...warm love

The swifts were spanning the blue skies today. that's something I like about the Netherlands, is the full spanning of skies. People often ask me why I live in Holland, and a big part of the answer is that you can see a full horizon of skies. The scenery in Scotland can be beautiful and mystic, but its also darker in hues, and where there are hills, it takes part of the skyline away. sometimes stunning beauty, sometimes oppressive, particularly if I want an open feel of outlook.  During Breda summers, I have a romantic notion that Breda has the best skies, and I state justly so, because they are only touched by colours of the sunset. Now that I live close to one of the most famous airports in the world, flight paths imprint mans etcha-sketched thumbprint onto something naturally beautiful.

 

 

Actual Breda sunset.

Where as in Holland, the swifts seemed to stretch their wings in the expanse. In Sicily the swifts showed phenomenal aerodynamics. I sat with an orange juice in early morning, before rush hour on the ground began, rush hour in the air saw swifts darting, turning, gliding between the buildings, swooping towards the depths of pavements, sharp turns through alleyways, and soaring back into the skies. it was amazing to see. and it was nice to see nature intertwine so eloquently with what man has created. Rush hour in Palermo is also something phenomenal to experience, in fact not just at rush hour! to say its a different mentality, the tempo is very different to what you experience in other countries, and yet there can be kindness found in it. Mum said at one point that she had to remember, that scooters sounding there horns, is not out of rudeness, or that they might be upset, but more that they let you know that they are coming - which is handy. Whereas cyclists in Holland are treated like sacred cows, in Palermo, its the pedestrians who are given ultimate respect, lanes of rushing traffic will stop, or at least plan to avoid you as you walk across the road. Here's an example of tempo, Palermo traffic style..

My sister has a variety of theories. She has a love of Palermo, and that nature is beginning to take over where man is failing. Its not that Sicilians are failing, if anything I like the priorities that they make in life. if you take, lets say an industrious viewpoint, then Sicily is financially lacking, due to debts from war, corruption, and the current crisis. but from a different view, the vibe and soul in Palermo is warm and glowing. Family, Food, Fashion, Coffee and Ice cream (current trend is an ice cream brioche!). 

The birth of my niece was really a time for family to connect. but this time the connection was slightly different, my sister, in recovery from pregnancy, lacked buzz and opinion. on other occasions, she would have action packed days planned so that we could fully get to know the city that she's made her home. But instead, each day, she gave my dad a destination that she would like me and my brother to see. It was nice to see my parents adapting to a different culture. new language, new pace, adapting in their 50's and 60's takes some doing. They should have seen it coming though. my mum is not really worried what the Jones's think. (except when my sister wore neon "anti cool" waterproofs to a family walk, that time is the only time mum thought best to leave by the back gate, instead of promenade up the street). And only one time of frustration from a conversation was re told.

"and she said... oh I just think its funny, that one sons married his high school sweetheart.. and both my daughters are marrying, and have mortgages.. all my children are so settled"

"..and what was I to say.." says mother.."..well my oldest is head over heals in love with a refugee, my second oldest is running around South America with a  philandering latino, and my youngest.. well he's bringing back samples of Perth night life.."

That was said with a lot of tongue in cheek. there is a lot of tongue in cheek within my family, and its fun. walking along the street with my brother, it fell half into enjoying company, and a small part remembering old ways. and so this time I thought I might try to carefully amend bad habits..

"you know Fiona in high school used to spit all the time... but then a boy told her if we all spat on the street at the same time... we'd all be swimming in it."

"that's probably true Nic. but if we all held hands at the same time, its a nice idea, but no one would get anywhere would they? we'd be stuck in a circle all day..... Shall we go for a coffee?"

It was good having my brother there, he really took attitude of holiday. I had some moments of being overwhelmed sensitive wise, but he set the tone of holiday, and after taking 5 minutes to work through the buzz and tears of "it feels like too much is going on today", I could get back into the holiday vibe. I've read a lot from the sensitives-forum, and I get the sense that they crumble, hide and take offence with challenges to their comfort. If I didn't ride the wave and do it anyway, I would have been sitting on one of the most beautiful 30's style beaches I've ever seen. Advice to HSP, whilst self-compassion is needed, I do think to work through the emotions and experience life is very important to try.

