pub. Luna looked a little taken back, but soon resumed to her seat at the table.

“Where’s Hermione gone?” Harry said. He thought she was going to explain more about her interview. Luna looked glumly at him.

“Well…” said Ron, getting up and slapping his knees. “I best be going, I’ve got dinner at my mums…Oh Harry! D’ya wanna come along too?”

“Sounds great Ron” Harry replied. Neville opened his mouth as if he was going to speak. He waited a few seconds but realised he would not be receiving an invite to the Weasely dinner.

“Seeya Neville…Bye Luna” Harry called out as him and Ron left The Three Broomsticks.

            Draco sat at his desk with his head in his hands. The argument he had shared with Granger was repeating over and over in his head. What if she was right? People wouldn’t take him seriously as a business man. Wait…what was he thinking? Never in his life would he believe anything a mudblood had said to him.

Now Draco, that’s not a nice word…mudblood

So many things were whirling round and round in his mind. Then a soft little tap could be heard through the door.  Draco could immediately tell who it would be.

“Come in Felicity.”

“I am terribly sorry to bother you Mr Malfoy, and I did get your note about how I must not, under any circumstances, choose to hire the ‘frizzy haired freak’ -

In your words, not mine Sir, I think she is rather pleasant.

-But I can’t help but notice, Mr Malfoy that she has the best application of her own by far. She received all O’s in her exams, she has had lots of experience with helping her friends and she sounds like an all round pleasant person.”

Draco glared at her, with his cold blue eyes.

“Felicity, did you not hear the raging argument we had? There is no way I am hiring her. She’s a foul mudblood”

Stop using that word Draco!
Felicity flinched at the dirty name Draco had decided to address Hermione by.

“But, Mr Malfoy, I fear that we won’t find anyone as good as Miss Granger -she gulped- and I don’t know about you, but I would like to see this business as fine as it can be and I think that with Miss Granger on board we can acco--”

“Okay, okay Felicity -Draco interrupted- you have made a fine point.” Draco sighed heavily. He knew Felicity was right, all through school Hermione had been the best student, and no matter how much he tried not to think about it, she was extremely skilled and could really help the business out.

“Get me her address” he groaned.

Damn this shit gets old…  (This Sh*t Gets Old - Never Shout Never)

            Hermione loved living in the centre of Hogsmede. She was close to all her friends and all her favourite places. Her parents didn’t mind that she was so far away from home, as long as she promised to come home and visit every now and again. As Hermione walked from her glistening kitchen and slumped herself onto the patchwork sofa she reviewed how badly her day had gone whilst sipping her sweet coffee. Hermione had never really been one for interior design but her flat was very respectable and welcoming. With pale cream walls, plants dotted around and welcoming sofa, she was prepared for any visitors. Although, she didn’t really have many people visit her place often. She preferred it just being her, however, when the right guy comes along she would love to start her own family. She placed her coffee down onto a coaster on the wooden coffee table and picked up her copy of The Daily Prophet. As she began reading about the upcoming Quidditch tournaments there was a knock at the door. If this was going to be Luna again Hermione was quite ready to slam the door in her face. As she arose from the sofa in her pink fluffy slippers she walked to the door where an impatient person was standing on the other side continually knocking.

“I’m coming I’m coming!”

            Draco stood outside the mahogany door and heard Hermione calling from inside. He rolled his eyes, what was he doing here again? As the door opened in front of him stood a flustered Hermione who was staring directly at him.

“What do you think you are doing at this time of night?”

“May I come in? Okay then.” Draco said as he invited himself into the bright living area. Hermione looked a little startled but closed the door behind him.

“You have 5 seconds to explain yourself or I’m calling the ministry”

Draco looked at her, studying her casual appearance.

“You look nice”

Wait; did I actually just say that?

“Flattery will get you nowhere Malfoy.” Hermione said spitefully, with her arms folded over her baggy jumper.

