Well I’ve had a good weekend. Spent doing little things with lots of pleasure attached. Cooking, spending time with friends, a few festive gifts. Had a run today through the Autumnal land. Along the canal, past the mill. I noticed the ruby and scarlet red berries on the trees, fewer ducks and swans on the canal, leaves still fluttering down, mummified blackberries still on the bushes – unpicked and gone to waste, I noticed the rosehips left on the bushes, where I had picked some last month and made into delicious rosehip syrup. No sun had broken through the clouds yet, so a milky light prevailed.  All reminders that Winter is waiting in the wings.

I could have really run for longer this morning, but as I got to the first lock, in the direction of Bingley, the tow path, where it cuts through a section of wood, was cordoned off. I couldn’t see why and was perturbed as I had wanted to run all along that way. Instead I had to turn back and ran back up to Salt’s Mill and bought a book on trains and railways for my friend. I hope she likes it.

I guess sometimes the way you think you want to go is blocked – and the reason might not be clear. The path looked clear – no fallen trees or obstacles, no work going on. But who knows – maybe if I’d gone along there my feet would have found some unstable earth and I’d have slid into the canal  – I doubt I’d have drowned but I’d have been wet and cold for definite!

This weekend I’ve also been thinking about another way that was blocked. It’s a story about a tree, a metaphor that represents a recent meeting in my life, how I reacted to it and why:

An Oak tree. The Oak was going through a time of change with bits having been sawn off by the tree surgeons. His acorns from last year had been taken further afield by the little squirrels. He did not feel he could produce any more acorns.  A handsome tree with bright green coloured leaves, some just with touches of russet gold at their edges. She first stumbled upon Oak when she was going for a distant walk that she’d wanted to do for ages. She thought she would never get there – but with some help and resourcefulness she found herself there at the end of the mid-summer month. It was Summer and the Sun was blessing us – the source of all life. The warmth on her face was divine. Everything felt exciting and new.  As she went along, she came to the wood at the side of the river. A beautiful wood which had been carpeted with bluebells in the April, its damp parts a nursery to tadpoles in March, a wood which enchanted your senses with its colours, sights and beautiful sounds. If you looked up you could see the trees; a mix of Oaks, Beech, and Birch mainly, towering above, reaching towards the sky. The few fluffy clouds skirting overhead.

She walked off the path and into the wood and heard the Oak calling. He had already stood out to her but she tried to ignore the calls and spent some time amongst the other trees.  A Scots pine tried to tempt her to come to him, but although he looked grand, did not wish to spend time in his shade on such a beautiful day. Inevitably she was drawn to the Oak and came to him and spent a while in his presence. Despite the scars made by the saws, he still retained big magnificent branches, one on his right was particularly notable, and the saws hadn’t touched his heart. She stayed until the Moon replaced the Sun in the sky and filtered down her platinum light. Later, unbeknownst to the Oak, he scratched her badly with his bark. She cried and told him her secret. He held her sweetly and gave her sane and reasonable advice.

As with everything, the walk had to end. The final caresses and kindness with Oak will stay etched into her heart. She went to take a drink and turned back to say goodbye. But suddenly he was gone – no trace. The momentary loss she felt was overwhelming. Still this was not unusual and so she steeled herself and walked on. As she turned for home she once again heard Oak’s voice. His words were kind, gentle and gave her hope. He hoped to see her come this way again. She was walking on air.

Of course the ‘She’ is me in the above story and the oak a mere metaphor for someone else.  Now to the outsider (even others with my particular history of experiences) will look at the resume of the above interaction and automatically see the ‘do not enter’ sign on it. As lovely as the story reads, The Oak was not in a position to really give her the love and tender touch she wanted longer term. Apart from the thought of a tree and human blending genetic material being ridiculous, he couldn’t have any more acorns. He had been injured and needed to heal himself. Despite this she did enter and represents a repetitive pattern of behaviour I exhibit in relating to men, which tends to override the bit which sees clearly. Anyway on with the tale:

Over the next couple of weeks she heard Oak’s voice daily. He used the nicest and gentlest words. She really thought he thought she was ok! They arranged an encounter in early autumn. But before this the men with the saws turned up again, Oak became sad and his leaves started to lose their vibrant hue and turn brown. She often tried to find his voice so that she could try to help him. When she did find him he thanked her, but it also seemed accidently managed to scratch her again. She accepted the scratches because she craved his affection. She couldn’t see that things had already come to an end. The arranged encounter didn’t happen and the last time she ever saw or touched him was in the yellow warmth of summer. Occasionally she may hear his voice whispering in the breeze when she walks along the wooded path, but only if she calls,  the words are mostly brief and distancing. She hopes he is managing to heal and that he doesn’t allow the scars to reach his heart

Accepting the scratches in pursuit of love is more telling about my state of mind than those of the men who scratch. This is part of what I’m trying to change with my EMDR therapy and my amazing psychologist ‘Katie’. This brain loop of ‘give them sex and they’ll love you’ was burnt into my brain a long time ago it’s hard to break something that has been there a long time.

Since accepting nothing more can come of my time with Oak I’ve been having feelings of – ‘not again’, ‘every time this same pattern happens’, ‘what’s so wrong with me that men suddenly do such a sharp U-turn and speed off in the opposite direction’. And this Oak seemed keen – what hope is there? Was it because I’m having therapy, I’ve been abused, or the stigma and fear among men about women with mental health problems? Maybe when he reflected on it I just wasn’t good enough for him?

In truth it’s probably because Oak was injured himself, lives too far away, isn’t ready for a relationship and perhaps thinks I deserve more than he can give at the moment. I hope he heals in a way that his good heart isn’t affected in too deep a way. That he can still trust and go on to find happiness again too. Bastards are ten a penny. We need to nurture good men and women – people who can look at another human and see a reflection of themselves in them, understand their pain and share their joy, above all those who can give and receive love unconditionally.

I’m feeling quite hopeful that the work I’m doing with my therapist is affecting changes within the way I think and understand certain situations. I’m beginning to see the bigger picture and how those circles in my brain, burnt in somewhere between the ages 2-5, have been driving me for all my consenting sexual life. It’s only take 33 years!

The sun went down as I was writing this post – it’s now dark outside. I’m warm, in my small flat at the end of the day.  Despite the lack of light at this time of year I can see better now that sometimes you just have to turn round and go a different way, however much you wanted to get past that barrier, as there’s usually a good reason why it’s in the way.

Hey, who knows – maybe the other way will be more interesting than you could possibly imagine. Until next time..

Song to match my mood and this post: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6en1BTlY0Kw (Vashti Bunyan – Rosehip November)