A Writer Celebrates...

This week I am mainly having a good writer's week. So I wanted to share my celebrations with you!

Every couple of weeks I get the most special emails from grateful readers. I want to share this week's one from a reader in Australia, that moved me to tears.

I recently purchased Moon Time and I feel that I need to thank you personally.

 

Thank you so much for writing this book. For spreading your wisdom. For helping women aknowledge and access their power.

 

I read Moon Time from cover to cover. At about the mid point, I shed a few tears thinking of my twelve year old self at menarche. I never felt that I could talk to my mother, as she has always had impenetrable emotional walls up. I was an insecure, shy and emotionally immature girl (thanks, Mum!) so I didn't feel comfortable talking to anyone outside my family, not even my closest friends. I felt isolated, terrified and completely unsupported at that time. It took me many years to stop feeling embarassed about bleeding.

 

On the night I first read Moon Time, I said a few loving words to my twelve year old self and after a few more tears, woke up the next day feeling healed and energised. Now, a few short weeks later, I've experienced my first pain free moon time that I can remember. I find myself just as emotional and fatigued as always, but far more loving and nurturing towards myself in those feelings of vulnerability. Healed, for sure.

 

My own daughter is only four but I feel empowered to help respectfully support her through her transition when the time comes. It feels great to have shed those feelings of shame and to look forward to connecting with her as a young woman.

 

I'm really enjoying reading through your blogs and all of the sites that you recommend. You are doing such important work, Lucy. I'll be recommending you to my mama friends.

 

Thank you again for so openly sharing your wisdom. You have gifted me with the tools to bring back my womanly magic that was misplaced for far too long.

 

Yours in gratitude,

K.C.

Having sold out of my book, Moon Time, after my Blue Moon sale, I ordered 60 more copies. They arrived yesterday. I now have only 30 copies left! Reorders from some of my big independent stockists. I have sold over 350 copies in 6 months, to women in 12 countries!

I am just about to send off for the proof copy of Moods of Motherhood, my second book, which will be out in November to celebrate two years of Dreaming Aloud. It is a compilation of my favourite and most popular posts from the blog, best JUNO Dreaming Aloud columns, articles and lots of original material, written just for the book. Organised by the moods which permeate motherhood including: tenderness, depression, love, guilt, grief, silliness and happy days...

My third book, the newly named Rainbow Way is finding form not it has a solid title, and now stands at 70,000 words. I will be focusing on finishing it in October and November.

I have proudly put together my "As seen in..." bit on the side bar (look right!) - I feel quite chuffed with seeing all those publications together!

And have now got a mailing list. Also see right. Do join up, the first 100 sign ups go into a draw for one of two copies of Moods of Motherhood, when it is published in November. (Open Worldwide).

And finally I was shortlisted for both Dreaming Aloud and The Happy Womb in the Irish blog awards.

Houston we have a title!

Firstly, thank you all for your thoughts and feedback for my book title. How wonderful having twenty other women's brains buzzing with ideas - I love crowd-sourcing - you came up with so many angles that I had not considered.

I've been listening to all the woo-woo warnings from y'all! 
(Man this post title's making me come out all Texan!)

Rainbows are too hippy. And off putting. And we don't like the word mamas it seems either.

I hear ya. Thank you.

And so I was all set for... The Creative Mother's Path...

Solid, sensible. Does what it says on the tin. Non-alienating.

Even though it didn't sing to my soul. But it's more important that it talks to you, dear reader, than me. After all, y'all will be buying it in your droves - right? It will be thanks to the massive popularity of this book that I will be able to afford a housekeeper for another couple of hours a week and no longer live in a hovel, but instead focus on what I am good on - creating magical women's work!

It's this book that's gonna get me onto Oprah's sofa... oh, except there is no Oprah show any more- another dream bites the dust!

But, then a couple of women who really understand me - one from spending far too long with me - Leigh, my dear real life friend, who listens and listens to each of my new dramas and complaints and eats cake companionably... And, Becky - who I've never met in real life, but we moon dance in virtual connection, thanks to the Goddess Circle, and she just gets me, really, truly does.

They both gave me the "to thine own self be true" spiel - but in a totally right on way. Don't you just LOVE it when real friends do this?

This was Becky's take, which you might have spotted in the comments section of the last post:

"Because of your affinity for rainbows and this being the year of the rainbow I love the word "rainbow" in your work. It's one of your signature words, a word you use a lot."

They were both very clear- Lucy, rainbows are key to your work.

And you know what? They are!

In my paintings, in my (borrowed) ideas about rainbow streams of abundance and the rainbow mama archetype, and even the rainbow man that I drew when I was nine, which I knew was a significant image for me and one that I was deeply proud of, even though the teacher was a bit non-plussed by.

