Do you remember the fairy story? My parts and allies; the child Rosie in her jeans, the Green Woman, her hand on Rosie’s shoulder, the Griffin with its tail, the fairy sprite writing, her table and candle and quill flying beside her, the Angel with its giant feet, the baby in its arms? They were off on the long straight road, trees in the distance. I joined them on a horse - Interruption - another giant spider came hurtling across the floor towards my chair. It’s disappeared under a footstool. Jeez. Where was I. My parts and allies and I on the road, happy. The next time I saw them they’d set off at a gallop, the Green Woman on my horse, hurtling into the future. For days all I could see was the dust raised by them in the far, far distance. I had a low day when I thought of Svalbard and ranted on the phone to Andy that something was blocking me, it had to be because I was doing everything I could to succeed. He asked what succeed means to me, that old chestnut, but I was ready. It means being allowed to go out and play, and by that I meant in my favourite playground of books and writing with my books and writing friends. Here’s the important bit - being allowed. I didn’t notice it at the time. I was too angry. I said maybe I’m cursed after all and memories of the charlatan shaman came to mind you will be cursed for a thousand years and it felt as if my parts and allies had galloped off into the future to find help. Andy said you have a blind spot and I raged at him well how the fuck do you see one of those? We’re coming to the point. Because then something strange happened. I saw in my mind’s eye a blood clot, huge and ugly taking up the hallway of the tall, cold house in London. Its sac of a body, across dropped and rising space of stairwells from kitchen to front door blocked everything. Its eye sockets are empty. Its ears are stuck on for show. It has a mouth into which it shovels food with tiny hands, always eating, and it says no, no, no, you will not be happy. I see a miniature me, a tiny adult kneeling before it saying please? Asking permission. No, no, no it says, stuffing its tiny mouth. It smells. I find I can stand up and walk around it through walls and dropped and rising space. It cannot see or hear me. It doesn’t know I exist. No, no, no, it says as I pass by, out into the sunshine of the garden, with my friends, to play.
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I know this well as of late. It won't let me pass, but slowly I'm finding my way around the bastard. Love and strength lead to that sunshine and garden. Play. Have joy.