Learning the Art of Writing

Number 32 NG18 …


The pain goes deep into the ribs.

It irritates more than truly hurts.

Always in denial, as nothing ever hurts now.

She waits in limbo numb with the fear that has taken over.

No gear! No gear! NON

Doors bang constantly, which echo the voice and frame the footsteps.

The voices whisper in the doorway

We need more pain, We need to inject the latest poison into our veins”

Kill life Kill life Kill

The smell of grim lives on the stairs, pathways to hell.

Murky Strangers linger while the dragon courses through their wiry frames.

Down stairs, the entrance to this hell the main doors buzz,

Sticky finger marks the only reminder of these abusers these users.

She the owner of these sites has little, small, four feet nine inches.

It had been said that good things come in little packages.

It must have been used up quickly, because the tracks in her body showing where life used to be for that is all that is left.

The bags by the door full and smelly, the bags under her eyes

black and empty, and face death everyday.

No hope for Hungry Ghosts…..



The first time I told someone it felt strange, something I had kept so close to my chest for all those years just exploded out of me. I was 21, I am now 54, but I remember it has if it was yesterday, its the feelings really I remember more than anything.

Although I did bury my feelings deep inside my soul there was always a little showing, a little lace along the seam has Joni Mitchell would sing and I always knew just what she meant for me.

Early morning and the pressure in my chest began to mount, words just single words banged against my head and I saw myself sitting him down and explaining without any fear or hurt the pure facts. During the developing morning the fear would take over and I would rehearse the words now forming a disorderly cue to get out, suddenly the eruption of hurt made my eyes sting with hot tears that shook my shoulders and made my lips crumble.

I held myself in check, the memories flashed on the screen of my mind, flash backs are just that. It is so strange… in the outer world the television has a morning decorating programme showing , and the telephone rings but I am stuck somewhere being five and sitting on a unfamiliar bed looking at my blue shoes and my urine stained five year old legs, knowing the world that has been part of all of my life has gone and there is no-one there to hold me.

The echoes in the hallway comes as a very strong memory, the sounds of loud voices whispering and shuffling around the door of the dormitory, would come in my dreams has I grew older.

The clock in the living room crept up to the appointed time and his hand on the front door, began a reaction in my brain. I had to keep cool or I would say too much too quickly and frighten him away. He needed to know just what it was like for me without the emotion, just what without the numbers being tattooed on my wrist Bel-son my Bel-son was like.

Men liked the facts, my face was flushed, I made an excuse to go to the loo and splashed water on my face.

I drank deeply the breathing space it gave me. he settled down on the settee with his cup of tea and his smile, I looked at him with my steely eyes, “I must tell you something” I said. I maneuvered myself into the chair opposite him a quizzical expression on his face had replaced the smile.

His eyes were always kind, and this day I felt he sensed something that he had not been able to put his finger on was about to come to light.

The words dropped like stones and lay on the floor and his eyes followed them, his shoulders hunched as if to protect him from the bitter, jagged edges of the syllables. Tears rolled on to his cheek and he did nothing to stop them.

Many hours later when I could talk no more, he held me, he loved me there was no shame or guilt, or black echoing hallways where loud voices whispered “poor cow”just a warm accepting that my experience although terrible was just different to his.

Sexual abuse has coloured my world, and it has been a murky gray most of my life, the flash backs and abuse has taken me in and out of the black hole so many times even in the bluest times I remember that day like a bright gold dream where I was held and believed, validated and I achieved my first steps to freedom and a rainbow held the bright blue sky.

My Pictures

He is a Star

He is a Star



These are the people who are important in my life

Me and the girls my lovely's

Me and the girls my lovely's

Paddy Steve Sue and me

Paddy Steve Sue and me

My sister and others

My sister and others

Early morning

Early morning

I can just see over the grass, the scent of blue bells fill my senses and I lay in fields of long grass until the sun hides its face in the earth. Feeling safe.

Today is so good.

I have had my fourth birthday and it is not for the presents I received for there was none, but for the special day when we all walked together in Bluebell Wood. My Father too, visits the sacred wood in the heart of Sherwood, he longs for the green of Limerick and sighs, he smiles at me and I know somehow of his loss.

My small Irish woman who we call “Mammy” has remembered to make it special,and we sang at the top of our voices such harmony, all four of us as we meander back to the tower made of stone. It is a large forbidding building with rubble littering the pathways. I could not call it home, for we move, like the wheat in the fields. Some nights I have gone to sleep in one place and woke somewhere else. Itinerants, they call us and look down their noses. I will never care they will never hurt me; I am happy playing in the muddy lanes and being hungry.