Rainbows speak of living with all the colours, of creating, of not living a grey life, of varieties of possibility, of hope, of beauty...and of a new female archetype and way of earning.

The book centres on these ideas.

But I took on board that women did not feel an affinity or connection with the idea of the creative rainbow mama.

So I cut up all the possible words and played with them, spreading them out on the floor (thanks to my friend Tracy for dropping this idea into my consciousness a couple of weeks ago). And my favourite just appeared.  There on the floor. About 24 hours before Becky made her (almost identical) suggestion! And we're loving your subtitle to Becky - though taking on board the need to make the title a non-statement. And not sound like a parenting book - all great tips, thanking you - and so, we have a title.

Refined with my dearest Mr DA.

Run by Leigh... (who along with Becky has won a copy of the book.)

The Rainbow Way

Cultivating creativity in the midst of motherhood

I Need YOUR Help to Name my Next Book

OK, dearest readers, YOUR help is needed! (And there's a prize!)

I have now printed out a complete second draft of my next book - the one I have been referring to as "The Creative Rainbow Mama", which I hope to have out early in the new year. 

(To read a bit - see here). To find out what the hell a Creative Rainbow Mama is, see here. To contribute see here. To see more about it taking shape, see here.)

I just had a gorgeous picture shared with me of Facebook, that I'd love to have for the cover- does anyone know the artist?

The book has done the round of publishers and agents and received many very nice "nearly but not quite" responses- so I am self publishing.

And it's really finding shape. But to nail it I really need to get the title right, and I thought who better to ask than you, enthusiastic dear readers!

The book, to recap, is a guide for creative mothers - on how to balance creativity and motherhood. I think of it as an Artist's Way for Mothers. It explores:

• Two key mothering archetypes: The Earth Mother and Creative Rainbow Mother, and her shadow side, the Crazy Woman
• Exploring and shedding family and societal pressures which block our creativity as women and mothers
• The practical side: How to make time and space in your mothering life to create, how to get support
• Guiding you to find the right creative outlets for yourself
• Sharing how to get started if your creativity has tanked and stalled, and how to get unstuck
• Spiritual insight into women's creativity - including pregnancy, the birth process and menstrual cycles and their impact
• How to weave creativity into your life as a family.

I need a title that will make this book jump off the shelf - or the web- and into your arms and heart. One that invites you in. That doesn't turn you off. I don't want anything too hippy or woo-woo, as it's not really that hippy a book! (Think Moon Time - it walks the path between mainstream and woo-woo!) - I'm aware that talk of rainbows and mamas is a bit woo-woo. The part about the creative mother archetype is a central part - but it does not dominate the book - you could read the book, skip that chapter, and it would still all make sense...

I could REALLY do with your feedback. Please vote in the comments section below - 1, 2,3  or suggest your own. And tell me what works for you, and what doesn't. 

The winning suggestion gets a signed copy of the book once it is published. If it ends up being one of my suggestions that you vote for then all those who voted for the final title have their names put into a hat and one of you will win!

My title suggestions are:

1. The Creative Rainbow Mama
2. The Creative Rainbow Mama’s Guide to Creativity…and Life!
3. The Path of the Creative Rainbow Mama
4. The Creative Mother
5. The Path of the Creative Mother
6. A Guidebook for Creative Mothers
7. The Creative Mother's Handbook
8. The Creative Mother's Path
9. The Creative Mama Way
10. The Creative Mama-festo
11. Renaissance: The birth of the creative mother

Subtitles include:
a)How to nurture your creativity whilst you raise your children
b) A guide to creativity and living

c) Embracing the rainbow of possibilities

d)Painting from your full palette

e) Walking the rainbow path

Thank you!!!

Damn Compulsory Education - Part 2

So I keep being asked how it goes. With the whole school thing. (For Part 1 see here)

The short answer is... it goes.

The long answer is it's been a pretty shit week in my world. I have felt in conflict with my husband over the whole education thing. This was really, really hard. I felt sick, shaken, yuck - I hate that feeling of discord. I felt, if truth be told, like I was in the wrong - in his eyes, in the teacher's eyes - and all I was trying to do was the best for our daughter. As of course was he. I was ready for her to quit - for the rest of the term, the year, for ever. He was not, he felt we needed to give it time... And so we took his path. And I felt like my vote was not being counted. I felt like I was abandoning my sacred mother contract to protect my daughter from trauma.

Monday we got her to line up in the school yard. She freaked, bit me hard on the wrist. Went in with the assistant teacher, crying. Me promising to follow on once I'd collected her little sister from the other side of the yard. I didn't, because the crying subsided. I felt shit.

Monday night she wet the bed (her third time in a week.) Tuesday morning she wakes covered in big fly bites. She stays home. She plays so well with her sister all day. We really need to home school I think, this could work.