So Pip sat on the sofa, "I want you to go see Monreale"

"Monreale is like nothing you will have ever seen, if you're willing.." Dad said, as we turned up the hairpin bend.  We'd taken two buses already, the blessing about not really knowing where you are going is that you find small parts of coolness. we found a building with amazing courtyard, and to the side of the courtyard was an art exhibition ( I'm sure the "lostness" of it all was inspired by Van Gogh. Max once thought a guardian angel of hers was Marilyn Monroe, it seems I'm more guided by an erratic artist with passion for nature. the grass is always greener.)   So the gallery was celebrating the work of Mimmo Germana, who's work celebrated the strength and colour of the mediteranean, which was hugely evident looking around. He also was described to be fiercely influenced in portraying human relation to environment.

anyway back to the hairpin bend. it was the most challenging hairpin bend I have walked around, for the following reasons.

• my brother took hold of the fence, shaking it.. "I think theres been an accident here.."
• below the fence was the roof of a house embedded into the rock,
• the height of the house spanned the gradient of the hairpin bend
• As my brother shook the fence, a helicopter flew BELOW us in the valley.
• I have never ever had vertigo in my life until then.

"lets just keep going" says I.

as we got halfway along the straight, my brother and dad started admitting to themselves that this was actually quite a mission. And as it was said, two elderly somethings ran past us on the steep slope. on return, Mum was upset that we did not see the mosaic work depicting different bible stories, whilst the big lights were on to highlight them. I was just happy we saw the place in daylight.

Cefalu

"Its a really good idea if you go to Cefalu". It was the first time that week that mum came off duty to have an afternoon with us.  My sister had one appointment, so mum would leave after she came back.
So my dad, brother and I set towards the bus station.  Dad had conversation with his new friend, the bus ticket guy, who thought dads Italian was really improving.
We caught the bus which weaved in and out of the Palermo streets, and in one instant thought we should get off that bus. and when we did, he just stood, maybe to get his bearings... maybe not. that's the frustrating part, is that there's no communication until he's certainly fathomed his answer.  during that time, the child within feels her brain turn to marshmallow, and a desire to stick a finger in her eye and swirl that marshmallow around a bit.

"Dad. do. you. know where we are? how long is it to the station?"

"ohhhh ten minutes.." and after a second reaffirming glance. ".. or twenty.."

the lesson is that it takes time and patience to travel around Sicily, plan for one or two things a day, and enjoy the journey getting there. the second part of the lesson, is that it takes even more time and more patience to travel around Sicily with dad.

So we took a left, and found ourselves in a nice little square, and after a few discussions on the likelihood of  actually getting the 12.08  train, "..Well shall we just go for a coffee." and so we did.

"well.." says dad on leaving." that was a great coffee"

"yes," says I "..its wonderful for taking the edge off the frustration, out of actually getting somewhere!"

Dad chuckled dryly.

we found the station, dad went to buy tickets, my brother is diabetic, and needed to buy lunch. and so we sat waiting for dad. I left them sitting, tucking into lunch. to go find the ladies room. but glancing at the clock, and calculating time for my dad and brother to gather themselves, and to see the distance towards the train.. I "encouraged" them to get a move on! we had 5 minutes before the train left. we, or rather I rushed towards the front, less busy carriages of the train, dad and my brother following. and when the first door tried wouldn't open "IDIOTS" may have escaped my mouth.

We arrived in Cefalu station,  and as I was working out that dad would have to walk back up from the beach within the hour to pick mum up. BUT. Mum was already there waiting on the platform! she had left earlier, asked directions in Italian, and walked to the station within twenty minutes. as apposed to our rough hour and half..

she had been sitting in the carriage, had been sitting there for ten minutes already.  and saw me passing, waving on the others, dad marching past with bags flapping, and my brother casually sauntering past, checking himself out in the reflection.

this is my family, and its a conundrum of tempo's, all compromising, all adjusting, but all loving.

I look at the tempo's of the birds in the skies, how they all function with different types of grace, speed and mentality. Swifts who never rest, but glide onwards at full speed. pigeons who seem to be the most adaptive birds to their situation, and Aberdeen Seagull who will ruthlessly mug you for a bacon sarnie. They are products of the environments they live in, and so are we. but we are also products of the relations we bare on ourselves and each other. and that's what I find fascinating.

its how I adapt to my family's tempos', and vice versa. but also being quieter, how I remain strong in sense of my own tempo. its a beautiful tension that I am still trying to work out, and come to terms with. I am now quite strong in me, but they shape how I am, but its my own decision as to how far I allow it to shape me and in what way. and I guess that's part of learning to feel balanced.

