Mount Moments 09…

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12.06.18

Meditation. Focus on breath and body, those two components as a unity. A gentle practice but with unruly, forced intentions. I urge it to fix me. When it gets to the moment when my guide suggests I allow my mind to wander where it likes, I’m taken to a green meadow scattered with blossoms, an array of colours against a healthy green. It isn’t a tame lawn but a wild garden. I’m younger here, sprawled on my back in the midst of it all, all alone but content in the solitude, bathed in the warmth of the setting sun.

So this is where my mind wishes to reside? A reprieve from the hurricane thoughts I subject it to, soaking up the serenity I deprive it of. It doesn’t matter how much I push for that control I just cannot attain it, and the realisation of that swells in my chest, my careful breathing falls erratic and tears emerge from some shuttered space inside. It hurts me some, that I’m the one damaging myself whilst being the only one who can save myself.

15.06.18

Another adventure with El. A bundle of laughs but a lot of heart opening too. I need to get a handle on that, I’m anxious I’m becoming a bit of a burden to be around. But these people, just strangers three months ago, can’t even begin to understand the security I feel, admitting my darkness and catching a sweet glimpse of release. People hold so much power, even when they don’t realise it.

17.06.18

Paula retells her engagement with the sweetest of indulgence. There’s something timid about it, like it takes a lot for her to share this precious moment and I hang on every word she says. She’s sun kissed from her time on the island sure, but the blissful expression is something else entirely. A fraction more warmth, a little bit subdued. Paula is a romantic. gentle and kind and someone maybe a little too good for most people in this world. But it’s that tenderness that makes you triumphant that good things are happening for her, she deserves all of the pleasures in life.

18.06.18

We discuss energy and presence and manifesting your dreams like it’s small talk. I’ve known Paige for barely anytime at all, yet we discuss elements of life I barely even touch upon with life long friends. It’s odd to me that Paige doesn’t see the world as a ruthless place arranged by obstacles but instead a challenge of a platform from which we can communicate strength to mend each other in unity and conjure some kind of equilibrium. She’s a careful and grounded structure to my restless flighty one, a beacon of wisdom in this riot of obscurity.

Light & Love, N x

Mount Moments 06…

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18.04.18

Now, do you realise the power of ‘yes’?

New friendships on short road trips, explorer walks and real-world enchantment. Up in the skies with rebel waterfalls, droplets strung like fireflies in buttery setting suns, captured by a pause in time between forests and streams. The sort of moment that flaunts fantasy and encourages you to second guess all you thought you knew.

21.04.18

Loneliness is sweet with time,

and in her spaces, I think you up in a myriad of disguises,

from Prince Avenue to Grey Street…

23.04.18

You say you despise cigarettes

but you’ll never miss a break

a brew in one hand

and the patience of a saint

lulled by the jagged tuning

and the whispers off that delicate tongue

twisting words to rhythms

like language has never been sung.

25.04.18

Waking up easy, lazy light through gauzy curtains, slow sips of coffee in a warm bed, early Dylan tracks humming, gently encouraging my mind to wander, my thoughts to spill, my pen to write.

Light and love, N x

 

Mount Moments 05…

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22.03.18

Three days off. One day too long. A brazen walk into a tattoo shop. It’s raining, I’m bored, and I’m careless, reckless, desperate for any sort of feeling. So now I welcome a new addition to my arm, a quote that reminds me of dismal days I conquered, that stretch of time when I was both most and least myself. It’s a kind of courage for the days that spiral down that same road, a memento of a project I committed to, resonated with and completed but mostly a little thank you to a musician who taught me a lot about the transitions of being human and making it in this world.

‘It’s Life and Life Only.’ – Bob Dylan.

31.03.18

The moon looks her most threatening tonight, ruthless confidence, beaming magnanimity. But I still find her allure in all of her phases. Great goddess of femininity, the truest most courageous representative of me and all of my sisters.

06.04.18

Independant. Stubborn. Restless. Impossible. What a collection of negative descriptives.

All of those terms have been used to describe me more than once. And I have to admit, regrettably, that they’re true. I used to take pride in my independence but…I’m lonely. And I guess I always have been a little bit, growing up too introverted and unseen. Somewhere I lost the ability to feel the bad in it and just embraced loneliness as my norm. Being alone never really solidified a relationship with myself but rather started this blooming of self disgust. After years of sharing my space, both at work and home it hit hard to be so isolated these past four months. But I think I might of made a break through with her, the me that defied self love for so long. That’s something, right? But in that I’ve found a new hunger for companionship that never really reared it’s head before.

