The greatest thing you'll ever learn Is just to love and be loved in return

The Sprites

Has it ever happened to you? You sing along to something only to realise that it was a song recorded years before you were born. Sometimes it’s from another century and there is no possible reason why you should know the lyrics or tune.

Or, there is a conversation and suddenly you hear yourself contribute a piece of information or a fact you didn’t know, indeed, couldn’t have known. It can make you suddenly think. “Where did that come from?” Friends look at you with a quizzical expression. You begin to puzzle and wonder, casting your mind back and then the clouds descend. How could you have known it?

Don’t worry. I can clear the fog. There is a chance, a small chance, that you are a Sprite. Now don’t blanche at the thought and don’t get confused about what you understand a sprite to be. Really don’t, because a sprite is not what folk tale and legend tells you. They couldn’t tell the truth because no one could or would really understand. But if you think you could be a sprite then read on because you should know.

OK, it should be just us now

Well, a Sprite lives through time. We have been here since the very beginning but very few of us go back that far.

Now how can I best explain this? 

Ah, this might help.

You know those flies that live on the top of water. They just suddenly appear and skate across the surface causing tiny ripples before flying off again.

Well imagine time as the surface of a gently flowing river. Everything is happening below. If you could go back to the source of the stream you could see the very start of time. But we can’t go backwards. Sprites, like life, can only go forward.

And so we do, touching the surface of time for brief moments. Brief moments to us but the period of a complete life for a human. Over our time we live many, many lives creating tiny ripples in time before flying off to land somewhere in the future.

We are always there when great things are happening. It’s our job to try encourage people, to give them the support to do great things, to help them believe. It doesn’t always work because there is evil out there – it comes as fear, doubt, laziness, jealousy, selfishness and other shadows that rob people of their hopes and dreams.

In our lives we have seen so many, many things that our heads would explode if we could remember them all. So each time we leave one life to land at our next we have forgotten everything. Well, not quite everything and that’s why sometimes you find yourself singing a song you don’t know or saying something you never knew.

This is particularly true with our last Sprite life. You see, being made a Sprite is a sort of punishment for having once been a person who fed and delighted in the shadows. So when you are Sprite you can’t really interact with people, can’t build proper friendships, it is like being a spectator in life. You might recognise that in you. Standing at the edge of parties and groups wondering what people find to talk about.

That is, until you find last life, and you never know when that might be because for a Sprite life to end you have to have great fortune, the greatest.

You have to be loved unreservedly by someone and that is hard. A Sprite finds it difficult to be part of life, to be part of people, to be part of a relationship but it can happen and that’s half of the miracle. We are difficult, moody, distracted – no ones ideal partner. So if you are lucky enough to find someone who can love you unreservedly you are truly lucky indeed. The other half of the miracle is also hard. You have to love them back too and without reservation. Don't fear it, it is the most liberating feeling in the world to realise someone means more to you than your own life.

I have a lot of memories from other lives coming back to me now. They can confuse my head but I can make myself smile by just thinking about the person who loves me. I stare in wonder into the eyes of someone who can make this life real. A human who loves someone without reservation. 

There is a song that came back to me the other day. I don’t know when I first heard it but one thing is certain, my Sprite life is over.

There was a boy

A very strange, enchanted boy

They say he wandered very far

Very far, over land and sea

A little shy and sad of eye

But very wise was he

And then one day,

One magic day he passed my way

While we spoke of many things

Fools and Kings

This he said to me

The greatest thing you'll ever learn

Is just to love and be loved in return

Days 216 to 222. Oh Why!

Day 216. I place that hat upon my head. It is like wearing an old friend and yet I am sure I have never worn a hat like this. In fact I have never owned a hat and yet my name is on the label. I lift up the trousers and as I do a wallet falls out. I pick it up nervously and open it. On the left hand side is a clear plastic panel and tucked in there is a photograph. The picture is of me, smiling broadly. In the my arms is a woman I don’t recognise and two young children.

Day 217. Why am in a photograph with a woman and two children I don't recognise. There is nothing else in the wallet besides small change a library ticket with my name on but an address i don't recognise. I pick up the trousers and search the pockets. There is folded money in the right side where I keep mine but in the left there is a envelope with my name on the front and the same address as the card.