Seggesta

On the way to the airport, we stopped at Seggesta. Seggesta amazed me. that the ground and stones that crunched under my feet had been walked upon, fought upon 300 years BC. having said that, we didn't go directly to the temple.. we had our lunch in the car park. and besides the car park was a path that we walked up, walking past a sign blown down by the wind, which had likely said, no entry. but to which no enquiry was made. so we saw the ampitheater from afar.. but for me more interesting was the settlement close by. perhaps it's included in the tour... we didn't find out. beside the settlement was a stack of cannonballs, BC-style. if we used those today, no one would be bothered to start wars.

As I left my parents in the airport, a white feather passed by my dads shoulder, and I thought maybe it was angelic help in good relations that week, for which I was grateful.
But as I got onto the plane, I had a very bad feeling about the flight, I went into quiet irrational panic, "We're all going to die... have I had a happy life? what do I most treasure?" these were all thoughts..

first announcement from the cabin crew suggested that since we were and hour from Maastricht, we may want to order extra drinks... a second comment told us that someone was very ill on the flight and we would be diverting to Pisa.  its quite unnerving to feel a plane fly so fast you see the engines shaking, kind of like taking my mums old car up the highway. at 90.. 

on a spiritual note, it hit me, that if white feathers signify something, I need to ask for angelic help in distinguishing different signs. white feathers will appear during moments where love is, but I know that it will begin to panic me if white feathers are associated too many times with someone passing, and so new prayer begins for heightened communication, more specific signs, and more specific discernment.

the ambulance took the old man, but it waited by the plane for an hour. me and the Spanish girl discussed possibilities of what might be happening, an air hostess then told us the man has died. its a very shocking and chilling atmosphere whilst people are stilled in contemplation. This old man had walked on with his wife, planning to go to a destination together... and now the wife is in Pisa, alone.  with my Grandad, his deteriorating health meant that as sad as it was, we knew..  but this situation in Pisa, was so sad for the wife. And it hit home hard that life is so so precious, and yet fragile and indefinite. and those moments that we take for granted.. we really shouldn't.

This is one of dads favourite songs from Van Morrison. Warm love.

On a separate, but interesting note, well for those who still have interest..Whilst I was experiencing Sicily, in different corners of the world,  David was experiencing Palestine on foot, raising money for the Hope Flowers school in Bethlehem. There are some interesting insights in his blog that may not touch us via western media - I know why the caged bird sings

The wind..

This week I picked up my belongings from Breda, its been a year. And seeing them return is really a luxury, there's something special about reuniting with a favourite cup. Its really cool looking at it, and makes up for the journey. The journey was hap-hazard, the lady I work for, appreciating how sensitive people dysfunction under pressure, had calmed the situation, this is what she has a lovely skill in. Don’t worry, the first ten minutes will be a bit rocky, but you'll get the swing of it again. I'll leave you to go drive to take the pressure off. Well that was the intention. Unfortunately, I stalled right outside the family's window. Music blaring because I could not find the frickin volume switch, or the off switch. Cheap pop blaring, and no matter how hard I was pressing on the pedals, the car was just not going. Period. The lady came out again, and turned the music off, "try it again, maybe less power, or more power, but everything will work out fine." It was in a wonderfully warm and comforting manner. But no direct do this, fix that.  So it was up to me. The car still completely stalled on a one way, one lane road. At times like these its better to dejunk the drama. OK lets reduce things down. Breathe. lets check vitals.. Head. Still on. Just a bit fuzzy. Hands, on the steering wheel - great.  Left foot where are you?? - clutch, great. And Right, where are you…? ...erm on the Break? On the frickin Break, you IDIOT.

 After that, the journey went relatively smoothly. But it got me thinking, as a tired head does. Are there other times where I've sat with my foot on the break?

 

There were endless times my old horse riding instructor would shout this in every general direction across the sand manege. She was a cool riding instructor. There are two types of riding instructor who shout, those with pmt-esque humour, and those with no reason to shout, she was the first kind.

"...therrre is noooo point in getting your horse to do anything if you still have the break on"

 I learnt very quickly from her that there is no point in saying "No". asides from the riding instructors that shout for no reason, there are also those who are swayed by a very girly, soft, big eyed (yet surprisingly un-pathetic) excuse. I don’t feel able to do this today because I may break in two..  My riding instructor was not one of those. I felt it strange one day, because she seemed overly considerate and asked me which horse I would like to ride.  I took the generous gesture, and of course chose my favourite. My teacher, my security blanket, a retired ex racehorse called Sinbad.  I learnt to jump as a child, but I learnt balance and confidence in jumping again. Sinbad, holding his neck strong as I fell forward, we kept on jumping, and accomplished obstacles that I later found was unexpected from him. (The underlying theory with wiser horse people is that horses choose humans. Its true.)

