Lonely

Henry stayed at the office this weekend, my TV is over at Griselda's, none of the usual folk are around.

My body's fine, so that's not the cause. I've been indulging not only in reflexology, with a woman who can intentionally send warm enlivening tides up from my feet - she calls it channeling, and shrugs; I don't call it, just feel enlivened - but another one who does Cranial Sacral Therapy. Now that really is magic! I find I've built my life's tensions all up and down into my spine, so that arthritis in knees, tendonitis in arms are worse than need be. Now, I learn to let my shoulders just drop; that when I do get tense so my neck really hurts - it will be better when I'm somewhere else later. Both therapies strenghten my conviction that staying in closest tune, responsive dialogue, with my feelings is the best route to continuing good health. (Henry knows some folks don't see it that way.)

So - Henry looks askance, even from the distance of Dover - the lonely feeling must be the fault of 007! None of the people I asked to go see Casino Royale with me could go; none who said they were going anyway, did! And - stop reading here if you intend to see it and don't want to know how it ends...

The most body-built of Bonds (reminds me of Steve McQueen) lets his shield down, and even makes an error reading a poker partner. It's probably no surprise that the girl lets him down, and his final talk with M is a commitment to Return to Work Forever, a promise of no more emotional vulnerability ever. But it's more subtle than that, with his self-endangering insistence on rescuing his beloved even after he sees her breath in the water: he loves her despite betrayal (we're not sure that's the same as forgiving it). The last poignant twist is her posthumous intelligence to him - she loved him despite being powerless not to betray him, and she understood where he'd want to head next, after her death.

And we all have these issues, eh? How much to trust, to be vulnerable, to love? Imagine a Bond movie laying that open!

My daily relationships are all set, and that I guess is what makes me lonely, not the absence of buddies to play with tonight, or even the vagaries of My Move coming inexorably closer. Too much comfort zone, not enough love in it, makes me feel old. That's probably why it was so hard to settle back into the old UK comfortable-slipper ways, last Spring: there was risk and edge in new relationships in Louisville (will I find love...): they didn't get time to settle. It will be lonely too, there, no one around who 'really knows' me. But it will be also be lively, and stimulating.

I can always move on again - back here, maybe! - after a while, if the 'lonely' of no growth or stimulation happens there.

It's good that only the Gardner with the beautiful Allotment, and that cute cat with the funny green hat read this, eh Henry. Other friends might not understand, might not care to think of themselves as old slippers.... And another way to view it is, of course, that I'm just not able to reinvigorate, to dis-comfort the zone, not lively enough for myself; am just projecting out the blame for it. Even if it is that, I'm bottomlessly grateful I'm not a prisoner, that I have the freedom to live out these explorations of mine, don't have to do them all in my head or with a limited and unresponsive cast of keepers.

Henry says that's probably enough for now. The cat's probably fallen asleep...

(Henry! Finally managed to work with Blogger's spell checker!)