"With a capacity for recollection that is as flexible as it is fallible, we can hope for a better world because we could build it ourselves, if we keep looking for the right tools, within and without. Conversely, in an effort of self-preservation, our minds can lead us to self-sabotage in an attempt to defend us from threats that we only perceive as real- and then, we are constantly in the way of achieving our own dreams and ambitions."
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From Memories: The Good, The Bad and The Manipulated.
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When the real threat has passed, or rather, when we have developed the tools to keep it under a safe degree of control, what else will hold us back from creating a reality we enjoy living? To craft a healthy, sustainable, inclusive, wide perception of our role in our world and its role in ours? A reality that we will be happy, even proud, to look back on?
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How else will we stand in our own way?
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Maybe we won't. Maybe there are ways we can find to not do that again. Maybe we will commit to positive change, individually and collectively-because this world is not just one of full bellies and roofs over safe heads. It is one that needs faster, stronger, conscious efforts of lifting those around us out of pain, poverty and the dark. We could each take our turn at living in either of those, or in all of it. We might be going through it right now, whether we know it or not.
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Are you seeking your way out?
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Are you helping?
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#socialisolation #bepresent #beaware #createyourself #createyourreality #support #community #communitylove #communitysupport #thinkbig #thinkbigger #prosperityinunity #ailie #ailieorg #writer #writersofinstagram
It's all in your hands.
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'Girl Baptised In Gold' by Kim Simonsson, 2008.
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Earthenware, with white glaze, glass, car body filler and car paint. .
V&A Museum, Ceramics, Room 141, The McAulay Gallery, case FW.
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Image shot in November 2019.
#art #earthenware #girlbaptisedingold #kimsimonsson #gold #victoriaandalbertmuseum
#London #artlover
#artlovers #artwork
This was one of the last cups of coffee I had in a café before socially isolating. It was a white chocolate mocha, and one of the best beverages I've ever treated myself to. The Young Man Who Keeps To Himself made it-although I'd go there every day to write, I am so embarrassingly bad with names that I could never remember his, from his tag. But he made the best coffee out of everyone who worked there, of that I am sure.
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I remember that was a particularly good day. It was warmer than usual, so I went outside and found a small table in a corner, hidden behind the backs of a small crowd of university students doing school work or tutoring each other. Math and something that had to do with engineering, and they used really nice yellow and orange highlighters, that really stood out in neatly drawn lines from their books, as I walked past them-see, that I can remember.
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Before drinking it, I arranged the cup on the table and took about five pictures of it. It was perfect. I got some side glances, but went ahead and kept smiling at the frothy swirl that looked up at me through my phone screen. This was one image I wanted to keep for the books. You see, I'm the sort of person who always goes for the best of both worlds-wanting to enjoy the moment and be fully present, yet trying to capture it for future, inquisitive eyes, be they as they mostly are, my own. Inevitably, then, a lot more of what I strive to keep gets lost than I want to admit.
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I took my first sip and was blown away. It tasted exactly how self-love feels. Balanced. Bold. Then, I went on the café website and checked how many calories it had. Enough to skip dessert that day, and the next. I put the number in my calorie counting ap.
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Before the pandemic, I would waste a lot of time fuelling my own misery, I now see. I wouldn't blame it on socially-imposed beauty standards, history or the industries that promote them, no. I am my own woman and I know very well what I'm doing to myself, with my time: missing moments, depriving myself of joy, directing my attention towards the most subtle yet efficient ways of self-harm.
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Once I'm out, that will have to stop.
"It was an outrageous hypothesis, a crumbling bridge between denying my powerlessness and succumbing to it. I held the higher ground of hope for a while. There’s always ridiculous hope before a catastrophe unfolds. Ridiculous, because of the inaction it fuels. It only seems self-contradictory on paper- in reality, it takes an immense amount of energy to just sit by and watch the world as you’ve known it turn to ash"
The Fires, I.
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This seems to have been the dominant theme in the first part of the new decade, which we welcomed with joy and excitement and, of course, hope. We hoped for a renewal of sorts-of ourselves, our circumstances, of our actions, our past-times and of our environment. And here it is, happening right as we live and breathe, or struggle to; unfolding as we find ourselves in self isolation for weeks and months now, each in our corner of the world.
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What feels like stagnation is, in fact, the early stage of immense, unquestionable change. Our world will never be the same again, just as we wished it. We just need to kindly remind ourselves that great things are inevitably preceded by times of hardship and pain-which has been, if we are to be truly honest here, self-inflicted.
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It's up to us to ease it for ourselves and those fighting to keep us alive and well, in hospital wards worldwide.
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Thank you.