Wednesday she has an hour melt down in the morning. She goes in at break time, we settle her in the classroom whilst the other kids are out playing. Cries for five minutes. The sun is shining, it's a friend's birthday party, I take my son out early - all he misses is "power walking" - this is a valid sports choice for 6-7 year olds apparently - WTF?!

Thursday she's fine going in for her dad.  I have a heart to heart with my dad. I go and talk to the teacher, ready to warn her that we're going to pull her out. I ask the teacher how she has been, "Oh great, wonderful, the only problem was the first day until you had gone..." ("that's right, pile it on woman, the whole clingy mother making it all worse shite", I think) "I would have told you if we were having problems..." So I begin to tell her about the melt downs, the wet beds... but to her it doesn't matter, it's not on her watch so it doesn't count.

Friday she goes in at the start of school, we settle her in the classroom before the other kids come in. She's fine.

I have really enjoyed my days at work. Really enjoyed having just little Ash home with me in the mornings. Enjoyed having more energy to enjoy and focus on them all in the afternoon. Felt sad that the sun was shining and my kids were shut in a classroom. Felt cross at forcing our son to do piles of pointless homework on sunny evenings. Delighted at how enthusiastic our daughter is about her homework, doing it a day in advance, with great care. How quickly she is learning her letters. She loves her uniform, you can see that she feels more grown up. I hate making packed lunches. Grind my teeth over filling in school forms.

It's a mixed bag. Truly.

I have been torn between the two competing camps of home ed and schoolers, comforted by the few who find themselves in my position - who crawled out of the work on Facebook, by email, at the playground and the school gate to say - you are us, we know your pain, we're there too. Families who are taking the home ed route - and feeling ill at ease. Families who are taking the school route and feeling deeply conflicted. I know that I am not alone in this.

Here's the truth - there is a lot of feeling going on - mamas and kiddies and papas, yearning, resisting, mourning, regretting, hurting, being scared, feeling overwhelmed.... and school doesn't do feelings. And our class teacher doesn't do feelings. And that's what I struggle with. You go from the home environment where we judge by feelings, intuition, careful watching - to a school environment where the only thing that really matters is on the page, not in the heart, on the page, not in the brain, on the page, not in the soul. Where the currency is stickers and ticks and smiley faces.

Oh that I wish there were clear answers, here where we live. But instead we live in a muddle of compromises. And it's alright. And whilst it's alright we'll stick.

But I reserve the right to twist at any point.

Dearest Mama...

Dearest mama,

You started out with such high hopes, big dreams – how you would help the world to embrace your dear sweet children. You whispered your promises to them in the womb. Of how you would be the perfect mother – ever gentle, kind and patient. Of how you would do everything for them, with them. And you truly meant it.

For years you tried to be the perfect mama. But the pain that you weren’t was almost unbearable. You felt a failure. You felt guilty. You felt like giving up, running away. Often you threatened to quit.

Don’t be hard on yourself. You are the only mama they know. The only mama they love. The only mama you know how to be. And that is more than enough.

You wanted to make your past better through your mothering. But you can’t. You can’t erase your own pain, however hard you try to be perfect or love your children more.

You do your best not to recreate your own suffering it in their lives. You are committed to love. You are conscientious. And that has to be enough. The world does not change in a day, and neither will you. Remember you are your ancestors’ hopes and dreams incarnate. But you are also their hurts and failings writ large.

You love your children, though you may shout at them. You feed them and put up with their complaints when they don’t like dinner.  You clothe them and weather their tantrums over too-tight clothes. You mother them at six in the morning, at lunchtime, at midnight when they wake with sore teeth. When you are sick, you mother them still. You tend to their hurt knees with a mother’s love.  You help them to find the answers their souls are seeking. You tickle and tumble with them. You show them the size of a mother’s love and the reality of a mother’s life. You give them language with which to engage with the world. You hold their hearts in your hand and ask them about their dreams. You throw your sticks together into the river of life. Now watch them float. You are not meant to be their pilot. Let go with the flow. Let it wash over you all.

You spend so long focusing on the minutiae – the moments that you yell, not the moments that you embrace them, which in the bigger picture far out-number the cross words and impatience which you feel colours your days.

Be sure that what they will hold in their souls are all the things you cannot see – the way your hair falls over your face as you kiss them goodnight, the soft pillow of breast as they snuggle up to you at night, the way you say certain words, the magical contents of your jewellery box, your love of books, the way you loved them when they felt ill and frightened. When you cheered loudly for them in the school play or showed your heartfelt appreciation of their picture. And fleeting moments when you stood hand in hand on the edge of the ocean in the light of the full moon.

Just try, for a moment to see yourself through their eyes. See yourself as the most important woman in their world.

Because that is what you are. You, dearest woman, are a goddess to them, though they will never tell you. You are love incarnate. Your perceived flaws just make you human.

