Sunday Brunch

A Little Worse For Wear

This week I didn’t know where to start. I had a complete meltdown, full of tears and loud primal screams. I feel the weight of the world pressing on me, heavier than the thick, hot, humid, stinking air (the Netherlands has the poorest air quality in EU). I am out of sorts with everything, and with myself too. Sensitive, sore. I am muted, watered down, minimised into a fragment of who I am. I feel like I am being choked at the core and all I can do to create space for myself, the only way I know how, is: leave. Keep moving forward.

What I really want (but can’t afford yet…)

SMILES PER MILES: we are on our way (soon)

It is not sexy, but it seems solid. The new car to drive us back to Transylvania has been purchased (little old Ford Fusion 2006). The tainted windows in the back will hopefully give more comfort to the pets too. It has considerably less space than the car I came with, so it is a good thing I have been selling stuff. It makes for lighter travel.

I am not looking forward to leaving, but the prospect of staying is much less appealing. “Are you going to pack up and lock up, sell the place, once you get there? or will you stay next door to your crazy neighbour” a friend asked. I won’t know what is what until I get there and there is something unnerving in that uncertainty. After all, I didn’t leave there last year because I was having the time of my life.

The time in between coming and going has not exactly lived up to my expectations. There has been no rest or recuperation to speak of. My nervous system is as raw as it was before. More so, after the hospital sessions. I had thought to find a job, save up for a little bit of “fuck you funding”. Instead, I am returning with the bare minimum to make ends meet, plus a fresh terminal medical status. There seems to be even more piled onto my plate now to digest, than a year ago…. What the flying fuck even is my life right now? Keep going Lee, just keep marching on, better times must be ahead… by now I want to grab the dangling carrot and hit someone over the head with it (question is …who?)

Years ago I was having a conversation with my brother. I was sitting on the bus on my way to scar treatment therapy, he was on his way back from work, on the other side of the world. We talked about discomfort, restlessness, and lack of belonging. I said: the way I see it we always have three options. 1) If we don’t like the circumstances of our situation, then we should change does. 2) If change does not work, if nothing budges, then acceptance is worth considering. It is what it is. 3) If that doesn’t work, the third and final option: get the fuck out.

I apply this to everything from relationships and work environments, to where I live.

With distance often comes clarity, so I am hoping that with every mile I will put between me and my so-called homeland, motherland, my life and personal history will start to look a little less opaque. And I will smile more.

I will rely on my trusted travel companion, Rumi… the path will reveal itself….

THE WAY AND THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD

Things I have discovered this past week: Dutch politicians do not respond to individual citizens, even if said individual citizen writes daily. I will continue writing, of course. If you fancy spamming Schoof too: Postbus 20001, 2500 EA Den Haag.

There are dozens of petitions online to sign, pleading and protesting to stop the killing in Gaza. None of these petitions have been formally presented to the government.

Palestine Action is about to become a terrorist organisation. I suggest you joing and support them.

The video evidence in the case against the Maccabi football supporters (filmed coming out of subway chanting “we will kill you all”) has magically vanished. The two women assaulted saw their cases dropped. Pooofff, said the maniacal magic dragon.

The Netherlands hosted NATO. King Wimlexy and Trumpaloompa had a pyjama party. FUN!!! It looked as if Mark Rutten was wearing his big boy pants, but alas. It was just an expensive suit pretending to dress the voice of reason. Our homegrown traitor of humanity saw it fit to praise my country for its wealth. Wonderful. Barf.

I cannot withdraw my ABP state pension (heavily invested in the wrong economies). As I doubt blood money is good for my karma, I tried to wriggle out of this. My retirement is expected at 10-10-2045, by which time I will likely be dead and Palestine will be a free state.

Had I been able to cash out now, I could have donated the money and give it back to where it was stolen.

Everything I do or say is symbolic and does nothing to solve the ongoing suffering. But unlike fancypants Mister Rutten, I am willing to stand here and be held accountable. Because I am human (I think he is some sort of convoluted cyborg).

Dutch handmade Liberation Skirt (1945)

IN THE COMMENT SECTION: a dear friend’s message

I am not sure why, but after two years of writing here (not always that consistently), there is been hardly any dialogue and just a handful of comments.

I had resigned to a quiet, virtually invisible presence here (apart from two friends and my mother, who usually send me a Whatsapp message after having read Sunday Brunch), and then this happened.

A dear friend who I met by chance years ago at a sustainable fashion event left a comment on my post about the black walnut tree. She is a treasure chest of knowledge on textile, art, craft and nature. She also leads a beautiful online community of like-minded, which started with our shared project of a Liberation Skirt.

Due to my spiritual decline last year in Zalanpatak I now rarely attend meetings, but when I do I am always so grateful that I did.

My friends thoughtful response (which instantly moved me to tears):

“I wrote this an hour ago, before I read your post on worry…. hmmm…. it’s true that worry serves no one.

Facebook asks me, what are you doing? I am reading a beautiful poem by Mary Oliver, shared on Substack by Lee Rammelt.

And I think about the fragility of life.

And about the beauty.

