Truth

Visiting myself daily.

Visiting myself daily. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Visiting myself daily. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Visiting myself daily.

A cup of tea.

A privilege.

Warm kindness.

Harsh reality.

Looking through a window, taking a breath.

Owning my bag of stuff.

Self-respect, discovery, uncertainty.

Messy.

A ritual made from…

A cup of tea

Visiting myself daily.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,347

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Older.

Older. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Older. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I’m noticing myself getting older.

I keep seeing a metaphor of an old chipped tea pot.

Well loved, functional, stained full of memories, comforting.

There is no getting around time.

I’m not sure if I ever thought there was.

As I get older it becomes clearer that enjoying the spoils of lived life…well what other choice do I have?

To fight is futile. Isn’t it?

The risk of all this “acceptance” is that I subconsciously begin to accept other people’s ideas about what getting older means.

The world has a lot of ideas about all of this that hold no interest for me. But it is easy to start thinking in those frames when they are communicated so clearly and with such strength.

(I know I’m not ‘old’, I know I’m ‘in the middle’, I’m saying older…we all get older every day)

The remedy to all of this is being in this moment.

I am this being, right here, right now.

I can do and say and think the things I can do and say and think right now.

That’s it.

That’s all of it.

Love

Luke

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Day 1,346

Show your support for Dear Self by becoming a monthly supporter of my work or by buying some stamp money. Your support

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

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

Day 1,345

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.

Escape.

Escape. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Escape. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Escape.

From my cliched writing.

Words that have been dribbled so many times.

By me.

By everyone.

Escape.

Myself and my view of things.

The impossible escape.

Love

Luke

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

Day 1,344

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.

A tired heavy shoe.

A tired heavy shoe. Drawing Luke Hockley.

A tired heavy shoe. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

This morning I am tired like a heavy shoe.

Everything has just a bit more drag on it than need be.

Which makes each step a bit harder than it has to be.

Muddy, sluggish, walking.

The only way through this stuff, in my experience, is to move.

Straight through the middle of it all.

Just keep moving.

Love

Luke

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

Day 1,338

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.

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

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.

Holding time

Holding time. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Holding time. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Every day I hold time.

My fingers tips pressed together holding a gentle, warm ball of time in the space between. Long and slow time.

A fire along my arms and neck and eyes and rapidly typing finger tips. Impatient and rapidly evaporating time.

A single hand, kind, tea cup circle of time.

Twenty minutes of anti-gravity time slowly falling from the ceiling down into my back. A broad surface of spreading time.

Leg pumping, moving through space, aerobic time.

Feet, hands, back, arms, belly, legs, head, full body. Time making sound.

Stitching time, patiently.

All of me dancing time.

My fingers tips pressed together holding a gentle, warm ball of time in the space between. Long and slow time.

Every day I hold time.

Love

Luke

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

Day 1,333

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.

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

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Day 1,332

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.

Thanks, but no thanks.

Thanks, but no thanks. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Thanks, but no thanks. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

I struggle with saying no.

I am so good at twisting myself into a shape that might just fit this particular situation because I couldn’t possibly just simply look at it and say…

“Hey, that looks really great…for someone else. Thanks, but no thanks.”  

Saying no isn’t always an instant relief. I have ‘no’ regrets.

That is the kind of ‘what if I had of said yes what amazing things might have happened?’ regrets that happen just after saying no.

Funnily enough I don’t spend time imagining all the horrors that I avoided because I didn’t say yes.

Funny that.

Love

Luke

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

Day 1,323

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.

Slow down.

Slow down. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Slow down. Drawing Luke Hockley.

Dear Self,

Slow down.

No, slower than that.

No, even slower than that.

No. Really.

Slow. Down.

Really.

Actually.

Just.

Slow.

Down.

Love

Luke

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

Day 1,322

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.