I’ve been thinking about ’sin’. It was Easter recently and maybe that got me going. Sin is a Christian concept that I grew up with, not that my family was particularly religious, but somehow I got to know all about sin. As I understood it sin was a bad thing. It is all about temptation, and giving in to it. And I believed that once I had sinned then I either needed to do something quite serious to absolve myself ( I was never completely sure how I went about that) or I was doomed to suffer the consequences. And the consequences seemed quite extreme – like eternal damnation. Not good. 

Now I just think sin is a bad name for a completely natural thing: everyday actions that have become laden with negative connotations, and because of which we tend to beat outselves up about. We all ’sin’ don’t we? I’m sure that in the Bible somewhere is says that Jesus sacrificed himself for our sins – so that we didn’t have to sacrifice ourselves? Or something like that. The way I see it, we all sin – its part of who we are – each and everyone of us.

To sin is a fundamental part of life as a human being. We don’t have to feel bad about it, in fact we could all try harder not to feel bad about it. If as Christians believe Jesus died for our sins, then we do not, and should not, beat ourselves up (and others for that matter) for the sins we commit.

So stop beating yourself up. Forgive yourself, accept yourself and start again.

x bhavatu sabbe mangalum x

This morning I’m grateful that I can leave home nearly an hour later than I usually do, and get to work 15 minutes earlier than usual. I’m fortunate the prison is only one short bus ride away – this morning I didn’t feel up to walking the 4+ miles to work as I have been doing recently.

I had a wonderfully indulgent day yesterday. The sun was shining on Richmond and I walked with Phil beside the Thames, we sat and shared a smoke, and then, as you do, proceeded to share our thoughts on everything from the interconnectedness of  life to the peculiarities of young women, particularly their need for make-up. And in between we discussed it all, and continued on in the same vein in the pub at the top of the hill.

So very relaxed I was on the train trip home, and seeing as I had to travel through Wimbledon, I though why not see if Cari was into a quick drink after work, which of course she was (god bless her), and we spent a glorious hour or so upstairs in the Terrace Bar at the Alex (which has to be the best bar in all Wimbledon). Of course being so utterly British, we went for a curry and another pint on the way home. Wonderful!!

A most wonderfully indulgent day all round. Thank you Phil. Thank you Cari. Thank you sunshine. Thank you to the bus this morning that saved me from having to walk off my fuzziness.

x bhavatu sabbe mangalum x

Clever, I like it

x bhavatu sabbe mangalum x

I awoke last night and went to the toilet. A ritual that is has become part of my older age routine. I remember as a youngster lying in the dark and wondering why it was that my parents were up in the middle of the night walking the hallway. Now I know. Last night though was a little different. On my way back into the bedroom, for some inexplicable reason, as I passed the chest of drawers, my eye was drawn to my old worn shoulder bag lying next to it. I reached down and took my wallet from it. Placing it on top of the chest of drawers, I opened it and pulled out a 5 pound note. I knew that there were a number of notes in my wallet, three 5s and a 20. However the note I had in my hand was different. The ink has smeared and smudged and most of it had disappeared. What was left was by and large just a blank piece of high quality paper, with a smudge of orange in one corner.

I stared down at it in disbelief, trying to make sense of it. I pulled another note, and another from within the wallet. The same thing. Something had happened to them to make the ink run, something had happened to transform them from valid bank notes to mere sheets of paper. I stared at the paper in my hand thinking no one was going to believe this, knowing that the money in my hands was now worthless.

Maybe something has spilled in my bag I thought. Something containing a chemical strong enough to remove the ink. Still, it seemed s far-fetched. My hand reached for the last note, the 20 pound note. It was not as clean of ink as the others, about half of the image remained visible. Nevertheless it was worthless, although it did seem to confirm my theory that some sort of chemical had been spilt on the notes.

I was more astonished than upset, the loss of 35 pounds outweighed by the unexpected and unexplained nature of the event. I was though too tired to investigate further and made my way back to bed where I promptly started to tell Caroline of my discovery. As I started to recount my incredulous find, my story started to unravel; to my own ears my story seemed too incredulous. Why would I have even stopped to find my wallet and look inside it on the return from the toilet in the middle of the night? And, I realised the chest of drawers is in the bedroom, where the light is off. How could I see anything, let alone the condition of the bank notes?

With a relief I realised I had dreamt the whole thing. It had seemed so real, so much so that I had been willing to believe that something so strange had happened to the notes. Relieved and somewhat amused I muttered an apology to Caroline for waking her with my excitement, rolled over and drifted back to sleep with a smile on my face.

In the morning …

x bhavatu sabbe mangalum x

It is the end of the year 2011 and I am in a bad way. The inside of my head competes with the left side of my face to  try and cause me the most discomfort. My feet are falling apart, the skin slowly peeling away to reveal the red raw truth that lies underneath.

I seem to have lost ’the way’ this year., so much so that by year’s end I am here, in a bad way.  I have wandered further along the path that I ever imagined possible. This path that I first ventured on nearly 4 years ago now has led me  to somewhere surprisingly familiar. It is an open glade, filled with pain. I have been here before, many times. I was here in the late summer of 2011, just over a year ago. At that time I wrote …

 I am living with a headache

x bhavatu sabbe mangalum x