Allow yourself to feel the depth and breadth of your love. Their love. Nothing else matters.

  

Lucy x

This is my contribution to a very special book which has just been published. Note to Self : The Secret to Becoming your own Best Friend invites you to discover the beauty and power of self-love, acceptance and becoming your own best friend. Exploring topics such as Healing, Menstruation, Motherhood and Body Image, Note to Self shows you how to embrace who you are and write love letters for your soul. It includes a collection of letters from 30 inspiring women around the world including Tabby Biddle, Jane Harwicke Collings ... and me!!

Heartfelt and loving, it was the creative child of the lovely Jo MacDonald from The Red Box Company whom I met on the Goddess Circle who, like me, works in the field of women's and girl's empowerment.

E-books and paperback versions of Note to Self are available to buy from Jo, here...

"A truly inspiring read filled with encouragement on speaking your truth and living authentically!" Kimberly Wilson, Author of Hip Tranquil Chick and Tranquilista

“Every woman, in fact every teenage girl, should read this book...” Jen Saunders, Founder & Editor-in-chief Wild Sister Magazine
 
10% of all profits go to Plan's 'BECAUSE I AM A GIRL' charity project 

Sweeter with you

In between the drama of almost, and the saga of Merrily starting school, we had the most wonderful family holiday in the UK - sunshine, picnics in the park, full days at the playground, ice creams and water play, pond dipping, seeing loved ones, a festival with community singing, puppet shows, a juggler and fire circles, and the highlight for us all - a ride on a real steam train.

And all the time as I watched Aisling swing and laugh and run and play (oh how bright she is, how quickly she is developing) the sentiments of this poem ran through my head... so I wrote it down. And wanted to share it with you all - all who sent a text, a message, an email, a card, a present, left a comment, for each of you who have asked since how she is doing, how we are doing: this is how it is...

For Aisling, three weeks on from almost...

Your face has healed.
Not a mark or a sign.
And my hands no longer shake.

And so we had a break
Away.
As a family.
Complete.

And you know my love,
It was sweeter with you.

As we watched you dart around the ferry,
And took you out on deck again and again
Being careful not to
Hold you too close,
So you could feel the sway beneath your own feet,
The wind in your hair.

It was sweeter with you.

As we played in the park,
And camped in the rain.
Watched puppet shows,
And rode the choo-choo train,

It was sweeter with you,
My love,
So much sweeter with you.

With your bouncy curls,
And your cheeky grin,
You beautiful girl,
With your big brown eyes and your
Funny words.

It is sweeter with you,
My love,
So much sweeter with you.

You are the heart of our family
The almost, not quite.
Again and again,
Like a will-o-the-whisp.
You have chosen to stay.

So different in stature, persona and hair,
To your two elder siblings,
Who love you,
We love you, and granny does too,
And granma and grandad,
Just because you are you.
Your very own person,
Even though you're just two.

It is sweeter with you,
My love,
So much sweeter with you.

Damn Compulsory Education

We are struggling at the moment.

Really struggling. To send our two children to school. It is compulsory education. For them, for us.

This does not feel good. 

For two mornings in a row we have spent 1 1/2 hours cajoling and forcing them into uniforms. Cajoling and forcing them to walk the 100 metres to school. Cajoling and forcing them into their classrooms. And then, after another hour of endlessly prising the younger one's hands from my neck/ skirt/ arms/ hands, walking away from my child who was screaming for me- albeit left one to one with the very lovely classroom assistant.

I know she is safe. But she does not.

I know that she will be OK, but she does not.

She looks like a rabbit in the headlights. A trapped tiger. Her need to escape, to be with me, to feel safe is primal. She wet herself.

The teacher wanted me to up and leave her straight away. She tried to bribe away her tears with stickers. I could sense her desperation as more and more toys and books were pushed her way and questions asked. "Don't feel your feelings" was the lesson she was teaching her. Shut down. Shut up.

She snapped at me for waiting outside the door and "starting her off again." And so I sat with her as the list of rules and controls was explained to the other children. Don't speak, don't swing, don't wriggle. Don't use the toilet unless you ask...

This is compulsory education.

26 little bodies dressed the same, sat in rows, bribed with stickers to sit still and shut up and colour inane shite.

"School is boring" - my 7 year old informs me. "I know, my love, I know. This is not my vision of education." I think.

I wish we could run free in the woods, with the river as our guide, the seasons as your teachers. I wish we could paint all day, and get up when we want. I wish I didn't have to force and cajole your precious bodies and spirits to satisfy the powers that be.

But I have learnt too, since becoming a mama - I am not the patient, all loving, full of energy mama I thought I would be - I get tired, and over whelmed. I long for peace, to do my work. I am a good one-to-one mama. But there is not one. there are three. Three different characters, different needs - each I want to serve and honour - but the cacophony of competing desires overwhelms me. I begin to sink.