 

Light and Love, N x

 

Mount Moments 04…

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04.03.18

The breeze whispers memories around her in nostalgic tongues. Her body synchronises itself with the feeling of them even though who she is now is a foreigner to their meanings. The ends of summers, rolling through tall grass, staining a too pretty sundress. Daisy chains twisted into a crown, queen of fragile innocence. That same calming air closing in around her as the summer sun fades, a premature tickle of Autumn coating the twilight.

06.03.18

Some things never change. Like the grip of word formations on my little escapist heart. Crying at a made up moment between fictional people in a public space and feeling, not silly, but warmed by it. Warmed by the easy sorcery of it. The pages of books have always been my haven, a fortress catering for my wildness. Even in those bleak weeks when I was forced to stay stagnant, restless and kept. The words built a door to escape.

07.03.18

Perhaps this is my madness…

Standing on the brink of ambiguity at the surrender of that mystic caress. Playful trails through my matted hair, seductive down my weary arms, all touches teasing like a charming lover. Is this self destruction? To feel trust instead of violation, to fall willingly into its wayward constitution. But I see my likeness in those wild wiles, a home in the madness.

20.03.18

I recognise the gruffness in the twang of Northern dialect in the elderly man. “Where are you from?”

“Ah, Auckland these days but originally Morpeth, North East of England.” It doesn’t matter how long I’m away from home or how much isolation I felt growing up there, I smile warmly at the man and respond eagerly.

“I thought I recognised that accent! I’m from Newcastle.” He joins in with my grin and yells over to his wife.

“This ones a Geordie Lizzie, think we should trust her?” Lizzie laughs and Richard introduces himself properly. We chat for a little while and I find myself straining to hear the two converse as I potter around the cafe. The warming lull of the roughness, the yearning in my chest.

I find that I miss “home” more and more these days but still I have no real intention to return. It’s more a dislike toward a former self for training so hard in mellowing the accent and turning away from my youth and my heritage like it’s something to be ashamed of. My background isn’t all shiny privilege and a high class upbringing. It’s working class determination and the compassion of knowing the struggles of others. It’s knowing the unconditional love of two devoted parents who gave me everything when they had nothing, who showed me everyday that I was worth more than what society said I was, that I could do anything despite my circumstance.

Richard and Lizzie leave me their phone number in case I ever find myself in Auckland or a tricky situation where I might need a safe place to lay my head. As they leave my eyes water a little and I’m left with that tangible buzz of belonging. That echo of northern camaraderie.

Light and love, N x

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Lacuna…

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This is me stuck…again. Giving up on a thing because it isn’t at all how I wish to be perceived. I crave skill, experience and insight that I don’t allow myself to prosper in. My anxiety holds me back, I’m embarrassed to ask for opportunities and ashamed of what little I have to offer anyways. I’m not enough, I’ve tried to force myself into things but I fall every time. I want to be raw, organic, completely at one with me and how I connect with you. People read my blog and it thrills me, honestly it does, especially on the posts were I know I’ve laid myself bare. I don’t yearn for success or notoriety but for connection and acceptance. That’s what my journey has always been. ¬†Online, creatively and here, in my reality. It’s why I runaway, why I try to escape myself by escaping a place because I feel deep in my gut this empty space that persists I’m chasing something despite the constant wall that stunts me with every turn.

And the thing I amp up in my head and put my all into achieving is never quite what I’ve built it up to be once I actually get it. It’s always a dream for a day before becoming an exhausted routine all too quick. Like when I’m in a beach town I’ve idealised living in for months, a couple weeks in and I miss the pace of the city. Then when I’m in the city I crave the alienation and mellow timing of beachside living. But moving all of the time doesn’t give me the chance to establish the roots I think I probably need. Because as much as I yearn for a constant group of friends I just can’t accept one place as my permanent home. Imagining being anywhere for longer than a few months pushes me into this awful pit of despair and it sucks. As much as I’ve embraced my free spirit and my ‘grab life by the tits’ attitude, I want to want the settled life. I want to want a companion and a home and a career that gives me purpose. Because the thought of it all is so warmly imagined in my head but the practice of it makes me feel trapped. It just seems so easy to want what society pushes you to want, maybe there is some sense to it after all.

I’m actually sort of sorry if you read this to be honest, it probably doesn’t make much sense which is frustrating because I’ve been working on honestly displaying this anxiety for years. I’m over it, I’m over myself and it’s a rut I can’t keep motivating myself to get out of. I’m so hopelessly tired of being me and trying to fix it by meddling with my external circumstances. I’m almost twenty four and no matter how much I know I’ve progressed I just want to be at peace, to find my footing and stop worrying over all of these things I quite obviously can’t help.

