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Always there

I’ve just realised that the only constant thing in my life is me.

I’ve been writing this blog for over a year now, even called it ‘Me! Me! Me me me!’, write about myself, my thoughts, my life, my random dreams and ideas, my nonsense. Everything I write about is based on how I see it. How I see the world.

You’d think that in itself would be a big giveaway… but no.

Take people for instance. People come and go. Sometimes they stay longer than they should, and sometimes they leave way too early, but that is just the way it is.

Just the way it should be.

The people who bullied me throughout school are… were… included in the group of people who have stayed in my life for longer than I wanted them too. Fortunately for my physical life, they moved on long ago. In my thoughts and memories, they are still with me. I don’t think the ‘torturous’ ways I was treated during my earlier years will ever truly go away. But like those involved, I have to move on. I can not remain stuck in the past. ‘They’ can’t hurt me anymore, but by constantly looking back, I am constantly hurting myself. Even saying I forgive those involved doesn’t let me off the hook as easily. Can I forgive myself for being that weak victim back then? Can I forgive myself for still being that weak victim today, many years later?

I have to. Nobody else will (or can). I’m not forgiving myself for being bullied, or being a victim to forget it all. I’m not forgiving myself to make myself feel better about it either. I’m forgiving myself to give myself a push forward. I’ve been through all of that, and I’m here today. Strong enough to write about it in stronger words than I have ever used before. That strength comes from within. That strength has always been part of me. Constantly.

The friends and family and other people who I have met for a brief period of time are included in the group of people who have left far too early. Grandparents and other family members who have passed on, no matter how brief a time we spent together, are constantly returning to my mind. They aren’t always at the front of my mind, but when I have my memories of them, I think they are appearing to help me to feel better. The people who have moved overseas, or moved to another job, or even those who have gone their separate ways from my particular journey have all added something to my life at the particular time they were in it. Whether they were there as teacher, friend or whatever else, they helped me to move forwards too.

Connecting all of these people together, the ‘nice’ ones and the ‘other’ ones, is me. The only constant thing in my life.

The only thing is, I’m not that constant either.

Every night, I go away. I return the following morning, with the same memories, the same body, the same job, the same weather, the same car, the same everything that was there yesterday, only I’m brand new. I can dwell on the things from yesterday that I didn’t like and not move myself forward. I can dwell on the things that I liked in the past, and not allow any change in my life. Or, I can just say to myself, “Tom, today is your life. Things, events, people will happen today that will never happen again. Make the most of every moment now. Learn if you must. Know that you have the strength. The only constant thing about your life is that you are in it. You control your feelings, your thoughts and actions, nobody else.”

The people in my past, all of the people, have helped me to reach this point. In a way, I have helped myself too, but not been aware of it completely. The people who are currently in my life (family, friends, complete strangers I pass in the street) are also helping me to learn to be better.

But I am the only constant within everything. Within the entire universe, looking at things that way. Although, the universe doesn’t revolve around me, I am still the only constant in my universe.

Looking at things on such a huge scale makes all of the little things trivial. Easier to forgive things that can be forgiven, and easier to look at things which may move along their own particular path a little more fondly.

I like being a constant. And seven, seven, seven… again…

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Move over, Vertigo, a new theme’s in town!

I’ve done it again… I’ve tweaked my theme.

I’ve tried to keep things as similar as I could to the previous Vertigo theme, as I liked the dark background and the red links. I wasn’t too keen on the narrow strip in the middle of the screen where all of my lovely words and pictures (which aren’t all mine, I must admit) appeared. I’ve created a new header that helps to carry the Vertigo theme through, but in changing themes (once again) some of my previous posts have changed ever so slightly too. The font on some of them has changed to Arial, which isn’t too bad in itself, but I quite like this current font that I’m typing in – which was the one I was using in Vertigo anyway. It’s all swings and roundabouts at the end of the day.

I like this Twenty Eleven theme a little bit more, for the words seem to reach over the screen, for one. The header image up top is huge, and links back to the home page (which didn’t when it was on Vertigo), for two. The titles have punctuation in them; yay! for three. The background isn’t jet black, which is good for my eyes, and Fingers’ typing skills, in dull light (although I lied about Fingers’ typing skills), for four. And the text size is larger, for five… but this is also a bonus in itself!2011

So, new theme once again.  New beginnings or more of the same? Let’s see, shall we…

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The view from the rooftop

Hillside rooftops

The crisp white clouds made the solid appearance of the blue sky even more striking. The rooftops on the hillside seemed to make the sky appear higher, further away, if that could be possible. The roads, pathways, walkways, gardens, steps and streams below seemed to be immediately within touching distance, they were so close, in comparison. However, the sky and the ground were both some distance away.

Standing on the sloped rooftop was a challenge to learn in itself. Landing on the sloped rooftop was the first challenge. It had to be approached with confidence, with the correct angle and speed, otherwise the landing would hurt. Knees would be grazed, elbows injured, noses possibly broken. I learned my lesson the easy way; I bruised my nose, knees and palms of my hands. I’ve landed with more care ever since.

The hillside village has changed considerably over the past few years. Landing platforms have been built, walls have become wider, more steps have been built or dug into the hillside, and some of the buildings have flat roofs, or just a slight incline. Transport is rarely used in the village, and the roads are now used for marketplaces, outdoor concerts and readings. Once, when cars and single-deck buses would travel through the roads of the village, it was a noisy place. Clogged with traffic jams at certain times of the day, and everyone seemed to be running late, regardless of the fact that most people had a form of transport to travel more quickly.

