Euphrosene Labon

…is not how I´d like to start a new month. But, despite being busy (double stint stewarding at the Arundel Gallery Trail), there has been a serious wave of apprehension clouding my generally good mood. Even strenuous activity, digging out the tap root of the curry plant (to move it to a more spacious area) and two hours of pruning, hasn´t quite managed to waft it away.

I´d like to be able to blame outside circumstances, like the traumatised Sri Lankan woman who had nails hammered into her by her vile Saudi `employers´. That kept me awake for a good part of the night on the 26th/27th partly because the lady reminded me of Ma.

It could also be because I am still pondering why we humans accept such arduous or troubling lives - something that has troubled a great many writers and philosophers before me too. It can´t be because it gets better in an afterlife. Well not in my belief system, because `we´ re-create (or reincarnate, if you prefer).

In some faiths, there is a need to make good. In others, it is to help others make good. My current view is that we do choose a life, almost like a game, because, at a higher level, we know we have the ability to use our power to make anything good.

The trick is to feel that same innate power once in human bondage.

Yet getting to feel that inner power, while struggling through the mundane necessities of sentient existence, is a challenge that even superior mystics never totally managed.

On the pragmatic front, I need sales and commissions to pay the bills and the pitching I am planning has to be effective. Unfortunately, I keep recalling the tremendous efforts I have put in over the years for rather a meagre payback. The only good thing is I have retained my utter confidence in my `products´. A fine delusion because it keeps me going.

Lunch and then back to gardening duties.
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Food-induced nausea has been bugging me since lunch. For some reason, I can only eat green vegetables in small quantities. Failure to follow my own rule creates a two-pronged attack, so mashed tatties for supper for me. On the plus side, it has changed the mental focus!

And it didn´t stop me finishing the back garden weeding, changing the bedclothes and washing a stack of stuff (inc me) ... as well as registering with a freelance directory (useless by the look of things), chasing an art fair for the end of Sept, and trying to find how to change the options on Sticky Notes (ie turn back on the `do you want to delete this´ prompt - couldn´t find the Registry Editor and it took ages to find Accessories too but still no success).

So my mind is back on track for work and it at least it gives me some purpose.

A synchronistic aside: reading of Wilson´s peak experience (which I believe to be rather different from a divine one), a gossip comment quotes Anton Bilson(?) opining that Ibiza gives him loads of peak experiences. Rather confirms the difference.
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Art is informed by the life we lead, by our thoughts, experiences and desires. My blog posts are either streams of consciousness, wrestling with spiritual concepts or other experiences on this particular spiritual journey. For examples of how this translates into my art, please visit my gallery. Euphrosene Labon Mind Body Spirit Artist Author Writer

Arundel Gallery Trail, Ma, afterlife, art fair, Sticky Notes, peak experience

…is a missed opportunity on a number of levels - not least for rather passive local officialdom. As you know, I´ve given up on any progress with open studios since Arun withdrew from West Sussex County Council´s arts partnership.

The arts cover a wide brief and I feel that catering for all generally, serves all badly. Fine art needs to be selective - and, living off the (art´s) beaten path,I have no option but to be selective, so am doing targeted marketing. But it would have helped to have been on an authorised arts trail.

Meanwhile, a while back, I paid for my parents´ and brother´s names to be engraved on the `world´s largest bench´.

At irregular times, I asked for information when it would be finished - end of July, I was told but nothing firm to put in the diary. Yesterday, by accident, I discovered it was finished on the 30th July.

So, as I received no email inviting me to the official opening, I chased, again. The bench is finished but the actual official opening is, possibly, in September, when the school children who thought of it (?) are back.

I can understand keeping costs down if stamps and envelopes are involved, but an email is almost nil cost to keep people informed. Was I supposed to guess when it was viewable? That´s also what I mean by passivity - dearth of decent communication.

So, yesterday, I had a lunch detour to spot our slat and was hugely relieved it was not under some big fat arse, nor near the noisier areas. It was also not that lengthy a bench but looked attractive enough. The bits that did look like a fat arse had sat on them - and broken them - are apparently for wheelchairs or bins or access.

Wouldn´t have guessed.

Apart from limp officialdom, the real problem with Littlehampton is its downmarket air.

The roads, wide and narrow, are pleasant to wander through; the houses mostly in good nick. The marina may not be Brighton-glitzy, but it has its own `remnants of a fishing village´ charm. Yet its shops are almost all drab, cheap, dire.