I need to honour you. And I need to honour myself.

We have agonised over school for many years - see here and here.

We have agonised over school for her all year - she is young for her year - but academically and developmentally well above the older kids. She is too young for this year, too old for next. She was getting bored at playschool. Her free pre school childcare year had been used.

She is her - she is highly sensitive, with suspected Sensory Processing Disorder - which is not a "thing" here in Ireland, just in the US.

If we "give in", then what do we do? Do we allow them both to home school. Do we try to find the money for playschool - which we do not have. Do we teach her that when she tantrums she gets her way?

If we don't then we are complicit in forcing and traumatising our daughter. We are not honouring her fears and needs. But will home schooling really be that different - then all the responsibility for their learning will be on my shoulders.

We are trying a gentler approach, of quarter days, to ease her in.

But oh, how I wish there were an easy answer. For her, for him, for us all. One where we all won. One where our days were full of learning, joy and excitement at the world - not fighting and forcing.

Damn you compulsory education!

The kiss of death

The kiss of death
Lingers on my heart
I did not see it coming
Nor invite it in.
Few of us do.
But it is there, indelible,
And to my surprise its message is...
Dance whilst you can
Not because you should or you ought
But because the song in your heart
The rhythm of your life
Is calling you
Because you have the heartbeat of your loved one as your rhythm
Their hand in yours to hold
In this dance we call life
Right here and now.

And when death comes calling
The only true thing
Is here and now.
Did I love fully? Am I loved?
Are we here for each other?
And this moment of togetherness is all that counts, truly.

As we hold each other tight in love's embrace
Let us hear our tunes and dance them out.
Whilst we have this time together
Let us dance!
With the sun shining on our heads,
The moon lighting our backs,
The grass beneath our feet,
For we never know when the music will stop
In this cosmic game of musical statues.
I know now,
As all who have felt the kiss of death know too,
That it is also
The kiss of life
A life more precious, deeper, darker, more perfectly ordered yet random
Than any of us dare believe.

Almost

We almost lost our daughter last week.

This is what keeps going through my head as I hold her little, warm body close. Grateful, so grateful for her continuing presence. For the miracle that was. Today and yesterday almost weren't. I am emotionally and physically shaken to my core. As are the whole family. We are now all too aware of the invisible line between normality and tragedy. I am deeply awake to my mother self once more, to the primal biology of the fact that my children are now and always will be, flesh of my flesh. A fact that can be dulled by the daily drudgery of mothering, the complacency regarding the blessings that my children are to me, to us all.

Last Thursday our youngest, a dainty two and a half year old ringletted rascal of a girl fell out of her upstairs bedroom window onto the concrete path below. I got the call at work from a dear friend who was having coffee at our house with my husband. "She's bleeding out of her mouth and nose, but she's crying.I'll come and get you."

I put down the phone and started to run home, hands held in prayer, praying, praying.

The path had a pool of blood. And there in the kitchen, my baby, so small and battered and bloody in her daddy's arms. Crying for me.

I held her. And held her. At home. In the emergency room. all night in the narrow hospital bed. The next day and night. I held her and breathed my prayers. Knowing how close we came to never being able to hold her again. Holding another mothers story in my heart of a daughter who fell from a tree and didn't make it. Showing her little videos of her and her siblings playing on the I phone knowing that they might have been our last memory. I held her as she slept and slept, knowing that the child who emerged from this tragedy might not be the same one as before. My family have been through the trauma of severe brain injury with my cousin only two years ago. And she was so much smaller. Falling onto concrete. Without a helmet.

They did test after test. Woke her every hour. And beyond possibility there is no sign of internal injury anywhere. No brain damage. No broken bones. No teeth gone. Just a huge black eye and chin. A swollen face. A large infected cut in her mouth and round her teeth. Nowhere that will visibly scar. And no emotional trauma for her.

I feel sick each time we go down our road. Each cookie cutter house with the same two upstairs windows. The same concrete path. And I know, though it sounds too corny to be true, that the only way she survived that fall is that she was cushioned by angels wings. And we have been surrounded by them too in the form of friends and family, in our days of recovery since, as we help heal her body and our parent souls, from the nightmare of almost.

Unfurling - in pictures

UNFURLING

An exhibition of painting by Lucy Pearce

Sold!

“Much art seeks to recreate what is plainly seen in the outside world. I paint the inner world of dreams and imagination – in a language which is deeply personal, and yet universal. Symbols emerge which speak the language of the soul – the moon, spirals, trees, feathers, birds, tribal women, mandalas... Colours shimmer and swirl: there is a sense of flow and meditative movement in my paintings that both energises and demands contemplation from the viewer.