One by one, we all developed our skill. One by one, we took to the skies. One by one we felt the freshness of the air, without the fumes from the vehicles. We could taste the freshness. Cooling. Refreshing. The rains, when they came, were invigorating. Exciting even. People waited for the rain in fact, to be able to feel the natural forces of nature as they soared high into the skies. It wasn’t a case of getting wet, it was a case of feeling the ultimate connection to everything – by not being in contact with anything. The raindrops were proof that this was real. We were there. High, in the sky, and by our own ability.

I’ve been flying for several years now. I just look upwards, open my chest and take a slow, deep breath, and ‘see’ myself take off the ground in my mind’s eye. I lift. I feel heavier in the first few seconds, gravity wants to exert it’s own power and keep me grounded. I have to see passed this. Gravity is a natural force, but so is flight. Eventually, the two forces work together and find the perfect balance. Then, it is just a case of looking in the direction that I want to go, and I move forwards in that direction. The speed can be a little tricky, as clothing, and the angle of my body to the ground can have an effect, but no more so than running. Once we are used to flying, we can fly as fast, or as slowly, as we wish. It’s our own minds that limit us, and hold us back.

And here I am, on this rooftop. Looking out over the village on this beautiful summer’s day. Children are on the ground below, having their first flying ‘lessons’. Fellow villagers are taking to the skies to go about their business, or to just enjoy this freedom that they have. This feeling of freedom is definitely worth experiencing. I look around at the people, the village, the hills in the distance, the sky and the clouds, and think to myself “Imagine if this were a dream…”

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Four four four

4When I was little, the number four was my favourite number. Coincidentally, the letter D was my favourite letter. Little did I know that back then, coincidences would play such a major part in my thought processes in later life. And, as it turns out, not only my thought processes, but my whole look on life. At the time, I wasn’t aware of coincidence though.

I was four years old. The clearest memory of my childhood was a birthday cake with a large silver number four on it. I have memories from before this, but they are a little hazy. I can’t remember anything else about my fourth birthday apart from this cake. Particularly this number four. Now, a question. Was four my favourite number before this cake, or because of it?

Moving ahead a few years. My job on Directory Enquiries. All operators are given unique operator numbers to give out to customers, rather than giving out their names. Things were less personal back then, and more ‘business-like’. My operator number was 44. I wrote this number every time I recorded a call, requested a call back, and gave it out when I was asked for my name. At the time, I didn’t notice the connection to the number four, strangely enough; it was also in this job that I learned that the international dialling code to the UK is 44, and this still didn’t bring about the connection with me. In my next job, my identity number there was 40. The four was still there, but not as obvious. My telephone extension number in my current job started out as 1066, and, although there is a ‘history’ with this number too, that is an entirely different story. Coincidence or not, some numbers seem to have more of a connection to me, or with me, than others.

Going out on a random limb here for a moment, I have a universal connection to the number four as well. OK, it’s a Solar System connection rather than a grand-scale universal one, but the links are there never-the-less. I was born in March, the month named after Mars. Mars is the fourth planet from the Sun.  Just to squeeze the last drops of numerology out of my thought processes, I was born on the thirteenth. Yes, 1 + 3 = 4; and linking back to the early Roman calendar, March was the first month, now it’s the third. See, 1 + 3 again! I told you this was a random limb I was going out on… still, makes me think a little more deeply.

This simply had to be the topic of my 444th post!

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Money Thoughts

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My thoughts have turned to money this morning.

Not the usual mega-bucks thoughts that I constantly carry around with me: the thoughts of ‘When I win the Lottery’, or ‘Imagine finding ancient treasure whilst walking across a field somewhere’, or even ‘When my book becomes a international best seller’ (I haven’t started writing my book yet, it is still an idea). No. Although these thoughts are still there in the background, I’ve been thinking of money from a different angle.

From the pence perspective.one penny

Actually, from the ‘throwaway’ pence perspective. old penny

The money that is spent, without a moment’s notice. And I have come up with quite a nifty idea. OK, it won’t scrape the surface of my mega-rich thoughts, but it will go a little way towards clinging on to the side of it.

Each day, I buy a newspaper. 45p a day. Throwaway money. 45p is neither here nor there; loose change.

In my mind, the daily paper has now doubled in price. Or, to think of it another way, I have to buy two newspapers to throw away.

Each day, the extra 45p is to be put somewhere safe – in a jar, a box, a lock-up. These 45 pences will be allowed to grow and grow and grow, without being touched once they have been stored in their special place. Well, without being touched until I want to touch them…

Everything adds up… five days at 45p means a weekly total of  £2.25; Multiply this by 52, and I’ll have an extra £117.00 after one year. £117.00 after ‘throwing away’ 45p a day isn’t a bad result. 45p doesn’t seem that bad after all.

pennyNot only do I save some more money, I also have to discipline myself into doing this daily routine. A little ritual each morning to allow my pot to grow may sound like the basis of a magical incantation, but this is real magic. Creating something out of nothing (well it would be nothing if it really was thrown away) is manifestation, however you look at it. And if I want to manifest a nice amount of money somehow, I have to start somewhere.

There’s a proverb that says “Take care of the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves”. Another saying goes “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”. A new, as yet unheard of, saying is “Forty-five pence a day will a hundred pounds bring one day”.  They are all very true.

Charities have caught on to this notion. You can very often hear the words “for as little as so many pence a day” blaring out from their adverts on TV. Not to put a dampener on any of the work the charities do, charity begins at home. You can’t help anybody else if you can’t help yourself first.

The figures above only account for the newspapers from Monday to Friday. The weekend papers, and the weekly papers are extra, which will mean further money into the pot by the end of the year.

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Simple but effective. A quick way to feel good. And I love to feel good!