“You have no idea how much it pains me to say this, especially to you -he rubbed his head- I would like to formally ask you if you would like to take the job available at Hogsmede Medical Center”

Hermione giggled rudely.

“And what makes you change your mind? Realised you can’t live without me?”

Of course he can, can’t he? Well I am amazing.

“Well, actually Granger, it was mainly Felicity’s idea, but yes, that is the general gist. I would like to have someone with your skills -he coughed and tried to loosed the collar of his shirt- on my team”

“Well I’m disinclined to accept, Mr Malfoy.” Hermione mocked.

“I thought me begging you would have changed your mind, after all this is what you wanted isn’t it? -Hermione stared at him- Well if you aren’t going to accept, you can forget about a pay rise, I always knew you were a selfish piece of work”

Hermione thought about it for a second. Malfoy really had come to her flat to ask her personally, she knew it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to turn down this sort of an opportunity, and plus, what a story to tell. Hermione had got Malfoy begging her because of how amazing she was.

“Okay, but first of all, if this is going to work I want you to quit with the insults.” She said sternly.

“Whatever you say” said Malfoy turning around to walk towards the door

“Oh and one more thing, I’m expecting equal treatment, just because we know each other slightly more, I don’t want you favouriting me! She said sarcastically.

“I wasn’t planning on it!” Malfoy called out, now standing at the door. As he turned the latch he dropped his wand. As it rolled over to Hermione’s feet he noticed her pink fluffy slippers.

“How like a girl” he muttered to himself.     

Hermione was still a little shocked at having Draco standing in her flat and that’s probably the explanation for what she said next.

“Do you fancy a coffee?”

Draco gave her a puzzled look.

“What did you say?”

Hermione blushed, not wanting to repeat her statement.  She just shook her head shyly

“Never mind.”

Draco’s eyes whirled around the room. He was admiring Hermione’s personal taste.

Seriously Draco, seriously!?

“Nice place” Draco complemented.

Draco! No more butterbeer for you if its going to make you all soft towards her!

Hermione blushed further, her cheeks nearly the same colour as her slippers.

“Well, I better be going then” Draco murmured.

He opened the door and began down the corridor.

“See you at work!” Hermione called out after him.

Really Hermione, what are you doing! He hates you remember…and you hate him.

Anything to please you…  (Can’t Stand It - Never Shout Never)

                Hermione awoke with a pounding headache. Not a great way to start a new day at work. As she hurled herself out of the crimson bed sheets she felt as though she was about to collapse. Her hands worked fast in making the bed as she didn’t want to leave a bad impression by being late. She walked past the mirror and did a double take.

Hermione, look at the state of your hair! Fix the situation!

She sighed at herself and began to attack the birds nest on her hair with the hairbrush. After wincing at the size of the knots she decided taking a shower would be the best option.

As she stepped out of the shower smelling sweetly of jasmine and coconut she walked to wardrobe, whilst rubbing her hair dry with a towel. Hermione shuffled to her colour co-ordinated wardrobe, watching the sprawled hairbrush on the floor. She picked out a lilac blouse patterned with white lilies, a black pencil skirt that sits just above the knee and some white heels. After she was dressed and had sprayed a nice perfume it was time to tackle the hair issue. She pulled and fiddled until she eventually decided on a tight bun with some loose curls shaping around her face.  She finished the look with a white pearl necklace with matching earrings. Then sitting at her dressing table she applied some fine black eyeliner, mascara and a dusting of powder. Finally she applied some shiny lip gloss with the tip of her finger. Looking at the clock on the wall, Hermione realised there was no time to spare and quickly flooed herself to the Medical Center.

               

Bliss
XX

I love Pooh philosophy

"Rivers know this: There is no hurry. We shall get there some day." -Winnie the Pooh :)


Posted by my friend L who just has always loved Pooh.
I really enjoyed reading the Tao of Pooh. I want to read the Te of Piglet.
Very very clever.


