....intense times ....
Posted on August 23, 2010 with 0 comments
Temperature hovers between zero and ten and if hell is hot, this must be heaven. Enough of complaint. I can take five days break and head north.
The cream and crimson Magnolia, living in the front garden, is heavy with bud but running three weeks late with flower. Spring is near but, as yet, no warmth in the wind.
I take guitars. My Godson - who has had a deeply troubled life - bounds into the farm an hour after my arrival - bottle of scotch in hand and prepared to share a drink.
I’m wary of drink. Hmm... wary of drinkers is closer to the truth. We share a drink and I’m struck by how much ‘lighter’ he appears. Great recent trauma has revealed that he was sexually abused as a child.
The unburdening has lifted a weight of such magnitude that the prism of intense inner conflict through which he has interacted with the rest of humanity is almost - dissipated.
I was sexually abused and too many of the few I know have suffered similar fate.
I’m sure that there are paedophiles out there who kid themselves that this behaviour is of little harm. It is a hideous lie to pretend that an adult child relationship - however dressed up with overtones of friendliness - can have a sexual content. It is the adult that has the ulterior motive. It is the adult who manipulates.
Godson and I don’t discuss fine detail. It’s enough to know - for the moment - that we both know. We play some music and the practice of blues scales that I’ve been working on pays dividends inasmuch as we don’t have to play songs - just music. Very liberating even amidst the stumbles. I get shown a walking blues which is a stretch for the fingers but very cool.
I’m back home and been a few days back to work. It’s cold but daffodils bloom. Hyacinths smell gorgeous and I’m off to work out what to play tonight at the Clarendon’s singer/songwriter night.
I haven’t played much in the way of songs since my last performance....... echoes of my Roman Catholic childhood and confession.
So Hell’s hot - Heaven’s cool. Perhaps Purgatory is just pleasantly warm. Must be Paradise.
The cream and crimson Magnolia, living in the front garden, is heavy with bud but running three weeks late with flower. Spring is near but, as yet, no warmth in the wind.
I take guitars. My Godson - who has had a deeply troubled life - bounds into the farm an hour after my arrival - bottle of scotch in hand and prepared to share a drink.
I’m wary of drink. Hmm... wary of drinkers is closer to the truth. We share a drink and I’m struck by how much ‘lighter’ he appears. Great recent trauma has revealed that he was sexually abused as a child.
The unburdening has lifted a weight of such magnitude that the prism of intense inner conflict through which he has interacted with the rest of humanity is almost - dissipated.
I was sexually abused and too many of the few I know have suffered similar fate.
I’m sure that there are paedophiles out there who kid themselves that this behaviour is of little harm. It is a hideous lie to pretend that an adult child relationship - however dressed up with overtones of friendliness - can have a sexual content. It is the adult that has the ulterior motive. It is the adult who manipulates.
Godson and I don’t discuss fine detail. It’s enough to know - for the moment - that we both know. We play some music and the practice of blues scales that I’ve been working on pays dividends inasmuch as we don’t have to play songs - just music. Very liberating even amidst the stumbles. I get shown a walking blues which is a stretch for the fingers but very cool.
I’m back home and been a few days back to work. It’s cold but daffodils bloom. Hyacinths smell gorgeous and I’m off to work out what to play tonight at the Clarendon’s singer/songwriter night.
I haven’t played much in the way of songs since my last performance....... echoes of my Roman Catholic childhood and confession.
So Hell’s hot - Heaven’s cool. Perhaps Purgatory is just pleasantly warm. Must be Paradise.