 This time. I did not read anything into the addition of extra tack appliances. atleast not until we turned away from the manege and into the woodland. Horses enjoy hacks, and the energy can change from best behaviour to "feck yeaaahhh", I suppose a its bit like Eton boy mentality.  For me at that time it caused a fear, rather than an appreciation of energy. But at the time it helped me get through to "lets do this".  As we got to the local airfield, it was literally time for take off. I joke not, it was a local airfield in which we could ride across.  I could feel Sinbad leaning and fighting against the reins, just wanting to go faster. But I did not have the real ability to communicate in his language at that point.  Panic did start to spiral.

 "Andy(!!) .. I don’t think I can stop..(!!)"

 My Instructor, just in front,  was riding a young, Trojan looking pony. A complete powerhouse. And her voice articulated through the wind.

 "Well.. I don’t think I can stop either. So we better just keep  going.."

 Fuck. Is there any point complaining further when "No" is not an option. Lets go with it.

 My comfort and awareness of energy changed when i began to work with horses full time.  To learning how outside emotions can affect me, and how to create more of a boundary. By walking with horses I found that concentrating on that feeling you get by listening to don’t worry be happy by ….. Or that feeling when you scraped pass on a test, that sigh of relief. Or that feeling of coming back home. OK example, if I am walking with two horses each side, and the feeling is fright. I recognise that its not my fear I am feeling, and so concentrate myself on feeling that sense of relax.  And breathe. And to create that trust of relax, well that depended on individual horses, some related to touch, some to general conversation, some to song. Some just to the realisation that you trust them, and that you like them. I never felt the fullest ramifications of this until the following morning.

 

 They were the last horses I developed a bond with where I was confident enough to walk two at a time. Both were huge, height of 1 meter 70,  weighing roughly 1500 pounds. Farao was a show off, and walking with Odessa was like communicating with a kite. But I had guessed we had forged an understanding between us, enough to walk competently all three of us together. But I had not comprehension that they perceived it as something meaningful.

We three of us had been walking daily together for a few months, it was a spring morning, and as we turned the corner of the manege towards the path to the field, someone had hung out Saddle pads to dry, and array of colours blowing in the wind, and enough to become a bit scary to Odessa and Farao.  My first reaction was to walk it through and work it out as we went. But at one point  ropes and horses got tangled. And instead of the habit of being fearful at what might happen next, I let them go. I let them run, because what else could I worry about, even if it took all day, I would catch them eventually. And they ran. They had the choice of running for Acres, free, they're not trained like dogs. But around the corner, about 20 feet away, they stopped running, stood parallel to each other, looked back and waited for me. Waiting, be it from animal or human, well for me it’s a surefire sign of friendship.  And so I picked up the ropes, and we continued to walk. As friends.
 

 I regarded all of the horses I worked with as friends, just some where different bonds to others. My closest bond was to Igor. I was lucky to help look after him whilst his owner was pregnant. He had a quirky personality,  his owner described him as a one person horse, he was a bit quirky, he could be sweet but also highly strung, he could be gentle, but could pester other horses just with overexcited agitation. One afternoon, as I watched him with Max. I asked her "there are a lot of horses that are extensions of their owners (as some dogs are similar to their owners), why do you think Igor has chosen me?"

Because you're sensitive.

 

 And it was true. By working with him on the ground, I could measure the affects of my energy. Taking on a mood that I am about to go out clubbing, and he would gallop like a nut job. Work with him when I was feeling ill or down, and he would show no energy. Being aware of this, if things were very difficult for me, I would not work with him that day for fear of transferring my negativity towards him. Because i care for him, and i want to protect him. But if i am sensitive, can i expect others to moderate their moods when around me? i don't expect them to, but should they? if they were aware of their moods affect, would they change it out of politeness or consideration as one would offer a seat on a bus? i am sensitive, but I'm not a victim to it. though it sometimes feels like a martyrdom, there is no blame game. people are entitled to feel how they feel, but am i also entitled to be sensitive?

 This week I had also had a pre-birthday meal. My flatmates cooked, and I invited one of my best friends from Breda.  She was my manager, and friend, she managed three of us sensitive girls. And she managed well. As we said goodbye it made me realise how much easier it is to be around sensitive people, the people who just know you, know how you function, and those who you don’t need words to communicate with. But if I know that I don’t need to communicate so much verbally, I don’t use so many words, and probably I become lazy. So in one way I think its healthy for me around "normal" functioning people. My flatmate is normal, and she believes that if I am having an insular day, I should just sit down and talk about it. But it takes effort for  me to describe what she finds difficult to understand conventionally.

