Adora Centre | Alternative & holistic health service

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25.01.2022 My kind of surgery!

18.01.2022 Will Smith would make an excellent life coach

18.01.2022 When you know in your next breath that you are everything .. the fear, the joy, the unknown, the All, then the seeming powerlessness fades

17.01.2022 A WISH FOR YOU IN 2018 As long, long ago, I launch my boats of bark. Czeslaw Milosz... May you build a raft and get home this year. To the real. Arcadia, Camelot, the back of the Wardrobe. And maybe you’ll find a little love as you go. Love. And not the stuff some therapists approve of: the reduced, off-the-boil, not in-love-but-loving kind, but finding a place for the indecent, howling hunger strike of a feeling that scythes all in it’s path. The perilous. The Chapel Perilous. Dionysus riding the leopard. I hope there’s absolutely no planning permission where you are headed. It’s a night sea journey and your compass is ecstatically drunk, indiscreetly lonesome and prone to abrupt changes of location. Love. Not as a neurotic garnish for sexual desire, or a temporary, politic hallucination for wealthy couplings, but as a sustainable, dangerous, uninsurable, risk-aggravated fit of telling the truth. With stages, and delicate negotiations and repentances, with tango twists and sudden, excruciating slips. With long periods of silence. Love as something utterly and profoundly important. As a thing worth taking seriously. Sometimes the raft will run on land, with mud underfoot, crashing through long periods of foliaged darkness and flicking thorns before breaking the hell out into sudden views of waterfalls and hummingbirds. We will all cheer you at such a moment. Then you will be back skimming, skimming like a stolen coin over blue Russian ice, and charging down into the Lascaux caves with Bonnie and Clyde as your guides, holding nothing but a spluttering candle of tiger fat. They point at the shadows on the breathing walls and they coo under an antelope robe. For some of this foolishness you may end up trudging on foot, or secreted within the wingspan of a condor, or on the sturdy back of a Carpathian steed, yip yip yipping over the whipping grasses and through unconsecrated, vampiric Mountains. The point is you don’t know yet. The fidelity is to the journey, not the mode of transport. Maybe the shrinks have got it wrong, the marital mediators and the priests have got it wrong, even your friend with an expression like she’s sucking on a rotten lemon describing her tortured years with Sebastian has got it wrong. Maybe the ones that make love small, conditional, and robbed of holy stature have got it wrong. Learn to dance on the tips of spears. These sentences are boats burnt on the beaches of loves great islands. There is no pretence at retracing your steps. You are committed. It’s going to be chaotic at times. Art is the enemy of the well made. Robert Motherwell said that. A lovers home is designed to collapse magnificently. Loving repair has its erotic fulfilment. On every fridge of every great poet is taped, ‘the only sense of security we have is a false sense of security’. Who knows, maybe you will meet the gods. The goddesses. They are gnawing on the edge of these sentences. The Otherworld is this one, when it chooses. They are talking to our left brain, right brain, serpent brain, gorilla brain, elegant-cloud-over-moisty-hills brain, old brain, new brain, skeptical brain, exhausted parent brain, terrified brain, celibate brain, horny brain, hands extended into the nourishing dark that hangs over a late summer cornfield brain, strategic brain, hang-it-all please god almighty let me taste real love one last time before they throw me in the clay brain. All the brains. We have to stop saying that they die if we stop thinking about them. That’s a degraded idea. So here’s to you, and your foolishness, setting out. Take Courage. 2018 Let the Wild Rumpus begin.

06.01.2022 Vale Sam Shepard. This quotation says something to the energies at the moment.

01.01.2022 I laughed as I created this post, as I thought of the many ways I play victim. It is so hard to see yourself as victim when you are deep in the drama, railing at the Divine, blaming your boss, your partner, your friend, the government, some inanimate object or a situation that refuses to play out the way you will it. Fortunately, there is always some small part of me that can see it , apply the brakes, and look for those parts of me that want to remain small and in victim. Once I can see it, I can work with those aspects of me and become once again an adult who is responsible for all that I have created.