Prologue

I am going to write my story.

Why? Why bother writing down bits and pieces of the jigsaw concerning ‘Life’?

I have been thinking about putting pen to paper for quite a while. It’s been a secret dream, to write a book. Or, scribe on the scroll the painted colours that make up my palette of memories. I am not asking for pity or diving into self-indulgence in doing so. This is merely a record of the facts of my journey.

It may or may not help you. It may give you an insight into the vagaries of life. Above all, I want to show you, the reader, that anything is possible. Yesterday, I saw a tribute to a woman who died aged 50. She was only 50. I am sure that you know of others who have died at a much younger age. Time is short. I am now in the firm belief of ‘Carpe deum’.

I am 34 years’ old, I haven’t won any Oscars nor am I embarking on becoming Prime Minister. I have never held a briefcase in my life (maybe once, for size) and have a hard time understanding the word ‘commute’. House-work is an interesting concept; clothes are a feature that could be plotted as a learning curve. Women’s grooming is a new subject in my education. Cooking is a scientific experiment. And last but not least, going to the pub is a non-existent feature in the daily round of activities on earth.

I wonder, ‘Have I got a life’?

I’ve been trying to get a life for the past 20 years’. It’s a long time to wait. It’s akin to waiting on a train station, attempting to get on any train to flee from destination A. The problem was that I couldn’t get on any train; my feet resolutely refused to move. I was stuck. And the extraordinary thing was, was that no-one could help me clamber on.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not flying through the skies in my personal jet now. I haven’t jumped from A to Z overnight. But, I can now look back, with hindsight and see the real story. Years’ ago, I was blinkered to the truth of the pattern of the days, of the recurring tapes whirling around my head and my erratic behaviour, at any and every turn. People tried to help me but I couldn’t be helped. No-one can be forced to change if their reality looms larger than life itself.

Something had to change; I had to change, with the help of others and an indefinable source of energy. Call it what you will. For some, it might be God, another Spirit, a Higher Being, trees, plants but this latter energy is totally out of one’s sphere. When the two meet, transformation occurs.

And so, this is an account of what has happened and continues to happen, a slow transition from being a shadow to being real.

Lastly, I want to say thank you. Thank you for being part of my journey, of contributing to my former road of wary treads. You have made it firm, so much stronger than it started out. And that is why I am writing to you.