Conflict and resignation

May 18, 2011 § 3 Comments

Since this awful row I have been in limbo. I am so angry at myself, I feel like the ungrateful child, I have hidden my face from God in shame. How can I have let this distract me from my ultimate joy, that I am to be healed in my legs? How can I have let this row steer me from my gratitude? I am so happy for myself, perhaps after all this time I almost cannot believe it, my good fortune, and seek to distract myself in case it is taken away from me again. I do not know. I only know that this has knocked me a little from my course, and I have spent an hour in church this morning trying to put it right.

Oh, but how I wish I could be simply happy! I am radiant with love for God for putting my legs right, and torn by love of a woman. How silly of me to let this conflict get to me so, I should be only thankful and rise above the rest. Without the human love, though, do we wither? Sometimes I think that oh! Without the steps of a loved one upon the soil, what a hollowness there is in everything! But I must put this longing from my heart and only look at the beautiful flowers of the emerging Summer, and let my heart fill with joy again at the happier twists and turns of my life.


The storm breaks

May 16, 2011 § 1 Comment

Today has seen the collapse of our house. I have tried to visit Indie in hospital but the big cast for correcting the muscles in my legs makes it difficult to travel, I wish I could sit there with him today, listening only to the sounds of lives spared and not spared. The fierce industry of hospitals, their many denziens scarred by the process of living.

I became drunk last night and have had the terrible row with Penny, in the kitchen, there was much shouting as I told her we all are knowing that her boyfriend is not nice to her, is maybe even hitting her. She threw things. Jette hear us arguing and comes downstairs, and is horrible and tells Penny the truth that I am hating her man because I am in love with her. I stammer, and wool is suddnely thick in my mouth and I cannot deny the thing. It is as though a cloud above my head has split in two, and rain is now pouring upon me in a shower of little needles. A creeping horror steals into me, raising the hairs on my skin, a cold shadow falls across my heart even though my face burns with anger and misery.

The air that has gone still, full of tension, like a heatwave. Penny’s face has closed up like a prison door, and I feel my heart being locked out of her forever by something as solid and impersonal as iron. She turns on Jette like a little lioness, and shouts things that have long been kept silent in her; Jette is a jealous bitch who has no happiness, who is a ghost of a person, who has no emotions or lasting love because she cannot handle them, she is immature and stupid and selfish, she has no real thoughts or art of her own and so must scorn the work of others even though she could never in a hundred lifetimes hope to create its equal. Jette recoils as though lashed by a whip; her face is so proud, but it falls horribly like a landslide, and everyone runs out of the room in tears but me.

So, there is silence, there is water on the floor, and china shards. The people next door were having a barbeque but have gone curiously silent to listen to us ruin ourselves; slowly, their voices begin to carry again through the window, and I pick up the broken things and wipe the floor, as though I am robotic. Penny’s room, next to the kitchen, is quiet. Jette is blasting out loud music from upstairs, and I left the house and walked slow and painfully down the road to the little cafe that keeps my paintings on the walls, to still the furious beating in my chest and drink some more.

Suddenly darkness.

May 14, 2011 § 1 Comment

Indie is in the hospital.

His drinking became so bad, he was even drinking first thing in the morning – the doctors have taken him there today to look after him, and say that his alcoholism is being a cry for help. We have known that he has the depression badly sometimes, but breaking up with his boyfriend was as they say the last straw. He is going to go to counselling and an alcohol rehabilitation program. I am praying for him.

Jette is not praying for him, and is being her usual self, cynical and hard. I did not even tell her that my hospital visit went so well, because she would take my news like a butterfly and crush it between her fingers. Penny I have told, and her smile for my good fortune was as the lovely sparkle of the Sun when He is playing on the water, sending me into a little trance – but even with her things are changing for the worse.

She does not love me, I think, at all. I think she has only been kissing me drunkenly to upset her Dutch man, who is straying from her. I have not helped myself by being drunk and stupid, acting out and getting into fights, ranting about the past. sometimes I just cannot help it, I am trying so hard to be happy and thinking the positive every day, but when I am drinking, the past comes out like a stain and darkens everything around it.

I am holding my good news like a precious letter to my chest, to keep it safe, and almost more, to use it as armour against the ravages of the world. Stupid, stupid, the grief of the world turns for everyone, and my present happiness is but the lid on the whole rotten barrel of myself.

Good day.

May 13, 2011 § Leave a comment

Today, I am transported to heaven! The doctors have seen my legs and done incredible scans with their machinery, and have told me that I will walk properly again with much help. I am so happy, my heart has flung itself open – a jealous door I have been guarding over my year of anxiety and sorrow over this – as a flower with a thousand petals! The sun upon my face is the kiss of my silent Angels, who have held me in their grave and gentle wisdom over this awful time. I am laughing like a God gazing on the yellow corn as it ripples in the wind, or hurling lightning from the mountaintop. I am thanking myself and the universe as the co-creators of my life, I am sending love from the spring of my heart to everyone who has need of it, my heart unfolds into the corners of space and the stars are laughing with me in joy.

I sound mad, I suppose, and today I am, mad with happiness; as though a great, deep ocean were before me, and I have run to its edge and thrown myself in, surrounded by cool, clear water and the beautiful mysteries of the undersea. I am eating strawberries, and the red juiciness of them, their rich colour is as bright as a jewel. I am finding the little joys of the world amazing most days, but on this day, even the birds singing are like little fanfares that play ‘Well done, Cairo, it is a long, difficult road, but you walking it like a King.’

The many secrets of happiness.