Day 218. I stare at the envelope and realise that the top has been slit open. Carefully I take out the letter inside and unfold it. I do not recognise the writing but do see my name. I slowly read it trying to take it all in. "Darling, I'm sorry but I cannot carry on like this. I know you cannot help it but your life is making everything just too difficult for me and for the children. We are going away. Don't try to find us, it is too late for that. I will always love you and will make sure the children think well of you. Yours, F

Day 219. I am staring at the letter and my name at the top when I hear a voice from the sea. My eyes are instantly drawn to a man who seems struggling in the water. Without thinking I throw off the hat, my coat, the shoes I have just put on and my trousers. I find myself running towards the sea and plunging into the water. The cold momentarily takes my breath away and constricts my chest but within moments I am swimming towards the spot where the man was.

Day 220. The waves are rough and I am not a good swimmer. The desire to save is stronger than the rational mind. I could end up being the problem and not the rescue I wanted to be. Finally I reach the area where I saw the man. I tread water desperately looking around for him but he is nowhere to be seen. Oh god, am I too late?

Day 221. I am treading water frantically looking for him when my mind begins to piece things together. The clothes I found left on the beach fitted me and had my name in them and now I am the only one in the water. What the hell is going on? I can’t keep my head above the waves. As I begin to sink down I hear a voice shouting.

Day 222. I am lying on the beach with a man thumping my chest. Without warning I spew water and gasp for air. As my eyes begin to grow accustomed to the scene around me I see a number of faces staring down at me. As the echo of crashing water leaves my ears I hear someone reading the letter that was in the trousers. ”Looks like his wife left and took the kids,” says a voice.

Days 208 to 215

Day 208. I awake sweaty and confused. I stare around a dimly lit room. A tap is running in a basin and above it a first aid cupboard is open with much of its contents tipped onto a side table. There are framed photos of iconic Hollywood stars by the door and the bookcase is filled with science books with titles that mean little to me. It is hard to move my head but as I turn my eyes to my left I see a small occasional table which has white power all over it, silver foil and other paraphernalia. I am struggling to make sense of it all when my hand reaches out for Charlie and suddenly an involuntary shiver makes me stare at the powder and the question forms in my head. What is an occasional table when it is not being a table?

Day 209. Things are beginning to make sense. I believe that in my despair I created a cocktail of drugs to escape my head. The visions that I have experienced are clearly led by the room I am in. The running sink took to me to start of fresh water. The first aid cupboard the NHS. The Hollywood photographs brought Marilyn to my head and one of the books ‘The Future of Lancing Spapullars in a Non Diversive Sub Crefters Manufacturing World’ is obvious. But what would have led my to such a fall and how long have I been out of it. Come on brain, think.

Day 210. I opened the window and the sight that greeted me suggests that I may have been out of it for decades. The building next to me is a total wilderness, in disrepair and collapsed. Posters on the glass suggest a major catastrophe with ‘last few days’ posters all over the windows. I fall back onto the bed and my mind begins to race. How did I survive the fallout? Slowly sense begins to take over as I realise that my body, whilst thinner, is not emaciated. I must have been out for days not years. I look to the window again and realise that what I took for a wildnerness is in fact an old branch of Blockbusters.

Day 211. I found a tin of beans in the kitchen and managed to open them using the point of a knife. Why is beyond me as there was a tin opener in the same draw. I seem to make life harder than it should be some days. I ate the beans cold as some form of punishment which once again made life harder than it need be. The weather is clement. It makes it easier to cope with when it has a name. I stepped towards the door and an icy blast of wind hit me in the face as I pulled it open. I shall call the wind ‘little sh*t pete’

Day 212. I love the palindromic days the best. They offer such hope. I step out onto the pavement. The icy wind cuts through me. I recognise the street scene. I have been here before. The shiver that runs through me is not the cold but the sense of foreboding. I am back on the island.

Day 213. The day is the bus I used to catch to school as a child. Memories of childhood overwhelm me as I walk down to the beach. The sun is rippling the water and exciting its surface, caressing it with a light touch. As I glance along the sand I see, oh god, a cadaver. Its arms folded across it looks almost at ease. I run towards it and lift it up before slipping my arms into the sleeves. Oh, wait a minute, it’s cardigan not cadaver.

Day 214. It fits me quite beautifully. As I turn I see a hat further along the beach. It is rather dapper I think. A thought which causes me to pause. Where from my brain did the word ‘dapper’ suddenly come from? And cause and pause? How does my brain pick which word to use and where on earth did ‘cadaver’ come from? I pick up the hat and my eye catches a label inside the brim.

Day 215. I do not recognise the hat and but as I look at it I see, beyond it, a pair of shoes and trousers by the shoreline. I stumble towards them realising as I move that the shoes I am wearing are worn and hurting. I try on the shoes by the waters edge and they fit like a glove. A weird expression given I have had gloves that were too big and too small however these shoes seem to know my feet. I glance at the label and fall back onto the sand – it is my name embroidered on the fabric.