I can hear her humming “Oh what a beautiful morning” absentmindedly and I watch her steely brown eyes follow me as I dance feeling warm in the chilly autumn air. I am wearing a red dress a little to small and I have blue shoes with buckles, unusual very really do I wear shoes. My hair is thick,black, long with a blue ribbon in it. I look different today because she dressed me this morning and I know she has tried and I feel loved.

Mainly she is tired and empty, so many children in such a short time.

The glass jar Sit empty she fills with water and then she places the blue flowers that the younger ones have picked, in the water. There are small sponge cakes and meat paste sandwiches. A small parcel with my name written on the brown wrapping paper ‘Katie’ in large letters waiting is for me. I had just learned to recognize my name and I become excited jumping and shaking my hands. I can not ever remember getting any other present before. She makes me wait, sitting the others down to the small banquet , they start to sing “Happy Birthday” I can only hear her voice; strong and melodic,the others are too young to know it completely.

She smiles at me “open it then” she says in the strong Irish lilt that she uses when she is pleased. It is my first book, too large for my hands and she steadies it. I look at the pictures there are horses, pigs and ducks. I understand the pictures but can not read the words. She reads as we go to bed and talks and tells us stories. It has been a bright sunny day, with blue flowers, food and happy voices. No clouds, or raised voices nor tears, not today. A remarkable day. Father was here. He was sober and smiling.

As I write these memories I hear the voice and the story of a child who’s reality and understanding beyond her years are standing at the side of her like Guardian Angels.

In one so small, much sensing and instinctively using experiences to survive the dramas of how things are in her own world daily. “Who’s in control “ I hear the echoes of grief and sound of tears stretching down the years. So much fear.

These situations appear repeatedly and she learns to gain control not really helped by the people closest to her. Mainly her parents, those who lives took them in to a place not made for her and who had forgot she is only four years old.

She panics and frets, these wayward parents are her world, finding them on some days proved very hard. Good at disappearing and reappearing worst for wear as she walks the country lanes to get out of the way. She experiences the outdated map, the cultural trap.

As my memories moves on, I think anyone with any problem solving skills could see the thing was never going to work without some kind of stability.

It’s the road less traveled “ and see it spanning for the next millennium. The cycle of neglect. I begin to wonder how this child survived and a sneaky idea of some thing else came into view, another way of thinking so handy for four-year-old’s.

Find a love object, and transfer a “little love” and as these things come naturally, it is easy and there he is youngest son a golden child, small and vulnerable and loveable she pours her attention on to him and they are saved. Two intertwined souls.

Memories of this remarkable time play in her mind for she knows they will stay forever, adding and subtracting has the day moved on. Times when those few short hours were hers and the family she never knew. Of the walks in the Forest, dew, spiders webs, the mists and silences of the dense wood haunted her. The sounds of laughing voices, excitement and exultation.

She remembered the smell of woodsmoke hot red-hot fires burning to keep warm, and was central to the camp. And later ached to be there again.

There is something about the open air that gives life a different feel.

The feel of the air and birds, always birds, she loved them there was something magical about them. She knew their freedom.

I love listening to this small voice and as these memories unfolded they touch me deeply. The highs and lows of dysfunctional families are created out of joy and grief. For now I am just glad to listen and know that the small child’s voice is still as strong “They didn’t subdue her passions and the sweet voice that echo’s so many sounds of childhood and innocence”.


Practice in the presence of the Goddess in all ways

Both in your coming in and you’re going out..

In your prayers, invoke the Goddess Presence

In your aspirations, stay mindful of the Presence

In your meditations, breathe in the Presence

Above all, let the Presence be reflected in your attitude.

For surely then the Goddess will sing in your thoughts

Speak in your voice and shine through your acts

Let the presence of the Goddess be the medicine

To heal your life, life your heart and renew your spirit.

Practice the Presence of the Goddess in all ways,

Both in your coming in and you’re going out.

RalphH. Blum

Carl Rodgers

carl rodger 
These are some of the books that the humanist author Carl Rodgers has written since he first started practicing as a psychologist and counselling practitioner that I have spent many hours with and this is a small discussion around his genuine attempt to place the individual in their own reality and need to be connected to others on a congruent level. 
The Therapeutic Relationship and its Impact –
A Study of Psychotherapy with Schizophrenics.
Freedom to Learn—
Encounter Groups —
 On personal Power

Carl Rodgers writes of his fundamental belief in the subjective, observing that “ Man lives essentially in his own personal and subjective world and even his most objective functioning, in science mathematics and the like is the result of subjective purpose and subjective choice”

When I first encountered this man’s theories in the early 80’s it was like a weight had been lifted from me. Someone who had a similar belief’d as  mine, and although I had tried hard to practice “absolute positive regard” I then didnt have the language for what i thought and trying to do it for others, fell short because  I was still living with very abused and abusive people, and  still abusing myself  in various  ways. After all it’s what we had learnt to do. When I first came across this theory was like something had sparked me off. Energy had been ignited. When I finally  qualifed  as a  counsellor,  I was training in Nottingham on Heathcote Street where the Mushroom Bookshop had lived for many years, a very therapeutic area. The day was barmy and life changing. We sat in a circle and I began to get really excited that I was going to watch Carl Rodgers on video explaining what  “Absolute Positive Regard” was about. I  remember I cried when I heard him talk.