Light and love (oh the hypocrisy of that), N x

Mount Moments 03…

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10/02/2018

My dreams have morphed into the terrors again. The sleep paralysis that echoed through childhood, teen hood, adulthood. Like ice on my skin, eyes on me, hands on me, my mind trapped in another plane, aware so much of the phantom beings lingering just beyond my reach. One grabs my throat, another creeps up my body beneath the sheets, in the corner she stands, completely still, but throws unnatural energy at my paralysed body, a child runs up the mattress beside me, whispers in my ear, stirs the hair there. It isn’t new, its familiar. I take comfort in my nightmares. Latch on to the adrenaline of the terrorising. Work the half awake state into dribbles of awful poetry. It’s been happening for nights on end. But I want it to happen, in some sick self torment, I crave being frightened. Crave feeling something. How disturbing is that?

13/02/2018

Loneliness has tender fingers, skilled at subduing you, softly, over time. Bit by bit I just feel hollow, aware in moments, but fleeting. Loneliness is me and I’ve resigned to rooting myself in it. It’s like the universe has sentenced me to myself.

14/02/1018

Two drinks down and my nerves are submerged in the liquor. My tongue is lose, my wit a dagger, swift and hitting the mark. We play ‘never have I ever’ around the table of a bar. Not a half hour earlier I tripped up over my order, rehearsed efficiently over and over in my head whilst we waited in line, I could feel my eyes doing the deer in a headlight act and my cheeks flamed as I forced myself to make normal eye contact with the cute bartender. Now I am lightning, unashamed of my tame and uncertain self but happy to divulge whatever naughty parts of me I keep well hidden. The mystery is unraveled between sips of ale and laughter with company that I might just be allowing myself to trust. Let’s pretend it won’t make me nauseous to replay the words, clumsily spoken tonight, in the morning.

24/02/2018

Mostly, these days, I’m living in moments of contentedness, between wicked snips of anxiousness brutal enough to crumble it all but I won’t let them. Here, I’m in the careful hold of Mother Nature and I feel cared for. The sunshine embracing me, the mountain shielding me, my bare feet on the ocean packed sand grounding me. I’m so grateful to have the homecoming of the tide, regardless of the geographical location. So lucky to have that reminder of vastness, limitlessness, a certainty of all that’s greater than me.

This tiny town may not offer many other distractions but it does provide me steady comfort. Some time to breathe and some time to indulge in a simple life. A life dreamt up by a younger self, longed for so ardently. Here there is time to read and to write and to create. Time to be alone. If only I could teach myself to be alone again. But I will…I am. Slowly during long evenings at the beach with my book and the play of the waves and the plain, too often overlooked, gratitude at having even made it to this point in my life, and more so making it here at all. All alone, by my own means, I made it to this random place I’d never heard of before I set foot in New Zealand. I’m in New Zealand. And my god if I’m not in awe of myself and all I do, all the courage and commitment I throw into living my life on my terms despite that part of me set up for self destruction.

Love, light and wild courage, N x

 

Mount Moments 02

 

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14/01/2018

A uniform – a sentence, an expectation, a decharacterisation. A faltering smile and another “How are you today?” but you don’t care much for an answer, another coffee machine with altered basics. But the sun is very real and the sea is very real and the pint Claire hands you is very real, as are the laughs, for a little while. Oh, it’s always very real until it isn’t. The very real becomes distorted from your view out of the bell jar and it doesn’t matter how much effort you put into belonging it always fails eventually.

26/01/2018

Padding bare foot on warm pavements, onto warmer sands and into mild waters. Salty tumbles, tan lines, lingering grains in unwanted places. The sea has always been the greatest of presences in the grand scheme of things, a drifter needs a means of momentum to drift after all. It’s not getting easier to remedy the gnawing but some moments feel better. Better comes with getting used to accepting the disease as it rages in a new environment and sometimes that ‘getting used to’ has to be enough.

29/01/2018

A bank holiday.

Tay street cafe, my local, is bustling with shaggy haired sea God’s and bikini clad swimsuit models. I never feel envious or insecure anymore and I suppose that acceptance comes naturally when you realise you are, effectively, invisible. A wallflower indulging in her greatest potential. Out on the waves, surfers wait for their turn to ride. The swell is good, or so I gather from the lads next to me and the whole scene is reminiscent of Bondi or Byron Bay. As has become natural to me over the past three years, I seek out a spot nearest the most bustling stretch of tide. And I could be happy there for hours, watching the easy grace, fluid twists, the sure footing and the wipeouts. I get itchy feet just witnessing it all but as always my musings of getting out there and learning myself are snuffed out by the uneasy churn it illicits in my chest.

 

These are a couple little scraps from my journal, some of the less self indulgent (believe it or not). After Mount Moments 01, which was a random little idea I decided to make this series a little testament to anxiety and what it’s like to travel alone, suffering from it.

Light and Love, N x