Issue 12: Hear from the ENO Breathe Community - Submission Library

‘Today’ – A song by Andrea Grimshaw:

It’s actually the first song I’ve ever written (though I’ve written poetry and fiction in the past). One of my presents last Christmas was a song-writing workshop with the folk artist Edwina Hayes – bought to get me out of the house and spark a bit of joy – and this was the result of that day. Onwards and upwards! – Andrea

Today I saw a bird

Wheeling on the wind

Flights of Fancy

Wings of hope

Help to heal my mind

 Today I saw a star

Fading back to blue

Taking all the hurt and pain

Make my body new

 Today I saw the sun

Lifting up the sky

Raising hope with every beam

Make my spirit fly

Listen to Today, by Andrea:

Download Today, by Andrea

Our wonderful session leader Lea Cornthwaite has very kindly arranged this beautiful song by Andrea to be sung in future Twilight sessions, so we look forward to singing this new song with you all in due course.

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Poem by Emma Sadler

How I think of rest has changed throughout my life as I have learnt what it is that I am trying to restore.

As a child, my rest restored the day, it resurrected the light of the sun, the newness of morning and the carefree, playful activities of childhood.

New to the world of work as a young adult, my rest restored my energy. My breaks equipped me with the skills of focus, accuracy and good time keeping, reviving my status as a productive and active worker.

As time passed, my experience and my family grew. The rest of walking, baking, or coffee with a friend restored my patience like a reboot of my emotions, my consciousness in the moment being cleansed, my emotional capacity rejuvenated.

These times of restorative rest are linked by their buoyancy, their refreshing nature and their accessibility.

For a while, my restorative rest lost its way. It became pulled down by the competition of destruction versus restoration, illness versus recovery. It had to wade through sticky, viscous societal permissions and disguise itself from the gaze of expectations of productivity.

But I am providing it with a road map. A map that has junctions and choices. I can take the path of running on empty and fulfilling an ever-growing list of expectations or I can rest and refill. I can keep going when illness launches a destructive campaign, or I can rest and repair. I can keep working to be what others want me to be, or I can rest, reconnect and rediscover myself.

Today, I refuse to accept my restorative rest is a sign of weakness, an indulgence, or a failure to be productive. It is a treasure to be reclaimed, it is my tool of rebellion, it is my right!

I shall rest.

I shall be restored.

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Thoughts on Restorative Rest by Hilary Thomson

Restorative rest comes from unexpected sources. I play the bassoon and, although I rather avoided playing scales when I was well, I find them a great source of restorative rest in these long-Covid days. I stick to easy ones I don’t have to think about and play them very slowly indeed, trying to focus on getting the sound perfect on each note. The bassoon requires a lot of very steady breathing and, like the ENO Breathe sessions, is a great way to counter the awful shallow breathing habit I’ve had since my first bout of Covid.

The things I regarded as relaxing pre-Covid (socialising, holidays, cooking dinner for friends) seem the very opposite now. A holiday last year during which temperatures reached 41C and I had a tummy bug virtually the whole time left me thinking how much nicer it would have been just to have read a really good travel book from the comfort of my own sofa. 

So when I got back, I headed to my local library, borrowed The Corfu Trilogy by Gerald Durrell (the wonderful My Family and Other Animals and the two lesser-known books that followed it) and was transported to Greece, did a lot of laughing out loud and filled my head with beautiful images. Much as I like bookshops there is something wonderfully serendipitous about libraries. To start with, there are so many books on so many subjects. As you wander from one section to another you are likely to be led past authors and subjects you might never have considered. 

Alongside travel, biography is my newest happy hunting ground. The atmosphere is serene, the staff so kind … and it’s free so I can afford to indulge my reading habit to the fullest without paying a penny. Oh, and libraries now have gone digital so I can borrow books without leaving home if I wish and read the papers in bed for free. But I generally visit in person, enjoying the stroll on my own, looking in shop windows, thinking about nothing in particular and enjoying the anticipation of all those books full of experiences I can enjoy while resting with a cuppa at my elbow.

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Thoughts on Restorative Rest submitted by Gay Caul

To achieve restorative rest, I feel that you need to be doing something relaxing that you enjoy and immerse yourself in it. For me, this would be walking or sitting in a quiet spot outdoors in nature, absorbing the surroundings . It needs to be a gentle activity, not too demanding, to achieve rest.

The poem, Wild Geese by Mary Oliver is a beautiful and absorbing piece of poetry that captures the natural world and our place in it.

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

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Submitted by Ali Carre

Breathing in, I see myself as a flower.

I am the freshness of a dewdrop.

Breathing out, my eyes have become flowers.

I am looking with the eyes of love.

Breathing in  I am a mountain, imperturbable.

Still, alive, vigorous.

Breathing out, I feel solid.

The waves of emotion can never carry me away.

Breathing in,  I am still water.

I reflect the sky  faithfully. 

Look I have a full moon within my heart,  the refreshing moon of the bodhisattva.

Breathing out, I offer the perfect reflection of my mirror mind.

Breathing in, I have become space without boundaries.

I have no plans left.

I have no luggage.

Breathing out,  I am the moon that is sailing through the sky of utmost emptiness.

I am freedom.

By Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, from a collection of his poems titled ” Call me by my true names” 

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Pier by Anne Parsons

I walked nine hundred planks or more

but forgot to count them. Standing soundly

on rusted legs flaked with bronze eczema,

the aged pier stands in the slapping soapy wash,

the wind had clumped the clouds

over the beanie capped fishermen,

weathered hands slapped the dog

back from the bait bucket til it grizzled,

salt air stung my streaming eyes

I could taste it raw on my lips

ribbons of hair slapped my face

and scarves fluttered like banners,

I amble past a hungry queue salivating

at the sizzling of chips as vinegar scents

the air and children whine while women

moan at the whining and the men escape

to the mirror wall distracted by the

distortion of their truths, canned music

from the arcade spills across the crowded

boardwalk where spectators wait

for the helter skelter to disgorge

a slew of agile bodies from the slide,

laughter bubbles from the figures

scrambling to spiral down on matting.

As the sun fades and the tide turns,

I head towards the esplanade where

open doors of pastel dolls houses invites

the insatiable gaze of passers-by

the dark line on the pilings grows as

the retreating tide imposes the illusion

of a taller pier, a pleasure seekers

dinosaur striding out to sea.

Big thanks to those of you who have shared submissions, written, composed, painted and photographed: Andrea Grimshaw, Emma Sadler, Gay Caul, Ali Carre, Anne Parsons, Clare Western, Martin Harborne, Jane Cox, Wendy Knight, Chris Ware, and Jacqueline Mina OBE.