There is a greyness and gloom to them, reflected from the people. Those lovely houses, used to be, and may still be, rented out to those who like to collect their dole cheques in relatively gracious surroundings. Unfortunately, the quid pro quo means anyone with two pennies to rub together avoids Littlehampton like the plague.

No upmarket restaurants or shops are going to bring shine and wealth until there is a people purge. No, not ethnic cleansing, but perhaps reduce the amount of out of towners who choose to claim the dole down here. Create state of the art business centres and offer incentives to white collar workers.

And, as I suggested last year, have more selective arts programmes - certainly not in Harbour Park! (It may be snobbish, but it sends the wrong signals - especially to collectors.)

Change could be achieved, but it needs considerably more dynamic, and even aggressive, action than anyone down here has either the will or skill for.
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Health aside: the current regime seems to be working though washing my hair every day was a bore. Now it is every other day, with serious coconut oil massage and frequent hair brushing to exfoliate - same as face really. The itch is actually skin tightening ready to peel or flake.

For me, the solution is the same for dry face - moisturise often and before it needs it. Yet suppliers don´t actually make it easy. Most products for scalp dermatitis dry it out further and are really only good for killing any bacteria or yeast attacks.

Scratching one´s head (apart from people thinking you are dirty!) makes you look slightly mad.

I´m not sure the rather greasy look post-coconut oil massage is any better but it does seem to be working - though I will not be repeating a treatment of the other night: massage into hair and leave overnight. Even with towels over my pillows, I had a dreadfully patchy sleep.

I should add that even washing it out leaves a rather lank look. Still, it´s better than itching.
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Tom Hollander´s Rev was an enjoyable watch, although it did reinforce my view (as does press reporting of the latest marital shenanigan in yet another vicar´s love life) that any potential priest or vicar who mentions his (or her) sex or sexuality is not fit or cut out to be a channel of God.

If their energy is focused on sex or sexuality, it sure as hell isn´t on God.
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Art is informed by the life we lead, by our thoughts, experiences and desires. My blog posts are either streams of consciousness, wrestling with spiritual concepts or other experiences on this particular spiritual journey. For examples of how this translates into my art, please visit my gallery. Euphrosene Labon Mind Body Spirit Artist Author Writer

open studios, Arun, West Sussex County Council´s arts partnership, world´s largest bench, Littlehampton, Rev

…with peanut butter, or Nutella, seemed to do the fibre trick for a few days, but increasing my fat intake didn´t appeal, so I bought the liquid variety. I had started the morning with a flat, relatively toned tummy; took slightly more than a teaspoon of the flaxseed liquid - and, for the rest of the morning, no problems.

Got back from Saturday shopping and my stomach was so bloated (no pain though) that I looked about six months´ pregnant. Frantic excercising and increasing my water intake made it go down - the next morning! But, taking a smaller amount the next time, again made my tum look blobby. It certainly shook me into doing spot exercises, specifically round the waist and lower body, and holding in my tum at every conceivable opportunity.

The image of tum over knicks is not one I ever want to see ever again - on my body (or anyone´s else´s for that matter). Tummy is currently back to normal, though I am continuing irregular one minute isometrics. It´s about all I can stand before getting bored.
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The long-awaited bonfire of the quangos mentions lots of outfits I´ve never heard of - not that it stopped most of their chief executives coining it in at public expense. And what do we get for our enforced generosity? A bunch of bureaucratic prats telling us how to run our lives. Goodbye. Forever, I hope. However, there are still far too many remaining. And far too many with massive salaries and benefits packages which border on the immoral. (That’s you, BBC.)

Unlike others, I don´t think we will sink back to ‘uncompassionate’ times. Sometimes compassion means being tough. How else will people discover what they are really capable of if they never turn within to find out?

Indeed I often think most have a completely wrong idea of what Jesus really taught. Even John could only assume what Jesus thought in Gethsemane, for example.
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Finally got several lots of paperwork out the door today (discovered three outstanding invoices in the process!), put art head back on though it needs a bit of a reboot, and still suffering from this heat rash, which seems to disappear overnight and then re-surface at various times during the day. Washing my hair every day to avoid scalp itch is a pain, as is soaking it in an Indian hair oil, though it seems to be working. But, oh joy, at least I work from home so only have to frighten the postie.
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Art is informed by the life we lead, by our thoughts, experiences and desires. My blog posts are either streams of consciousness, wrestling with spiritual concepts or other experiences on this particular spiritual journey. For examples of how this translates into my art, please visit my gallery. Euphrosene Labon Mind Body Spirit Artist Author Writer

flaxseed, quangos, BBC, Jesus