The Rainbow mama presides

“Using a multi-layered intuitive painting technique, I build up layer upon layer of rainbow colour: my paintings evolve from abstraction to dreamlike imagery. Painted in acrylics with my fingers in the main, but also brushes, sponges, and printed with pens, lids and even Lego bricks.

“This is my first professional exhibition, having not painted for ten years.  In six months 40 paintings emerged – a number of which have already been sold in the UK and Ireland. This exhibition marks my own creative unfurling.”

From Barry Egan in the Sunday Independent:  

"Stephen told me proudly that his talented daughter Lucy is having an exhibition in the old pottery at Shanagarry starting this Friday and running for the month of August. The 32-year-old, who has given Stephen three grandchildren, is now "in full flight - writing and publishing her own books and painting."

Talent seems to spring eternal in Shanagarry. The apple never falls far from the potter's wheel, or what?"

Lucy Pearce is a writer, painter and creative facilitator. The mother of three young children and daughter of Stephen Pearce, she lives in Shanagarry, Co. Cork.

She is currently better known for her written work as a freelance writer and editor (Irish Examiner, Modern Mum, Juno magazine). Her first book, Moon Time, was published in March 2012.

The exhibition opened Friday 3^rd August 6.30pm and will run for the month of August.

Part of women's group, before they got too sloshed!

"Leonora" from my post "Lessons from an elder"

The psychedelic peacock at the top was sold to Santa!!

My first beautiful creation

2 more of my beautiful creations

One of my very first buyers - cheers Rob!

Most of women's group at the end of the evening - another of my very proud creations!

What a blast: view from the other side of my fears

Miracles start to happen when you put as much energy into your dreams as you do into your fears.

Richard Wilkins

I had my first art exhibition last night. (photos to come later!)

I still find it hard to believe.

Not even six months ago I was physically in terror of risking painting. Only in the past month have I gotten up the courage to start a sketchbook again.

Mr DA will have lost count of the amount of times in the past three months that I have definitively stated that I cannot, will not do this exhibition.

I really enjoyed the evening, which was hugely well attended. 3 paintings sold, a number of others are under consideration. A couple of copies of my book and buckets loads of cards (available from here).

I planned it, thanks to everything I have learnt over the past year writing Moon Time, according to my menstrual cycle ( ovulation) and the moon ( full) to ensure I had my own full energy resources behind me and enhanced and supported by the moon's pull.

It was also Lunasadh - the time to reap the summers havest. And 2 days off seven years since I became a mother, 8 since I became a wife, that I let myself out of the bag to all who know me.

It felt like a very powerful initiation to see how far I have come in this past eight years. My own personal initiation into creative rainbow mama hood. Perhaps that is why I could not finish the book, which I realised last week when I spoke to Lynn Andrews needs to take the form and spiritual energy of an initiation.

I felt cradled in the love and support of all my friends and family cradling me. I was delighted that I was not on show for press and could just connect heart to heart.

There were two special conversations that stay with me. Both with people whom the Universe rather than I invited. The first was with a far out therapist and wild man who has been in my family's life for a long time. He has eyes that penetrate your soul and make you feel as naive as a child, a growling deep voice like and earthquake. A beard which states he is a man of wild places and breath heavily perfumed with ganja. "these paintings come from a deep place" he said "I can really feel that and I honour that." he said lots more which touched me deeply but I cannot recall words.

The other conversation was with a very strafe character. I often wonder if she is real, but others seem to see her. She is the closest to a mouthpiece/ archetypal counsellor from the Universe who has ever fallen into my life. Anyway our paths first crossed in February. This was our third meeting. "hazel told me she was going to Lucys exhibition, she said, and I thought it must be a different Lucy" - ( I've had this before when someone saw these posters up all over the place for lots of interesting sounding classes, in creative writing and drama and yoga and couldn't believe when the same name -mine- was at the bottom. We met at the food writing course, the first copies of my book were about to arrive. I had not yet started to paint. Her jaw just kept on dropping when I told her that not only had I started painting just after we first met, but that I was also teaching blogging at the Cookery School, and was being paid to help Darina start her own blog. Her chin was nearly touching the floor by that point.

And so, dear readers, that is how I feel too, right now. Very proud of myself! I cannot begin to tell you the amount of major, major, major blocks I have blasted through to get to this point today.

Thank you, thank you to each and every one who has sat and listened to me do battle with them. I know how tedious I can be, how draining it can be to be immersed in the seemingly endless waves of anothers' negativity. To everyone who has held me, comforted me, practically supported me. Thank you.

Now do this for yourselves. Break the walls of your own fears and I will be here as doula to your dreams, holding your hand, listening to your fears and cheering you on the other side as one who knows.

Preparing to Show Myself

So my exhibition is tomorrow.

And it feels like it is a literal exhibition of myself. Which many people think I am good at doing. But honestly though it all looks good on the night, the emotional toll it takes out of me is always disproportionate.