And I am feeling a little overwhelmed.

The word concern contains that sense of worry, but in a way doesn’t. It does not help you much when someone is worried about you. And yet, being concerned about someone else can be quite energy consuming.

Maybe I can approach this differently? How do you handle it?

By the way, I have switched my facebook to friends only. Instagram I couldn’t figure out because that turned out to be a business account (had no idea). That feels a little like a diary in pictures, so I will have a look to see what I can do with that. Linked in I have deleted altogether.

I have also started phasing out “friends”, who I don’t really know but who started following me because of my former work. I no longer run a company, have nothing to achieve, exhibit or sell. Only to share.

Online has brought me a lot and I still enjoy seeing friends following me, and following them. It does create a sense of connection. I probably will limit the group a little. People from foreign countries of whom I know absolutely nothing, or don’t see any resonance with when I look at their profiles.

Travelling buy car is often too much for me. My body protests with tension and headaches and sleepyness and sore eyes. I can reall tell the difference when I am able to go by bike or when I am forced to use the car for something. Train travel I also find very energy consuming. I will save that (a little out of necessity) for the odd time.

It makes it harder to maintain really good friendships. And yet I still have a few of those online and I love that. It still feels like falling short, though. (again something that serves no one)

A message I received made me realise it’s time for new fences. Time to let go even more, clear out, and shut a few things out. Unwanted guests—like those plants in the garden that try to overshadow or strangle everything else—need to be given less and less space. Pull them out, keep them in check, and don’t spend too much time on them. So that everything else has room to thrive. (Now there’s a beautiful old word!)

The Way I Spend The End Of The World | Lee Rammelt | Substack

Then I wanted to read more, to take the time for it. Because your writing does ask for time, especially because it often touches me. And maybe sometimes I’d rather bury my head in the sand…

And then I read this, about your grandfather, and that beautiful story about the foundling. So moving! And then the rest, about the tree. On Facebook, I shared this:

Taking the time and finding out a friend is listening to the same book. And a tree, a “seedling” (is that what we call a zaailing in Dutch?) that brings me to tears. But good tears.

Or actually, it’s my friend’s gift for writing that I often don’t take the time to read. But it’s not something you can just skim.

I hope that while she writes her seven parts, I learn to take the time to read, to let it sink in, and to read again. In between my meetings with plants and trees…

In the #tuinderlustenlievelinge I come across oak seedlings too. And suddenly I think, what if I give each one a pot, a little tag, maybe a message. And people who need it can take one home, give it a place. Maybe after leaving behind a dream on a small sign, or on a piece of cloth, which I’ll hang in the tree. The mother of all these seedlings. And maybe that wish I have, that interest in healing trees and fever trees, will finally take shape… that I’ll become a bit like the Oak. While still always being a bit of Willow too…

When The Tree Calls (Part 1)

rammelt.substack.com

What I can do for you, without worrying, is take the time to read… and then end up receiving a gift myself. Thank you, Lee, for the depth. Would you consider recording your writing too?”

And then came the tears… cathartic, and so full of comfort, offered by my friend’s verbal, virtual embrace…

And you think you answered too late...

People like my friend remind me what matters to me in human connection: compassion, curiosity and sincerity. No pretence. No performance, but the courage of showing up, heart open. I cherish this beyond measure. The way she responded from a place of connection, resonance and personal truth is exactly why I write.

BACK TO THE FOREST: one tree at a time

Tree part two can be read at SULMUM. After sharing my story of the black walnut here, more followed after. Very introspect, reflective, and full of questioning (I am learning to live more and more from the fluidity of question instead of the rigidity of conclusion), I have tried to answer them in a way, for now, with the intention to let it evolve…

SPIRITUAL FUCKERY

Beware of false prophets is the warning I heed from Abdrushin’s “In the Light Of Truth”. There are many of those about these days, and some

This I will have to leave until next week. My dad is replacing the toilet bowl and my nervous system can no longer function bombarded with clanging, moans and groans…

Fuck Books Daniel foor Song Louise hay Nor giving a fuck

Spiritual Valium affirmation for the bored and dissatisfied housewives

The expected one by George Ferdinand Waldmuller

FARE WELL, SO LONG, AUF WIEDERSEHEN, GOODBYE

I've got my ticket for the long way 'round Two bottles of whiskey for the way And I sure would like some sweet company And I'm leaving tomorrow, what do you say? When I'm gone When I'm gone You're gonna miss me when I'm gone You're gonna miss me by my hair You're gonna miss me everywhere, oh You're gonna miss me when I'm gone When I'm gone When I'm gone You're gonna miss me when I'm gone You're gonna miss me by my walk You're gonna miss me by my talk, oh You're gonna miss me when I'm gone I've got my ticket for the long way 'round The one with the prettiest of views It's got mountains, it's got rivers It's got sights to give you shivers But it sure would be prettier with you When I'm gone……

If you want to give me a good send off, consider the following:

Send me a song to add to my roadtrip soundtrack

Stop by before I leave and give me a hug (I promise I won’t hit you- as I suggested in my notes poem the other day….)

Buy me a COFFEE for the road….