School's in for the Winter

School's in for the winter! So at last I have access to the computer and no pending jobs to prevent me writing. I've made the lunches, ironed the uniforms, checked books, bags, etc., and waved my daughters off to start their studious day. I am alone, processing the summer, and can't think where to begin. I look out to the garden and see trees that need cutting. So I distract myself and decide to garden, and then while I prune, I cry. My son and I planted these twigs years ago and now they are thick trunks. I mourn that he didn't have a chance to grow and I weep, weep by the weeping willow trees! Then I question, "What am I doing?" I believe it's important to allow tears to flow and release, but this is different, I'm just feeling sorry for myself. Why, when I have so much to be happy about? I abandon my secateurs, go inside, and stare at the keyboard again.

I feel I don't have any great news to blog, no real dramas, no triumphs, no worries. I wake, work, eat, sleep, weep, smile and my life goes on.  I did have a great holiday, the first time in over 10 years that I have been away for more than a week. We drove through the rolling hills of the West Country; me, my girls, and the dogs. We went to WOMAD festival and Glastonbury, where we camped on the Isle of Avalon. Good friends reunited, and I had high times! Then my old bus continued to Cornwall (Trebullom) Bude and Lewes seaside where the brass band played, tiddly om pom pom! When we returned, sun burned and happy to be home, the sweet summer continued, my daughters' great GCSE results to celebrate, my romance still blossoming, and still high times!

Ahh, now we have the root to my feelings of sadness, why true happiness has become more distant. I have been smoking too much, back sliding! That's what my sister in law used to say to describe Christians who had reverted to old ways after finding the lord; that's how I feel. I have fallen into old habits, returning to the dark side after seeing the light, justifying that temporary bliss, drug induced lift of consciousness. I've been hanging out with the hippies again!

I confess it has been a big part of my life and I will always advocate for it in moderation. I believe it's when it becomes a dependence, life controlling, as with all things, that it's a problem. BRM, now officially 'my boyfriend' doesn't partake, but he drinks, and acknowledges a level of alcoholism after recently trying sobriety for 2 weeks! Patterns of behaviour, how we react to stress or success, are difficult to break, and for me, if I possess a packet of weed it calls me morning and night, 'Spliff up!' sounds like such a sweet song. Is it an addiction? That is the question...

My name is Mel and I smoke marijuana, isn't that the first step? So maybe there is a triumph to write about. I am typing rather than smoking, sharing rather than withdrawing. I have returned to the rules of 'not in my home'. The bus was our mobile house and that's how things began to get blurred. That and change of lifestyle, travelling, being a free spirit, not bound by school timetables and jobs, remembering with old friends good times, and losing that discipline. Ahh, here we have dug up another root. My daily meditation practice has disappeared. It was my rising ritual, my nightly preparation for peace and ensured a sense of stability and inner calm. So even though I still meditate, I confess my routine is lost and now I know that's what I need to do, that's why I felt sad. My brain had become accustomed to regular herb-fullness, not mindfulness!

So I stare at my computer screen, ready to summarise this blog entry, send, and start my practise again. Then I realise I haven't written anything about HIV! How weirdly wonderful is that. My virus hasn't dominated my life or thoughts; it hasn't even been part of the story. Great news indeed! Now time to sit and breathe, be mindful, meditate and smile.