How Solfeggio Frequencies Are Leading Me Into The Deepest Of Rabbit Holes

Thoughts about a rabbit hole I've found myself exploring:

Friends of mine are very into solfeggio frequencies / Fibonacci frequencies. You know, the kind of thing that says 528Hz sorts your heart and heals your DNA. Sounds far-fetched, yes?  But they're my friends and I love them.  They say the frequencies add something good to their lives.  I'm happy for them.  What harm can it possibly do to them, to me, or to anyone else?

 

639Hz - It'll Sort Any Relationship Problems You May Have

I was very involved with new age people and learned a lot in courses 30 years ago (before rejecting it all for fundamentalist Christianity for too many years!) but nobody ever mentioned such frequencies. Not even the sound and colour healing practitioners I knew. Somehow in the intervening years they've become very popular. And I have to admit that some (some) of the music I've heard based on it is quite relaxing and good to fall asleep to.  I wanted to know why the idea was so prominent and how this development had occurred.

So I thought, "Why don't I look into this. See if there's ANY evidence outside of New Age sources and sites like Natural News. Some actual science. And find out the history of the idea. Let's not reject the whole thing out of hand but apply some very basic critical thinking to the theories and history."

That seemed a sensible thought.

And that's when an idea that sounds far-fetched became more crazy. And then I fell down a rabbit hole and crazy became bad-shit crazy. It just gets more and more bonkers.

I've learned interesting things about the history of musical notation and the reasons why the frequency of that A is mostly set at 440Hz. That's really very fascinating.

But my wandering in the rabbit hole has gone through selling snake oil remedies (to heal cancer and undo vaccine damage), vaccines causing autism, the US government inventing AIDS, Nazi conspiracies to move music frequencies and so muck us all up psychologically, the Illuminati, Tesla, The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, mad codes derived from the Bible, symatics, Kenneth Copeland (honestly!), young earth creationism, secret laser guns and so many other things related by the guy who promoted the theory of the frequencies. His name is Leonard Horowitz. Research him at your own risk!  His official biography page claims he's a Levitical priest and co-creator of "The World's Most Powerful CD."

On a hunch I googled "Leonard Horowitz Andrew Wakefield."  Wakefield is the disgraced doctor behind the totally debunked study that claimed to have found a link between the MMR vaccine and autism.  There's no link.  And Wakefield wasn't just wrong.  He was fraudulent too.  People believed him thought and the take-up for the MMR vaccine fell with the unfortunate result that we've seen an increase in measles outbreaks leading to deaths and life-long health consequences for children in Europe and the USA.  I place at least part of the blame for that directly on the shoulders of Wakefield.

I wasn't surprised by the results of my google search.  Horowitz and Wakefield are pals.  Look up the ConspiraSea Cruise if you dare.  It's a whole deeper level of rabbit hole than the one I've been exploring.  Enjoy yourself there.  Here's one person's experience of the 2016 cruise.  Here's another person, relating their experiences of the 2015 cruise.  Both pages are very entertaining - at least for someone with my special interests.  Horowitz's relationship with Wakefield's Vaxxed movie is also of interest.

 

One of his books. I want a copy.

I'm very happy in my rabbit hole. It's a wonderful surprise. The only sadness is that I haven't found any aliens in the hole. Yet.  They might be coming.  Horowitz's four hour talk is on YouTube posted by UFO TV: The Disclosure Network.  So there may yet be aliens.  If you're as obsessive as I am about crazy spiritual things, mainstream and fringe, take a look at his talk.  Or as much of it as you can bear.  I'm only 70 minutes into the talk and have taken long breaks from it.

 

Horowitz is currently discussing how the frequencies were discovered encoded into the book of Numbers in the Old Testament - because offerings were made by representatives of the twelve tribes of Israel on twelve successive days and each day's offering is described in much the same way in six verses.  (In a verse structure that didn't exist until thousands of years later but Horowitz doesn't seem worried about that).  The conclusions raised by this six verse interval are far further than far fetched.  My own conclusions when I used to read through the Bible regularly and got to that chapter were that I was quite bored with it and that I looked forward to getting ahead a few chapters to Balaam and his talking ass.

I just wish my friends weren't into any aspect of this total junk, some of which isn't just daft it's dangerous. I wish there was something I could say that would convince them it was junk. Because all those friends are very lovely people. And some of this is very dangerous and damaging.

