Renewal

In the final act of primal surge I had to finish the book. I could not move from my cosy resting place on the sofa tucked in by the warmth and pleasant strokes of another person’s creativity. The quilt is colourful and the design intriguing. Wrapped around me for the final pages of Kay Redfield Jamison’s book: “Nothing was the same”.

This book traces the journey of love and relationship through the hazardous minefield of human emotions. Kay writes with such a clever, poignant and professional pen. Her tone and story range from the depths of human despair to the desire to honour her husband’s memory. And finally she eloquently captures his indelible mark on her soul’s journey. It was a great read – sad and tearful but astoundingly beautiful.

The last couple of pages turned and as I reached the end I cried. I allowed the tears to come entwined with my own grief = my personal story underpinning the legacy of my life so far.

I sauntered to the shower with tears rolling down on the remnants of smiling cheeks. I had to shower – to wash away the memory of yesterday – the obligations with the unkind and ungenerous. Their words and thoughts slither down the drain of “no regrets” collecting in the silage pit of tainted disillusionment.

I had to wash my hair. The fresh smell of a new day lingers on the damp strands of my crowning glory.

Wash away the thoughts, ideas and suggestions that emerge from my mind squashed by the folded arms and deep sighs and vacant eyes.


The familiarity of my purple t-shirt and amethyst pendant are comforting as I stroll out onto the veranda.


A fresh brew and a delicate rice round are the instant reminder to sit and soak up the view.


Mountains roll beyond the horizon. The valley cloaked in green with a striking resonance to a place I once knew. Have I climbed them in my dreams? And why are they so significant anyway? I’m an ocean girl – a mermaid not a mountain climber?

Are they symbolic of the climb? The continual trail we must endure if we are to get to the top? The top of what? The top of our game? The top of the heap – leaving others face down?

I’m not that ambitious, or am I? Am I looking at the forest but not seeing the trees?

My eyes have scanned the horizon but what about the tree-lined fore ground and the tiny garden in from of me?

A butterfly dances through the lavender. It has been reborn – transformed and enjoying the freedom from the chrysalis.

I think I’ll do that too!

Peace and Love,

Julia Ashton-Sayers