Other People's Clothes

A few of moments last week led to these thoughts

Sometimes we find ourselves in situations where we are behaving in a way that is quite unnatural to us. Speaking and acting as though we were another person. Quite often this happens in a work situation where, over time, we divorce our true personality and opinion from our ‘professional’ persona or how we think we should be at our job.

More often than not this is because of the desire to fit in, not to be different, to not say what we really think in case it is unpopular and might count against us. We can become a reflector of those around us knowing that by mirroring behaviour we can exist without problems. Other people’s attitudes begin to clothe us.

There is a health warning with this approach. It is hard to continue to lead two lives, the one that exists at work and the one that lives with our families and friends. It can cause hidden stress as we subconsciously switch between our two selves in different situations.

It is so much simpler, so much more rewarding and in the end so much more positive to be ourselves in all situations. To know that people respect us for what we think and care about because that is who we are and not who we can pretend to be. But it is hard because you have to have the confidence that the true ‘you’ can be the professional ‘you’ as well – but of course you can.

So take a moment to think whether you are acting a part to suit others. If you are be careful, because you don’t want to spend you life wearing ‘clothes’ made for you by others.

Sleep

This is written by a very dear friend - Peter Smith. We walk down very similar roads in many respects however, he has great talents and I'm proud to know and work with him occasionally.

Sleep

In the darkness
circling eyes glint
in the bedside lamp

Sleep is again
evading capture
making its usual
taunts from
the sidelines

A weary body is
too tired for this
nightly chase:
without permission
my mind chooses
wakefulness to
endlessly track
sleep's night
manouvres

Why keep your distance
when, despite appearances,
a welcome awaits?

Just make your move
and with one bound
put these lingering thoughts
out of their misery for
one more night

Days 189 to 207

I can only apologise for the number of days

Day 189. As the man finishes speaking there is an enormous cheer and the crowd applaud in appreciation. They shout his name but I have to ask someone to repeat it to me as their accent is so ‘thick’. Apparently he is their local MP Nye Bevan and he is to introduce the new National Health Service. Once again I fell the shame of being so ignorant and for taking so much in my life for granted. ‘Save the NHS’ is just something one says but when you realise the impact on people’s lives, particularly the poorer, it has had it is one of the finest things one human can do for another. First Charlie takes me to the start of clean water and then to the start of the NHS – what is this all about?

Day 190. Charlie has looked at me with those ‘seal’ like eyes and I know that we are going to travel again. I bend to stroke his head and hold onto his collar as the mists begin to swirl in my head. I have been witness to the birth of clean water and the NHS so where will we appear next. There must be a reason for all this. How on earth does this relate to all my time on the island?

Day 191. It is dark as my eyes open and it takes a little while for them to adjust. As they do I can just make out the shape of a woman at a workbench. Charlie walks over and lies at her feet. She is so focused on her work that she doesn’t even notice. I try to make my breathing as light as possible so as not to disturb her work. It is clearly important if fresh water and the NHS is anything to go by.

Day 192. She is carefully assembling something on her workbench. By the overhead light I can just about make out what she is doing. It would appear that she has created a basic Hoffspecker board and is adapting it to take neural valves. I have no idea what she is hoping to achieve but judging by some of the others elements on the bench it is a complex machine. She has such steady hands and an apron like one my mother had.

Day 193. By coupling up the Lancing Spapullars with the Diomestic Uber Vales she appears to be doubling their energy potential. The Flasceen Interface she has cleverly resolved by using a celery stick as the conductor. It is hard to follow but I believe she will son be in a position to test it. The machine now occupies almost the entire workbench surface. Golly.

Day 194. I keep wondering why she progresses so slowly then it dawns on me, this is the first time anyone has built this. She opens up a drawer and takes out a pair of vintage Krangreeve wrenches, only they are not vintage, they are brand new to her. A bead of sweat drops from her nose as the tension builds. My mother always used to say that animals sweat, men perspire and women gently glow. This is another of her homily’s that has proved to be rubbish. Judging by the aroma her belief that females don’t break wind is nonsense as well until I see Charlie’s guilty face.

Day 195. Using the wrench she tightens the Gussetlers and places the Drip Canlards under the Prenchard Nipplettes. I see her bend and using the classic flint and tinder light a small Bunsen. As the flame begins to grow so does the danger. This experiment can go only one of two ways.

