Category Archives: ACCEPTANCE


Woke disturbed for the first time in a week or so. The waking dream was of my trying to speak to one of the sisters at the hospital and being greeted by Chris on the phone with impatience. So many months of precisely that. What a pain it has been – official help has been inefficient and minimal. Very often patronising and generic.

Now I am sitting in my living room with steamrollers and caterpillars  rumbling the house and street for a purpose known only to Council.

I don’t think I can even get the Pony and get out of here. They have dug up right to my front door. Near enough.

I was expecting a Bello Call this morning as well and that hasn’t come.

Today is not at all going as I would like. I can hang out the washing and chill. Things will change again. They surely will.


Hands off. Feels a bit like Bob Earle’s huddle in his basement wondering whether or not to leave his wife.

Give me a sign – says he to God.

I did, Bob – says God.

Something less would have sufficed, God.

Nothing less did, Bob.


I am a a little bit of a loss today. I can’t get out. Its really noisy at home. My head is busy and I am at a loose end.  I do not like this much. Perhaps I will not start the next part of my day with Country Music. I listened to Willie Nelson on waking so now I have Andrew H’s “tear in the glass eye. “

 Turns out my Girl is sick with one of the migraines she suffers from. Poor wee lass.

The Council seems to be at Lunch and all is quiet on the Southern Front.

In the end , you just have to laugh. I shall have party pies for lunch. Then I shall go to bed on a hot electric blanket and read a Harry Dresden book.

Let the Workers Work !



Today, I somehow changed. As Jefferson Airplane said. I’m just not the same.

I did the NA meeting. Dani D has broken her wrist so John drove us both. Its only in Urunga. Then Kaybee and the Girls picked me up and we did Urunga shops and ate at the bakery and came back to the Shack and did craft stuff and talked.

It was one cold day – for here on the Mid North Coast.

I am still free from the corrosive thread of fear which had me enthralled since the morning I saw him beside the road under the blue sheet.

I feel as if I have been walking shrouded and bemused for a long time. These years have changed me. Somehow.

I will never again be as I once was and I sit now with the wraiths as companions but I am at ease and my spiritual sight is clearer.

So the Kraken awoke. I can be the Kraken’s Daughter.





Bed all day again despite an invite for lunch in North Bello. I said NO which surprised me. I have until now been desperate for any sharing of time in case it were our last together. This time, I felt well and we made plans with them for tomorrow. That is a seemingly small thing but a big one to me.

In the end I stayed home all day long and mostly drowsy and in bed. Before I met Iz, I did a lot of these Shabbos days – deeply meditative and healing.

I realised that way back I ceased doing almost anything because I either got it wrong or – more significantly – did things I wish I didn’t. Like use drugs. Mix with wrong people. I sort of froze into drug addiction. Damage is done and even all these years later , I do not easily DO things I see other people do. Like cook.  Or grow gardens.

Mind you – nor do I wish to.

I have spent another day with a huge reduction in Fear even though it is similar to how I was feeling just before Iz died. Comfortable and hopeful and content. The rug was ripped out from under that one. Nonetheless, it was there today and it is a blessed place to be in.



On Prayer and Chronic Illness, Sober | The Fix

The artifice of returned choice and ability so quickly reinstated my ego to its helm that I nearly missed the lesson—that self-forgetting, acceptance and allowance facilitated beneficial outcomes while my involvement netted none. The practice of prayer remains active as I navigate this disease in a new environment, and has afforded a level of grace previously unknown. The facts are unfavorable and yet, recognition of the role of God as capable of equipping my navigation of them has entirely resurfaced a landscape that otherwise would be impassable from the outset.

Source: On Prayer and Chronic Illness, Sober | The Fix



Days come when I am aware of the Instinct for Survival. Today was cool and wet after a heatwave yesterday. Clacker and I were both vomiting last night From the heat perhaps or maybe in my case a reaction to food. Its led me today back to the Instinct to Survive.

I have done more in this week than usual. Walked and played and eaten out. Today was in bed and quietly so.

I cancelled the cataract surgery. Stripped a whole lot off the coming week. Feels better to me. The Brierfields are likely to be moving in that week and its not long before Saf goes back to school. Leave the eye till then. Talk to Dr Fergusson before surgery because the eye causing me problems seems to be the other one. IN fact – don’t even think about that tonight. Likewise the Harvoni. Deal with each thing as it arises.

Tonight is cool enough to have the heater on and its damp outside.

I allow myself an hour’s CONSCIOUS AND PLANNED GRIEVING each day. Sometimes, like today it becomes a background theme that takes me unawares. Sometimes, it is sweet and sometimes bitter vetch.

But each day, I take my one hour and watch his videos, listen to his music, talk of him and look through some of the many photographs we took.

CONSCIOUS AND PLANNED GRIEVING. It is taking out the garbage and sorting the debris. It is placing beloved souvenirs on the shelves and polishing them up.

It is taking out the garbage before it goes rotten and breeds maggots in my psyche.

CONSCIOUS AND PLANNED GRIEVING shows me where the Floodwaters might find entree and helps me prepare Flood and Fire and other Emergency Plans.

It is re-defining me.

It is, in its own way. a staggeringly beautiful experience – the Purity of Mourning. 

Mourning without drugs or alcohol.

I do believe that I am glad I became so grief stricken that a sepsis pneumonia developed and thence the Coma – than to have been sedated or anti-depressanted into minimising the Loss. I prefer to be DEAD than WALKING DEAD.

The message we get is that we cannot get by without chemical adjustment.


On August 13 1987, as I sat in a Drug and Alcohol Detox Unit in the well known Callan Park Mental Hospital in Sydney, I said to myself : MY GOD , ITS THEIR DRUGS TOO. All the medicines and mood alterers and miracle drugs to “fix” me, had done me in as much as any of the illegal ones. I have been free of them now for 28 years and I am glad to the very core of my being.

Good Night , Iz. Good Night. Its raining and cold enough for the gas heater – and I miss you still.

lynne prof 2

Walk In Dry Places

Never too late___Self expression
Many of us lament the fact that we wasted youthful years when we should have been earning college degrees or perfecting a skill. Many of us simply do not feel we can take up something new because we missed the opportunity to try it when we were younger.
We are now learning that age is mental, not really physical. Some people seem aged and beaten at twenty-five, while others act sprightly and young at sixty. Moreover, we can find wonderful examples of people who blossom out in new activities without any thought or concern about age barriers. It is never too late for a person to study, to take up a new trade or profession, to follow a new scientific or artistic interest, or to begin other lessons.
If we are using age as a reason for not following our heart’s desire, we should ask if we are really finding ways to avoid responsibility for our own performance in life. We may be seeking excuses to spare ourselves the struggle and effort that are always required when we do something new or challenging.
It is never too late to be the people God intended us to be.
I will give some thought today to the excuses I’ve been using for not making better use of my talents and opportunities.