I live in France. I have lived here for about two years now. It’s interesting from time to time to stumble on how ideas which are similar are expressed differently in French compared to English. So they are similar but not the same.
Here is an example – in English, where we talk about “giving up our soul”, in French the equivalent translates as “giving back our soul”. What a difference. In both, the idea that the soul has an existence beyond ours, but the French is much less individualistic. Our soul is something which we have been lent and must return. ‘Soul’ as a life-force in the physical body, as long as the physical body can endure. And when it dies, the soul returns and becomes part again of the source.
I don’t believe in past lives. But I do believe in a ‘soul thread’, a continuation of each one of us through our actions and our words, through our relationship with each person we have ever met, the means by which we have changed them and they us… the way in which we have affected them, which will alter in some small way how they in turn affect others. And so the soul thread is eternal, and perhaps what we give back is the means our bodies have on loan to keep spinning that thread by connecting with others. It is temporary. But when we stop spinning, our part of the soul thread is still there. That is the soul’s eternity… and ours.
A Dancing Dream Janet smiles and lumbers forward. Cheryl downstairs usually walks steps forth, body straight, and stomps loudly. Janet leans right, left. We follow simultaneously. Arms and feet stay,remain forward. Drum beats fill the dance room. Cheryl sometimes listens to loud music or radio sermons. Her front apartment door shuts loudly. I awake ignoring neighbor’s loud music and footsteps. Footsteps and Janet’s wheelchair were in my dance dream. Later I was weeding, cutting, sweeping,I was dancing outside with rake and broom.Nicole Taylor May 17, 2006
Little Dramas (A Dance Ability tribute) Walking by the practice,I was intrigued. Three women,One man.dressed simply in black.Two physically disabled students. Two begged me to stay and watch the tribute to a retiring teacher. Four friends danceinto our sight.They stand as if waiting for a bus to drive into our hallway. They lean and support each other up,posing head on shoulders and assisted by cane or chair. The friends sit and wait on bench.Each takes a turn to stand, stretch, and dance. They flutter and flitter into beautiful butterflies. A long, blue cloth flows into a cool,refreshing stream. It bathes and showers them.It gives stones for skipping or walking the causeway. Larger groups gather.Curious eyes sparkle.The retiree arrives.She sits front and center. Our man Jerry pays tribute snaking along the floor with striking cane and romantic song. Nicole TaylorDecember 2003
In the end we are the stories of our being, woven into the stories of all those we have touched, each of us a fibre being spun into a yarn and affecting its texture and its colour and its nature and becoming a part with the million others of the thread that weaves the tapestry… and this is how we matter, for the touching makes us part of another’s touching, and another, and another…
“…I knew this man who said…”
“…and she told me how…”
“…he helped, a total stranger…”
“…whoever she was, she made the difference…”
“…someone somewhere said…”
“…I always do it this way, I suppose it started somewhere…”
So what matter if you can’t recall my name? I am out there still, for ever, somewhere, and you could find me, if you just knew where to look.
By SC Jan 2009
Lily Come Home and the Flight of Terror
Yes, this is based on the childhood film about Lassie! However, Lily was seduced by a neighbourhood cat. There are several cats who lie in wait for the new dog on the block, preening themselves, making sure Lily has seen them – and then dart off! This particular morning the walk is ending and Lily isn’t on her lead. The nearby path runs parallel to a main road, busy with morning traffic. Lily is off in a split second, completely deaf to my shouts. I listen to inner bodily peace and make my down to the road. There she is strolling along on the central lines, on her way back to me. I sigh with relief that cars are slowing down and I collect her safely.
The next episode is when Lily barked warning a distant dog not to approach her – it did: a small terrier. Lily does a runner, deaf yet again to my cries. I trust my body senses and about ten minutes later I arrive home to find her strolling around waiting for me. At least I know she knows the way Home!
The learning for me is to keep desensitising her to fear triggers by using a whistle to alert her, saying “psstttt” (dog whisperer technique) when near other dogs / cats, and using the bribe of “biscuit”. “Biscuit” has worked on a number of occasions when I noticed the glint in her eye the wander lust – a throw back to her freedom days of being a Street Girl! Every time, so far, her love of food (and me) has won the day.
There are lots of things I can tell you about Lily, and how she has made such a difference to, for instance, my inner ache of loneliness. Lily is so affectionate and if she hears me upset will immediately come to me.
I would love to hear your own therapeutic relationship with your pet / or animals, birds as well as the challenges!
Once a year we are asked to give thought to our fathers, to celebrate their role in our lives.
This draws the question. How has your relationship or non relationship with your father /dad impacted on you? What influence has your relationship with dad, his legacy, had and still having on your relationships in the present day.
Has this relationship enabled you or disarmed you? Encouraged or disrupted? Left you feeling loved or ?
I hope that this space will be given to reflect upon the variety of influences a parent can have on our lives and what we are left with.
Thinking out-loud
Jill