But there are always multiple ways to look at things it seems. So when people ask me - "are you feeling excited about your exhibition?"

My response is - oh, excitement is another valid emotional response to this experience - rather than my predominant sensations of shit scared, anxious and WTF-am-I-doing-what-was-so-bad-about-writing-boring-articles-about weaning-or-being-a-stay-at-home-mama-for-that-matter.

So I am doing a little mental reframing. Coz I realised that all these people who are giving up their Friday night to come and drink free bubbles. They could be going out to dinner, clubbing, having sex, waxing their bikini lines, watching Big Brother. But instead they are coming to see my paintings because:
a) they love (or at least like) me
b) they want to support me
c) they are curious as to what I've been up to and what my art might look like
d) they might, potentially consider buying something (this is my favourite option)
e) they like free drinks

But not the following points, which are what revolve round my head:
f) she can't paint
g) they're over priced
h) are those HER tits? ( I have already been asked if they are self portraits - yup, my breasts are so pert after 3 kids that they nearly touch my chin, and they have those swirly nipple things too, for real!)
i) next she's going to be painting vaginas (umm, I have, they're just hidden behind the filing cabinet!)
j)WTF?!

About 80 people invited. But NO posters up. No press releases. I already feel like I'm going to be riding through our local area butt naked. I cannot begin to tell you how exposed I feel. Most people round here paint cows. Or cliffs. Or normal shit. And write books about local history or something.

So you see, it's a top-secret exhibition. I thought I'd just show off my tits to all my friends and family. And random pottery customers who stumble across them on the way to the loos.

I shall save the press releases for my minge show I think!!

Really. Truly.

What is love but loving?

Learning and laughing,

Risking and sharing,

Fearing and fearing some more,

But having the courage to overcome it all.

Love is jumping into a fast flowing stream and not knowing where it will take you.

It is someone who you can discuss both the price of coffee and the deepest yearnings of your soul,

Interchangeably.

Loving is knowing to trust the unknown and rejoice in the cycles of familiarity.

Loving is having the courage to hold a mirror up to your own face,
And not be too proud to admit your failings.

Intangible: 
The stuff all life is made of.

Love is having a hand to hold as you dive into your dreams,

A hand to guide you and a hand to let you go.

(Words I wrote for our wedding ceremony)

Today is our eighth wedding anniversary.

When I think back to us then, I had just turned 24. "Too young" said many. "Are you sure?"

For most around us we were a done deal since we first met. And it was. It has always felt inevitable. Meant to be. It was like the heavens said "Here, here is your life partner, he is a gentle, kind, loving, compassionate man, someone who will be devoted to you in your darkest hour, your only task is just not to fuck it up - don't get impatient, don't run off looking for thrills, don't get bored - if you are willing to learn the lesson of commitment, then this is our gift to you."

And I have nearly fucked it up. Many times in 14 years.  The heavens know me too well. Mainly over sex - not wanting it, not really enjoying it, of wanting it with other people; over wanting to live apart; over my academic ambitions; over domestic chores; over general frustration; through maternal despair and exhaustion. And I'm sure I've got plenty more opportunities to fuck it up lying straight ahead. In fact, that's something I can guarantee.

But he has never once nearly thrown in the towel on us (at least that I know of!) And believe me it's not that I'm easy to live with. That shows you the kind of man he is!

Let me share what I said that day we married in the tea house:

"Relationships have always been the most integral and important part of my life, and the central relationship for me is my partnership with Patrick. I am not a half-hearted sort of person. I only do things which I am passionate about, and this and he is something I am truly passionate about. I feel so blessed to have him in my life. Today is another important step for me, for us: the chance for me to put my full and public commitment behind our relationship. In recognition of our life together, and our unity when heading into the future.

I see our relationship as a ground for challenge and adventure, both individually and together- a place to learn more about ourselves and relationships in all areas of our lives. To open ourselves out rather than to close ourselves off. To me this celebration is my own true acknowledgement of what is. That is my partnership with a wonderful man who loves and cares for me often more than I am capable of myself, who believes in me totally and doesn’t let me sell myself short. 

Patrick is a man of true integrity, justice and immense loyalty, as all of you who are close to him will know. He, even more than me, isn’t one for show- what you see is what you get. He is a man of high principles which he lives, and of lofty dreams which he doesn’t surrender to cynicism. His intellectual abilities go without saying, but his capacity for reflection, for true appreciation of beauty and the wonder of nature and human skill is humbling. But most of all, as many of you will testify he is the best friend one could hope for- in sickness and health, for better for worse he is there- I haven’t tried the richer and poorer bit- but here’s hoping! I have such deep respect for him, though I don’t show it nearly enough. I love the life we share and I look forward to continuing on our journey together and all that our futures may hold."

