Ruth's Real Life

Path to Beauty One more step. The path is steep and steeper still, You could stop here. Here, amongst the broken rocks, Fit the sand of self into the cracks, Sift down, down into darkness. One more step- The path lifts to nothing and nothing still, You could stop here. Here, fear will hold you still, Hope will push you on. You, must, move – the path will not. One more step, Under a sky stretched blue and bluer still You must stop to look, Amongst the sand and sun-jagged rocks, Roots, push, down, lifting leaves to green, Impossibly, alive, on a path to beauty. Ruth Everson Life is a bitch. There are times when one more step, one more morning, one more week, seems impossible. I have sat at the bottom of the dark hole of depression. I have, it seems, spent a lifetime fighting with my own particular demons. Recently, I have thought a lot about a little story that I read a couple of years ago. I don’t remember its author, so I can’t...

At a lunch recently, our hostess asked us to tell a childhood story of Christmas.. I was caught unawares by the sudden prickle of tears brought by the deep memory that came unbidden. It was Christmas Eve. The boys were off doing whatever it is boys do at the seaside: searching for crabs in rock pools; swimming out beyond the waves; coming home salt and sun bleached. The girl, even at seven, didn’t mind being alone. The garden that encircled the holiday cottage was a tropical tangle of banana trees, Frangipani and Hibiscus. Shadowed wings flitted through the trees. Lizards, faster than her reaching fingers, slid into cracks and crevices as she approached, but it wasn’t the lizards that she wanted. Her hair, free for once of the tight, white bow that her grandmother insisted on, swung over her eyes as she bent to look for her treasure. It had to be a certain size, small enough to fit into the packet hidden under her pillow. The narrow, silver packet was covered in green and re...

  (It’s not what you think.) My life, to quote Carole King, has been ‘a tapestry of rich and royal hue’. For as long as I can remember my tapestry has been stitched, not with fine and silken threads but with words. I can remember, even as a little girl, the excitement generated by the yellow blocks of paper that Mom would bring home from work. I drew pictures and invented words and worlds that took me away from the loneliness of being the youngest child and only girl in our large family. When I was twelve, I won my first writing competition. The story, about the 1820 Settlers, has long since been lost but I still remember what it felt like to write that piece. The story was submitted to the competition by my English and Maths teacher, Mrs Dorothea Knox. I still remember what it felt like when she beat me with a long wooden ruler with a metal edge. She called the ruler Mr Persuasion and wielded it daily on those of us who did not shine at Maths. I never shone. In ...

Tall Standing   I am done with the safety razor life:   I have slouched in the shadows of smiles, I have been loved into comfort-fit shapes, I have run in a tight box of approval Banging against the hollow sides of my truth, Bruising heart and soul to bloodless thinness.   I choose to walk out of the photograph of self, I expose the black blank back of my eyes And dare you to stand tall enough to meet my gaze, Stretch your arms ‘till they are embrace long, Prise the words from between the stones of your teeth.   Now, call me by my name.   Ruth Everson   A comment yesterday by Mandy Collins (@collinsmandy), expressing her longing to be heard, reminded me of this poem, ‘Tall Standing’. It was written at a time when I was angry with everything and everyone. I was battling with issues of identity and felt lost in a world that seemed to demand conformity.   It’s not always easy to sing a sol...

  Two Saturdays ago, compliments of the lovely Carel Nolte, I found myself at the Zwartkops Raceway. Ahead of me was a ‘Ferrari experience’, this meant driving a Ferrari F360. I love driving and I love adventures but I have to admit to some trepidation as I perched on a stool listening to the roar of the cars hurtling around the track. The driver’s briefing was brief! Back out at the side of the track, I was pleased that I had the first of my fears behind me – the fitting of the driver’s suit. I’m not small and I was convinced that there would not be a suit to fit me. I didn’t have to wear a suit – easy! Helmeted and ready, with a number of young men watching, I manoeuvred myself into the car and was strapped in. I was so concerned about my next fear – stalling in front of everyone – that I didn’t notice the technical hitch. My feet didn’t reach the pedals. As the seat couldn’t be adjusted, I had to move to the second car. I casually levered myself out and sauntered no...

It's time to adventure again. Last night, I dreamed I was lost on the Great Wall of China. I was climbing a never-ending stairway alongside which a magnificent river rushed into a dark green gorge. Even in my dream, I knew it wasn’t the Wall. I have climbed a section of the Great Wall and it was nothing like this. In 2005 I undertook, what in my head, was a pilgrimage to China. I was in a state of flux in my life and when the opportunity to go presented itself, I  didn't  hesitate. I went on my own, knowing very little of what awaited me. One thing I was determined to do was to journal my experience and to try to extract a lesson from each week that I was there. I came away with my eight China lessons but after my return I understood that I had journeyed  26 000  kilometers  to learn the power of just two words. Let go. And I did. I let go of toxic opinions of myself. I was able to see myself in a more powerful way. I felt a newness of ...

There is always the possibility of an unfolding. This poem began with a piece of paper. I had a blank sheet in my hands while I was invigilating an exam. As I walked between the desks, I folded and unfolded the piece of paper. Life is a little like this I thought, as the possibility of a blank page presented itself as I unfolded the paper. There are pages in my life that I’d like to rip out, the deaths of my brothers Paul and Michael, the loss of my mother too soon, my father, perhaps too late as he became trapped in dementia. I’d like to erase bad decisions and pencil in decisions not made because my heart lacked courage. I’d like to rewrite words that hurt and shape them into something gentler. Those things will never happen, the past is written in indelible ink. Nevertheless, today is still to be unfolded. This poem is dedicated to my partner, Julia, who with tremendous courage chose to unfold a new page in her life. I think though, that it also applies to all who feel...