So in need was I of a sign, that what I believed was the way, and that was very subjective to me.
And yes why wouldn’t you want to be treated with respect and basic human kindness. It all made sense; I was on to something, something big. Something I had not experienced, but knew was part of my authentic self.
As with plants animal so with people we all need feeding one way or another and for me it was human kindness I lacked in my spiritual diet.
His alternative hypothesis is there are as many realities as there are people and people are increasingly “inwardly rejecting the view of one single, culture- approved reality”. I agreed and this is where I was basing my belief system that I am unique to this world and I would just want what we all wanted  respect and the freedom to learn. He coined the term “ The Actualising Tendency” which I seem to have a lot of and have striven for and  been very curious about over the past few years. This is my story of my own learning and development of these features and the active processes that has developed these  capacities in the direction of maintaining, enhancing and reproducing the new real me.

The difficulties I have had has been when these tendencies have been blocked. My attempt at wholeness and towards actualization of my potential has made me the happiest. One of the main reason I attracted both Counselling and Meditation was to explore where I was blocked, and how could I solve these mysteries without language and understanding of who I was, what had happened and how would I get there. Firstly I recognised that I had a concept of myself that was not the “real me” I had learnt to adapt; I had learnt behaviour that was no longer appropriate to my situation and was destructive. They  had been placed there by others because they needed me to believe they were right in order to control me and I had  take these false beliefs on and was being controlled.

 I did not have someone who loved me just for me no matter what I did, and this is where I feel that the need to have approval became greatest. For someone to give me Positive Regard helps me to experience myself as unique and loved. I began a “what if ” life, what if i just did what they wanted me to do I would be loved. I used my iffing to control
my life, and was layed with value judgements and when if I stopped iffing I would start living and accept myself for who I am loved and loveableand unique and so are you.

My Mircle Minute

I subscribed to a newsletter some 2 years ago and every time it comes to me it mirrors my exact situation.

Its  a year ago today since my friend Robert Longbottom passed over and I had not seen him much towards the end I had moved out of the area and was just redecorating the kitchen of the new house.

I was up the step ladder putting some wallpaper on the walls not thinking of anything particular when I felt something behind me and this something stayed for a couple of hours and then left.

I had no way of knowing who it was, for the whole week songs were coming on the radio we shared, someone gave me a Crystal Bible and it reminded me of him and the lovely day we had in Derbyshire. And lots of other things, were coming back to me, wonderful  memories of the empty kitchen and when he blew himself up with the gas leak.

 The reason I am writing this is just to let you know Rob wherever you are I loved you with all my heart but it was so hard to watch you kill yourself and I did not have the strength to stand by and watch that happen.

I have felt guilty ever since like somehow I deserted you in your hour of need. I had to accept that your illness was greater than me and I could not save you.

 So today when this newsletter popped into my mail box I know that the universe helps me on many many levels.

And by the way this man is fantastic Dick Warn and his Miracle Minute:

Pain Is Inevitable

Bad things happen. The passing of a parent, the death of a pet, rejection

from someone important, the loss of something you truly enjoy, and the

list is endless. There is no “pain free” way to live. We build attachments.

 Attachments come to an end. Yet, as Buddha said, “Pain is inevitable.

Suffering is optional.”
Most painful events are followed by shock, anger, denial, and blame.


These emotions are normal. What causes suffering is getting stuck in

anger, denial or blame. Some people make careers out of anger and

Carl Jung, Swiss psychiatrist said, “The greatest and most important


problems in life are all in a certain sense insoluble. They can never be

solved, but only outgrown.”
Outgrowing problems demands acceptance. Acceptance doesn’t mean


 that we like it. Acceptance means we accept the fact that it happened and

 understand that the only thing we can control is our reaction. Some

people choose the path of a survivor and others choose the path of a victim.

 Arthur Gordon, American author said, “Some people confuse acceptance

with apathy, but there’s all the difference in the world. Apathy fails to

distinguish between what can and what cannot be helped; acceptance

makes that distinction. Apathy paralyzes the will-to-action; acceptance

frees it by relieving it of impossible burdens.”
William Cowper, British poet said, “No traveler ever reached that blest


 abode who found not thorns and briers in his road.”
And Thomas Fuller, British clergyman said, “I will not meddle with that


which I cannot mend.”

Dick Warn

Copyright 2009 Richard S. Warn & Associates