May 10, 2011 § Leave a comment

The idea of happiness being a thing to strive for and win like a prize, instead of the thing that is always in you if you know how to look, is I think, one of the great obstacles to the human contentment. We think we will find happiness if we move away to the country, or get married, or are rich. I’m sure that these things do contribute to how much a person is enjoying their life, of course, but they are not little milestones on the way to the mythical city called Happiness!

I have a few things that always remind me of my own innate joys and makes me full of God again. I would like to share them with anyone reading this diary so that they can use them if they like.

Kovalski’s Happiness List:

* Give your things away.

I do not need so many things. They are creeping up on me like little mountains of items picked up hastily in charity shops and bookplaces. What drives me to keep clothes and things I don’t need? Is it a sentimental feeling? Do I wish to remain the person who wore those cool trousers forever? These books I will not read again, why are they still here? Little things, bits of memory, clutter. Get it out, be light in how your possessions weigh upon your life, otherwise they will drag you down with their weight. I do keep all my canvasses though because this is my art.

* Look at little miracles as though they are big miracles.

Yesterday in the graveyard I am sitting next to a patch of wild violets, their purple in the sunshine incredible, and all around lush grass so emerald. The petals of the tiny flowers so perfect and intricate, and then a butterfly white with little dark patterns traced upon its wings landed briefly touching the earth. The love put into every fine detail of these little things made me strange with awe. Somewhere above my head galaxies of a million beautiful stars are moving, and here I am with the tiny perfect flowers, and my heart was full of the mysterious power of creation. This is what I mean by the big miracles in little things.

* Making friends with suffering.

Suffering hurts, I have nearly died many times, through illness and accidents, and now my legs mean I cannot walk far. I am having madness sometimes, too. But I have tried to make friends with my suffering, and learn from it that no pain is bigger or more powerful than my heart. Nobody is alone in their pains, we are all experiencing deep sorrow, and a person may have less or more sorrow than you. It is good if you believe in God and our selves as God also, to remind your self that you know what you are doing, and the reason will become clear to you for your sufferings in the long evolving of your life.

* Remembering what it is all about.

If you are of the spiritual and artistic mind, then what it is about is Love of God, helping the world be better and enjoying and realising the experience of being your self through immense creativity. It is easy to be forgetting this when the suffering and the amnesia of living are upon you.

* Watch your thoughts.

Sometimes your thoughts will be running away with you and taking you to anxious and bad places. It is good to watch your thoughts, and laugh at them when they are misbehaving. The neurons on your head are really quite plastic and will burn little synapses and things wherever you tell them, when you are mastering your thoughts, your brain is rewiring itself into a happier being.

There are some of my secrets for being happiness.

Rapture and torture.

May 7, 2011 § Leave a comment

It is true, truth like the greening of the land. I am in love with Penny. I yearn for her in the pit of my stomach, I sigh, weep, bite my fingers. I hover like a bug about her in the kitchen, inane jokes flying from my lips. At night, I bury my face in my hands, it is impossible. She has kissed me, but so drunkenly, I do not believe this is what she feels for me in her heart. Ah, Love! What wonderful torture, like being beaten, whipped by an imperial beauty, like poor Severin in Venus in Furs.

I feel I am being taught to submit to the female, to kneel before her, her wishes upon my head like a garland of roses, thorns pricking my skin. The unattainable is the thing all humans most desire, like the apple of knowledge, the flesh of the wise salmon. Like lightning she has struck my heart all the more because she is forbidden to me, chaste and dressed in white. I must think of her skin as cold china, unresponsive, not thrumming with warmth or need to be touched. Like a nymph of the wood, glimpsed through green leaves, she must remain elusive, half mythical.

Worries and futile hopes, like frail baby birds.

May 6, 2011 § Leave a comment

Sometimes, Jette is so horrible about my thoughts about God, calling me stupid and fearful of the emptiness, putting down faith as though it were a child’s toy that she has long outgrown. She is so full of scorn, for God, for love, for anything that is happy and simple, and now she is being nasty to Penny because she is having troubles with her Dutch man. Says that she is silly, that she would not be stuck in a sad place because she is too clever to be trapped in the monogomas relationships, which, like marriage, are dull and conventional. I am trying hard to remember that her fury and bitchiness stems from the deep unhappinesses, but it is very hard sometimes!

She is not so sympathetic for Indie as we, she says that he has a choice, to change, to stay from the drink. That he has brung the tall tower wall of his misfortune upon his own head, and that she will drive him to the hospital if she has to, but that she will not sit and talk with him over his troubles as we do. My soul recoils from this hardness, as a man backing from the ledge of a big cliff, or a deep, deep well filled with dark water that may hide secrets and bodies.

I do not know why someone who is able-bodied, and attractive with a nice job and a safe warm home should be so angry. I am not trying to make small her experiences of the past, I do not know them and she does not like to discuss her past – but it is very saddening that a beautiful young girl with seemingly no troubles must scratch and snarl against life and others. As you know, I myself am having the manic depressions, and I often wonder if Jette has mental troubles, too. Just because something is not seen, does not mean that it is there.

I am glad, secretly, that Penny is having problems with the man. I am ashamed of my motives for this awful pleasure, but lately her smiles have been like little sunrises to me, and I have tricked and teased them from her as often as possible.¬†Oh, but this is the Pyrrhic victory I did mention a few days ago. At a party, she was very drunk and did kiss me a little, and I did not know how much I wanted her until then. What a triumph! But the terror of such a short-lived happiness! Perhaps I am falling in love, but what could I have to offer her? I cannot leave the house some days with my legs, I am sometimes horribly mad – no, it cannot be. She does not want the insane artist with bad legs for a lover, I am ‘not her type’ I think. Although her face, her silver voice, her graceful rounded limbs and rippling hair -like a pre-raphaelite, an Ophelia in thrift-shop skirts – is becoming to me as vital as my own red blood.

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