This has been the year, due to circumstances and conscious decisions, that we became a truly solid partnership, rather than a couple - when we really found our groove and each other in all our depths and complications. And truly, this has been our best year. Really. And for that I am delighted. Amazed. Grateful.

It took the madness of parenting three young kids. Of really struggling to keep our sanity and values with the parenting of our most challenging child. Of deciding to follow our hearts with work. Of having almost no money. Of deep support through mental disintegration. Of truly finding each other intimately, tenderly, passionately.

This year we have truly seen each others strengths and weaknesses in action. Learning better when to give space, when to give support, when to take over and when to kick ass. 

He is slow, I am speedy. He is thorough, I am slapdash. He chokes almost every time he has a drink and I get hiccups when I eat mashed potato. He gets addicted to long running American drama series and I have a serious Pinterest habit.

We know each other through and through at this stage.

He teaches me commitment, about giving myself wholly and mindfully to the task in hand and doing it thoroughly. He gives me perspective and shows me how to talk myself down from insanity, despair and emotional meltdown. He teaches me truly about giving myself to the moment.

I teach him how to unleash his creativity and sensuality, how to talk from the heart and share feelings, how to keep on trying to find his passion and live it out, to take risks and be impetuous, how to go easy on himself.

We agree to disagree on the relative merits of opera versus Eva Cassidy. But there is so much we share: our  love of travel, good food, stand up comedy, The Cat Empire and Thai rock, a glass of wine, bonfires, mornings in bed, and our three precious, quirky children...

And each other.

I love you PT.

Really. Truly.

Who is reading this? and why?!!

Dreaming Aloud feels like it is in transition. I am not quite sure the shape it is taking.

It started out as a blog on living philosophy, attached to my Juno column of the same name. When I started it I didn't really 'get' blogging. I thought it was an online diary, which I didn't really feel inspired to try. So instead I decided to use it as a place to park everything that I was writing, rather than on my hard disk.

I was a stay at home mama to three, writing the occasional feature and editing Juno. I felt trapped. I could only glimpse what I wanted.

Through the life time of this blog many things have changed. I now have a book, have started painting and am more drawn to the visual and women's mysteries. I spend less time mothering, thank goodness, I am not a natural mother, and am not trapped. I feel like I have built up a following of people who like and expect my blogging emotive posts on mothering, but I have moved on. To that end I am also going to give up one of my long time writing jobs which no longer resonates with where I am at.

I rarely sit and pour my heart out in writing now like a dam about to burst. Painting is my outlet and writing my work. My writing commitments to so many other projects mean that this blog is often on my to-do list. I feel there are expectations, from me and you.

In its time I have done series on books, on money, I have reviewed restaurants, shared art and poetry, shared our life as a family, written about birth and community...

I aim to inspire, to share, to add beauty and to keep it real...

What is the uniting factor? What IS Dreaming Aloud?

Dear reader, why do you come back to Dreaming Aloud? What do you get from it? Who is reading and why?

Sweet Pea

Another day, another painting. As you can see from the blog,  my writing is in hibernation and painting in full bloom. I feel I should apologise, to those of you who enjoy the writing. But... I'm guessing there's no need, bearing in mind it's my blog! It feels like it's going through a latent period at the moment, until it takes its new form come September...

I manage to make myself feel guilty for painting. Even though I will probably earn more from my painting than my writing this year - I just feel like I "should" be writing. Madness! Especially when I am currently studying a time-limited painting e course and have committed to minimal writing commitments so that I can recharge my creative juices over the summer.

There is, it seems, no end to guilt!

So let me introduce you to the Queen of the Sweet Peas (who is still a work in progress) who has emerged all by herself. She was just a plain queen (the title of the course is "Queen of your own heart" but I'd already painted one that I was attached to (see my last post). I was just going throguh the motions, really, so that I could learn the techniques that I really need to up my painting game to the next level.

But then the spirals turned into tendrils, her jewelery into sweetpea pods! (which are a little yoni like too! - something those of you who follow my Pinterest boards will notice the yoni jewelery being pinned on my boards at the moment - yoni-shaped, might I add,  not for the yoni - not quite there yet!!)

So I raced to Pinterest to put together a board of sweet pea images to draw from.

And then I realised Sweet Pea was my nickname at school! And the flower I choose for my wedding - our 8th wedding anniversary is at the weekend. We have perennial sweet peas coming into flower outside our kitchen door at the moment.

Synchronicity!

Sweet pea...

High summer blooms

On Regal upstanding stems

Your Jewel tones

Fit for a queen

Or baby pastels

For the fairies

And lovers

Who make their vows beneath

Your tangled tendrils

Reaching, climbing, embracing, tumbling,

Intoxicated by your perfumed heaven.

Your delicate flowers

So feminine

Sing of sea shells

The mystery of the opening yoni

Embodied sensuality

Gardeners delight.