A Rare Morning- Accepting Who You Are

'

It's one of those all too rare mornings here in the U.K., 

when it is possible not only to sit in the garden for breakfast,

but to be flooded by the heat of the sun too.  

I snatch the chance to open my journal and slosh some colour and lines onto the page.

I wonder why it is I'm always seeming to try and take a grab at life,

a moment here,

a moment there,

to do the things which feel important to me, 

though they may be absolutely meaningless to anybody else.

I know those parental voices that always demanded I put away my paints,

my books, 

and set aside my thinking,

to make myself useful,

because I was

"neither use nor ornament",

are still strong because over the years I have internalised them

and made them my own.

I have given them permission to still whisper to me.

Again and again, 

I drown them out by my own insistence that 

this is who I am. 

Still, into my paradise of birdsong, 

and sunshine,

and scented flowers, 

along with the realisation of grabbing at the moment

before the "real" issues of the day need to be attended to,

comes the thought that's maybe that's the root of my problem.

Maybe I'm a taker, not a giver.

And the old question unfolds,

 "What use is this?"

i.e."What use are you?"

 So the long fingers of 

worth = usefulness 

that were wedded together 

in my childhood

prod me again. 

If only I had known all those years ago that it was fear for me,

not rejection of me,

that caused my parents to try and mould me to a shape that wasn't mine

 Then my dearly beloved joins me at our al fresco breakfast table,

and I un -thinkingly begin to be apologise for the paints at the table,

and he says the gracious words of accepting love,

"No, carry on.  

That's lovely !"

He accepts me as I am.

That's all it takes really. 

How slow I am to learn to accept myself as I am,

to just be me, 

and to be thankful.

God Bless