Sadness

Beautiful but damaged.

Beautiful but damaged. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Beautiful but damaged. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I had a bad dream last night.

A house that was haunted, but beautiful, but damaged.

We wanted to live in it.

Reimagine it.

Reinvent.

Restore it.

I felt frightened that the house was too damaged to regenerate.

But moved into it anyway.

When I woke up, I could feel the house was me.

That the haunted, damaged past was part of the beauty.

I could see that ghosts of events that happened through me are not me.

A kind piano to play,

in the corner,

sings the darkness away.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,345

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Snuggle, cuddle, cold, grey, drab of a day.

Snuggle, cuddle, cold, grey, drab of a day. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Snuggle, cuddle, cold, grey, drab of a day. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

It’s a snuggle, cuddle, cold, grey, drab of a day.

Couch and books and movies and sewing and snoozing.

It’s the kind of a day where it is easy for me to get an attitude problem.

To think I don’t enjoy my life.

Which is pretty funny.

Because I love my life.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,337

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The dread worm.

The dread worm. Drawing Luke Hockley.

The dread worm. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I am holding in my left hand, which is thrust deeply into my left pocket, a sense of something. Weighty and foreboding.

I find that I can, occasionally, open my palm and take my hand out of my pocket and do what needs to be done. But this sense of heaviness remains stagnant in my pocket, nonetheless.

Randomly, more often, I take my hand out of my pocket and look at it. I sense the gross, dull life form squirming inside my clutched fingers. But I don’t seem to be able to will myself to unfurl my fingers and look at it directly.

Not yet.

Generally, it appears about 24 hours before I am able to look at it.

And so, for a day or so, I live with it.

For about a day, or a bit longer, or a bit shorter depending on the circumstances.

Uncomfortable and awkward and uncertain and icky.

When the time has passed, I take my hand from my pocket and stare for a moment at my fingers and then, like a dive into cold water, open them and place the thing on the table in front of me.

A grey, fleshy, smooth skinned worm squirms upon the table.

I can still feel the dread that it emanates seep into my now empty palm, into my pocket, through my bowels and up into my chest and back of throat.

It’s the dread worm.

And I don’t like it.

It wriggles benignly on the table and I look at. Eventually I do what I know needs to be done and I reach out and touch it.

In what is always a surprise, which means it should never be one, I’m taken aback by its response.

This time the surface where I touched it changes from its morbid grey into a late day sunlight orange.

As I continue to touch and get to know it a little better it starts to morph and change shape. It becomes playful. Joyful.

This transformation is rapid.

And accelerates, almost without me noticing.

Soon it has transfigured itself into an entirely different animal.

A new one every time.

In this process there are awkward moments, painful ones even, but also funny and light hearted and inspiring ones.

And soon enough it has run off and become a thing in the world that has little to do with me anymore.

Mostly it’s a good experience, mostly.

And then I wonder, as I watch it run away, I wonder…why don’t I remember this feeling of lightness and relief when the worm first appears clutched inside my hand thrust into my pocket?

How come I can only feel the dread at that moment?

What I would like is to be able to feel the dread worm appear and know, inside my bones, that this too will turn out ok, even if some bits of the experience are less than ideal, in the end I’ll probably have a reasonably good time.

That.

Next time.

I’ll work on that.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,332

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I can only live today.

I can only live today. Drawing Luke Hockley.

I can only live today. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Looking forwards there is so much to worry about.

What’s going to happen?

How will things work out?

Will things work out?

I’m afraid of ending up alone.

There’s nothing I can do about tomorrow.

Today, I’m not alone.

I can only live today.

Tomorrow is for tomorrow.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,320

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Mean and funny v’s good and generous.

Mean and funny v’s good and generous. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Mean and funny v’s good and generous. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I have a reasonably quick wit.

When I was younger it would get me into a bit of trouble at times.

Because, for whatever reason, the ‘immediately funny’ view of a situation can often be the mean view of the situation.

So, I’ve learnt to forgo the laugh in order to remain true to my belief that seeing the good, the possible…the generous view of a situation is the kinder, more productive and more appropriate approach to just about everything.

Occasionally I fail at this. Mean and funny out competes good and generous.

Damn it.

I’m sorry about that. I really am.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,310

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I feel sadness.

I feel sadness. Drawing Luke Hockley.

I feel sadness. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I feel sadness. 

A little weight that I’m carrying.

Where joy and lightness normally live.

It’s a little heavy.

But it’s okay.

I’m happy enough to carry a little sadness.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,294

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Not on my feet.

Not on my feet. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Not on my feet. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I am not on my feet.

I feel all disoriented, discombobulated.

I don’t understand how all the bits fit together.

I don’t get how to make sense of it all.

I just don’t get it.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,275

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Gentle steps.

Gentle steps. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Gentle steps. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Looking at things from a different view.

Literally.

Sitting and writing today from a new spot, seeing a different view as I do something I do a lot.

It’s delicate, this thing, whatever it is, that I hold…or that I think I hold.

Fragile.

Being alive. Consciousness.

Ah, what a blessing and a curse.

Joy and hurt.

Gentle steps from here.

Gentle steps.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,268

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Nebulous and sharp.

Nebulous and sharp. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Nebulous and sharp. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Life is fleeting.

The edges and shape of it are blurry and ill defined.

It is painful and joyful.

All at once.

Generous and selfish.

At the same time.

A moment crystallises and then evaporates.

Nebulous and sharp.

What next, then.

What next?

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,260

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Distraction.

Distraction. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Distraction. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Distraction.

A useful technique for when things are too heavy to think about.

Not a long term strategy.

But for a moment, ok…I think.

Love

Luke

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Day 1,258

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support means I can keep doing the things I do to make the world a better place.