 She can't comprehend that others emotions can soak into me.

 That a lot of negative emotion from others is tiring.

 That domestic affairs or her own bad moods feel like thunder to me.

 That after a trip to a city, or worrying news, or just a lot to deal with. I need time in the quiet of room to decompress, like a deep sea diver would do.

 

That thoughts to me can be triple the load. Not just like apples, pears, bananas. But varying types of apple to first sort through.. gala, granny smith, pink lady, goldendelicious… overload.

For the sceptics out there, this is not hippybullshit or people in make believe over reacting to silly situations. there are scientific studies that suggest 15-20 percent of the population are showing high sensitivity traits (Aron, E.N. (2006), Ketay, S., Hedden, T., Aron, A., Aron, E., Markus, H., & Gabrieli, G. (2007, January), Belsky, J.; Pluess, M. (2009).

 

• Depth of processing.
• Over aroused (easily compared to others)
• Emotional reactivity and high empathy
• Sensitivity to subtle stimuli

 

Strengthened boundaries through working with horses have really been appreciated. i met one girl who has sensitive last summer, and immediately i could see she had very little boundaries in place, and she was just lost in a disorganised babbling mess. i have my own areas in which i need to pay attention to, and can expect days where i am overwhelmed, and by overwhelmed, i can only really describe it as an emotional hangover, on those days, i can expect more tears, less focus, feelings of detachment, and a feeling of being unable to connect fully.

As my friend left, she said, she may not seem it, but she is sensitive too. Just toughened up with harder knocks. That’s true. And as I describe my frustration at explaining myself to normal people. A simple  answer.. "well that’s part of the process". The process is not comfortable, its challenging with discomfort. and so this evening, i discussed it through with my flatmate. two different ways of functioning, and an attempt to gain understanding in how living with an hsp and non-hsp can work. i do yearn for an easy living environment where i am "just" known and vice-versa, until that happens again, life gives an opportunity for me to learn about where i can expect my boundaries to be respected, and on the other hand areas where i have to accept and tolerate. its not going to be an easy lesson to digest, but we will see what happens.

 And this learning softens my compassion to christian thinking that I was made aware of in the last week or so. There is a pressure to marry, there is a pressure to date prudently, there is a mindset only to date possible  christian spouses.  On hearing it, it made me angry. when I hope for a world of sincere love and unity, I hoped that religion wouldn’t be such a divisive factor. Love thy neighbour.  How can you guarantee someone else's faith? How can you guarantee that someone else will not turn  to your faith?  The frustration got me to a shouting-point in Dam Square. If we are putting ourselves in a faith for what god has planned, putting our life to gods work. then who the fuck are we to think ourselves power of attorney when it comes to relations? Are we so arrogant to think that we have better plans?

 

Christian girls that I have spoken to, have their reasoning, I don’t agree with it. But I respect it. I just do not like any feeling of "us and them". I look on a forum for sensitive people, and there is sometimes also a notion for "us and them". Normal people don’t understand sensitive people, and normally i have found they don't. but is that through their own decision, or lack of awareness? It would be easier for me to associate only with people that have a deeper understanding of me. But as difficult as it feels, I am in situations where I have to make myself understood. It feels safe to be in what you know, and it feels comfortable to be in what you know.  To be sensitive in a "normal" environment, well it’s a roller coaster. On bad days its oppressive in feeling, on better days though it allows deeper appreciation of good that IS in the world. But it also gives me opportunity to further look at my own sensitivities and reassess areas in which my foot is on the break. Areas that I can change to make my life feel easier. I think that the point I am trying to make is, also with my christian friends in mind. what we want is not always what we need. Christian girls may want a christian boyfriend, i may prefer at times to seek out those who understand me better, but if gods plan is for what we need in his eyes, maybe our perspectives, and expectations need to soften and become more welcoming.

 I like the idea of being connected, but in order to connect, its not always comfortable. I am not sure where this process is going, but I am trying to keep my foot off the break. and depending on the traffic, well I'll send you a postcard.

 

".. You can't choose what adventure your on necessarily, but you can choose the attitude you take to the adventure… if life hands you lemons, make lemonade. Well I say, why not make margaritas? You can choose"                             
                                                                           -  Ruper Isaacson (The Horse Boy Foundation).

These last weeks have been somewhat intense, so a leaving tune is one to get dancing during testing times. Shake it up.

Black woman by Gery Mendes AKA  GMB.  I would heavily encourage you to check him on Facebook or Twitter