Day 196. As the head of steam begins to build so does the vibrating of the copper Cheddners. The Lancing Spapullars seem to be holding and the vegetable Flasceen Interface seems remarkably resilient. She is clutching a dainty ‘kerchief’ to her nose to mask the rancid smell from Gussetlers. I am in no doubt that this will be a success but why don’t I know her name and why have I never realized how long ago this was first created? Did big business refuse to let it be used? How many lives would have been saved? As the first droplets leak from the Nipplettes she cries with joy. First is see the start of clean water, then the NHS and now, in a matter of moments I will see it created. I bend down to tousle Charlie’s hair and ……….. oh blast, the mists and swirls

Day 197. The nausea recedes and I find myself alone in a room, well apart from Charlie who has taken one sniff and shrunk to a corner and balled up. There is an overwhelming smell of perfume and the entire room is dressed in shades of pink and white. There a many vases of flowers and chocolates but the main feature in a enormous dressing mirror surrounded by light bulbs. As I walk towards it I become aware of fabric brushing against my legs. As I look down I catch my face in the mirror and freeze, both physically and metabolically. This is not my face, not my body and certainly not my dress. I know the face well but in my panic cannot put a name to it. There is a frantic knocking at the door and a voice shouts, "Miss Monroe, you're needed on set now. Really now..........."

Day 198. “Miss Monroe please come onto the set. You’ll get a reputation if you start playing around like this.” The voice outside the door seems desperate. I collapse onto the chair by the dressing table and stare into the mirror. This was quite possibly the last thing I was expecting and it has rather thrown me. Even Charlie seems phased. I stare into the mirror and the face I see back is unmistakably Marilyn’s . “Miss Monroe, please.”

Day 199. What can I do? I can’t stay in here but I’m not sure I can go out onto set. I feel so strange. I suddenly have an idea and rush over to Charlie. I stroke him violently in the hope I might trigger another time leap but nothing happens. “Miss Monroe they want you now.” I place my hand upon the handle and draw the door towards me. As it opens I see expectant faces. I step out and hear a gentleman say, “Marilyn, finally. All right everyone let’s get ready to shoot.”

Day 200. Can I really have been on this roller coaster for two hundred days. I realise that whilst I have been thinking this the Director has been giving me instructions. I only catch the last few words which were something about a ‘grate’. All eyes are on me. I step forward and as I pause over the grate I hear the Director shout. “For god’s sake Marilyn, I said not on the grate.” Even as he says it my skirt blows up and I have to trap it with my arms. “Keep shooting,” I hear him hiss, “This is great.” Why does this have a strange feeling of déjà vu?

Day 201. Well as a result of the air from the grate blowing up my skirt I am being treated as a star and the man who is directing who appears to be called Billy Wilder is saying it was what he wanted me to do. Charlie has come rushing over and is rubbing himself against my leg. The Head of the Studio is walking towards me when I get that familiar feeling. Now I have a wet, warm foot and the swirls are returning.

Day 202. I am sure we have all done it. You come out of a deep dream and can’t remember what is real and what was fantasy. Your mind is traddling to realities but one is entirely self-created. Or so you think. It takes a few moments to acclimatise yourself and to manage the thoughts in your brain. So, am I one board a careering train or a packet of bread flour?

Day 203. I am being tipped thought a sieve into a bowl. It is an extraordinary feeling quite unlike anything I have experienced before. The sudden sense of separation and the introduction of air has a quite a giddy affect and is uplifting. I’m not sure how to describe it but the only equivalent I can think of is turning off an episode of The Golden Shot when Charlie Williams presented it.

Day 204. This is possible the most confused I've been. My rest at the bottom of the bowl was disturbed by the introduction of cubes of butter. Before I could react, two hands start rubbing the butter on me. If this carries on I could finally crumble.

Day 205. The feeling of hands passing through me is a quite an out of body experience. I almost sad when it stops and they turn their attention to the filling. I have often wondered how fruit felt about being made into pies and crumbles. It turns out the gooseberries are quite bitter.

Day 206. Well, as I suspected, the apples are really sweet. A little simple, but terribly sweet. The gooseberries are unmerciful in their teasing as they lie together in the dish but a fine sprinkling of sugar soon has them choking back their comments. I am still utterly confused as to what I am to take from this situation as I am spread across the fruit and lifted carefully into the hot oven. I hate Tuesdays.

Day 207. I am struggling to comprehend why I have been brought back as flour. I can only imagine it is to try to comprehend the many parts the make the whole and try to empathise with all the elements of life. To realise that true inner peace and harmony comes from understanding your small place in the world but surely there was a way other than being baked in an oven. We are placed on the table to cool. After a little while I sense a face hovering over us. I recognize those beautiful eyes, that golden hair, that enormous slobbering tongue. With one bite Charlie demolishes the crumble and the world begins to spin again