Here's some things I already collected

The Tao of Pooh

Winnie the Pooh has a certain way about him, a way of doing things which has made him the world's most beloved bear. And Pooh's Way, as Benjamin Hoff brilliantly demonstrates, seems strangely close to the ancient Chinese principles of Taoism. The 'Tao of Pooh' explains Taoism by Winnie the Pooh and explains Winnie the Pooh by Taoism. It makes you understand what A.A. Milne probably meant when he said he didn't write the Pooh-books for children in the first place.

Over the centuries Taoism classic teachings were developed and divided into philosophical, monastic, and folk religious forms. All of these could be included under the general heading of Taoism. But the basic Taoism is simply a particular way of appreciating, learning from, and working with whatever happens in everyday life. From the Taoist point of view, the natural result of this harmonious way of living is happiness.

One of the basic principles of Taoism is P'U, the Uncarved Block. The essence of the Uncarved Block is that things in their original simplicity contain their own natural power, power that is easily spoiled and lost when that simplicity is changed. This principle applies not only to things, but to people as well. Or Bears. Which brings us to Pooh, the very Epitome of the Uncarved Block. When you discard arrogance, complexity, and a few, other things that get in the way, sooner or later you will discover that simple, childlike, and mysterious secret known to those of the Uncarved Block: Life is Fun. Along with that comes the ability to do things spontaneously and have them work, odd as that may appear to others at times. As Piglet put it in 'Winnie-the-Pooh', "Pooh hasn't much Brain, but he never comes to any harm. He does silly things and they turn out right."

Owl instead, is the opposite of Pooh, the Knowledge for the sake of Appearing Wise, the one who studies Knowledge for the sake of Knowledge, and who keeps what he learns to himself or to his own small group, rather than working for the enlightenment of others. That way, the scholars can appear Superior, and will not likely be suspected of Not Knowing Something. After all, from the scholarly point of view, it's practically a crime not to know everything. But sometimes the knowledge of the scholar is a bit hard to understand because it doesn't seem to match up with our own experience of things. Isn't the knowledge that comes from experience more valuable than the knowledge that doesn't?

While Owl's little routine is that of Knowledge for the sake of Appearing Wise, Eeyore's is that of Knowledge for the sake of Complaining About Something and Rabbit's is that of Knowledge of Being Clever. As anyone who doesn't have it can see, the Eeyore Attitude gets in the way of things like wisdom and happiness, and pretty much prevents any sort of real Accomplishment in life. Cleverness, after all, has its limitations. Its mechanical judgements and clever remarks tend to prove inaccurate with passing time, because it doesn't look very deeply into things to begin with. The thing that makes someone truly different -unique, in fact- is something that Cleverness cannot really understand.

"A fish can't whistle and neither can I." There's nothing wrong with not being able to whistle, especially if you're a fish. But there can be lots of things wrong with blindly trying to do what you aren't designed for. Unfortunately, some people aren't so wise, and end up causing big trouble for themselves and others. The wise know their limitations; the foolish do not. To demonstrate what we mean, we can think of no one better than Tigger, who doesn't know his limitations ('Tiggers' can do everything'), which brings him in lots of trouble. Piglet instead knows his limitations and that's what makes him sometimes more brave than you would expect from such a small animal. So, the first thing we need to do is recognize and trust our own Inner Nature, and not lose sight of it. Inside the Bouncy Tigger is the Rescuer who knows the Way, and in each of us is something Special, and that we need to keep:

"Tigger is all right really," said Piglet lazily.
"Of course he is," said Christopher Robin.
"Everybody is really," said Pooh. "That's what I think," said Pooh.
"But I don't suppose I'm right," he said.
"Of course you are," said Christopher Robin.

Isn't this just something special?? I love. I would like to get hold of the books again at some point. And eve a copy of the original Pooh and read it as a child reads it.

Bliss

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