 

That's all I wish.  People can believe whatever helps them.  As long as they don't look down on those who disagree or claim that their belief is an essential for some kind of salvation.  But when that belief becomes dangerous and when it arises from and is connected when the kinds of things solfeggio frequency theories are linked to then that becomes a matter of great concern.

Believe a wafer is the body and blood, soul and divinity of Jesus.  Fine.  I believed that.
Believe your gurus inhabit a particular place in a temple because a book is there.  Fine.

Be helped by making an offering to Krishna, ancestors, God, guru, Buddha, or whoever else.  Fine.

But when belief becomes a danger I will be worried for you and equally worried for anyone you may influence through your dangerous beliefs.

If it wasn't for the dangers I'd say to my friends to believe whatever they wanted about the power inherent in these frequencies (which are only 440Hz or 528Hz or some other number of Hertz because we relate them to an arbitrary time period that in English is called a second.  639Hz in the picture at the top wouldn't be 639Hz if Hertz wasn't based on that particular time period so making anything about it being multiples of three - as Horowitz does - is without common sense.)

But with the dangers?  I'd love them to stop.  I'd love them to walk away from such nonsense.

You may say I'm over-thinking all this - rather than my friends under-thinking it.  You may be right of course.  Just in case, I'd better close by watching this video and listening to the sounds through my headphones.  That'll solve my problem.  One of the comments tells me to heal the world by listening to this while holding my crystals.  Yeah, that might work.  It's quite relaxing.  I admitted that right at the start.  I still freely admit it.

Don't You Dare Sing That Song Young Woman. God Hates Ecology.

Here's the next prompt from the daily list I've been writing from.

41. What You Don’t Know: Write about a secret you’ve kept from someone else or how you feel when you know someone is keeping a secret from you.

Nope!  I'm not doing that one.  Not today.  If there's anyone else who doesn't want to write from that prompt today we could get together.  We could form a new Rebel Alliance and defeat the Empire of legalism.

One of the early exercises in a book I have is to write something solely in commands, imperatives.  I can't remember what else it says but the gist of it has stayed in my head.  This morning the exercise came back to me and with it a fragment of a song I used to sing as a child.

I had an American book of folk protest songs.  Some were political, others environmental.  Unfortunately I no longer have the book.  In that book I learned names like Pete Seeger, Malvina Reynolds, Woody Guthrie, and Joan Baez.   Later I heard them sing too, on old records.  I bought a second American book of folk protest songs too which I still own, put together by Pete Seeger.  It was there I learned L'Internationale and used to sing it with dreadful pronunciation in several languages.

The first book contained a song by Malvina Reynolds, written in 1970.  Much of it was written as imperative commands encouraging listeners to behave in a more environmentally friendly manner.  It's at least twenty-five years since I last sang the song but could still remember a few lines and, part way through writing, I wanted to incorporate them into this post.  I have to admit I'll never obey the first line of the song.

I could only find one mention of the song online.  Nancy Schimmel, the daughter of Malvina Reynolds, kept a blog for a while devoted to her life and work.  The words to the song are in one post.  I find that Nancy wrote it, not Malvina.  I'll link to the post at the bottom of this one.  Glad to have found it.  There's a link to a site containing lyrics to all of Malvina's songs.  And there are links there to some amazing resources.  Among them is a site with pdf files of Broadside which was a "magazine of topical songs."  It's a brilliant treasure trove and I think if I allowed myself I could spend many days exploring it and taking up my own guitar again, learning more of the songs of the 1960s folk revival.  Here, for instance is issue #20 which contains perhaps the most famous song by Malvina Reynolds, Little Boxes.  The issue begins with Bob Dylan's Masters of War.  There's some talking blues too and an inspiring version of Wayfaring Stranger. 

On to my writing.  Written freely with just a pause to stick those lyrics in.  It's not all written as imperative commands.  There are two characters in this.  Only one would force obedience and conformity.

Pete Seeger's banjo.  Image taken from here.

Don't you dare sing that song again.
Put down your guitar at once.
Don't make me block my ears.
Don't you dare make me come over there and block your mouth.
Stop it!  Stop it now!
Throw away that wretched book.
Close your eyes.
Don't look at the cover, at the horrible face of that old folk singer.
Remove it from my sight.
Traitor to your race, close it again.
Close it now you hear or you won't be welcome here again.
Turn back to the truth of religion.
Repent of listening to the ideas they've brainwashed with you.
Preach it like you used to.
Tell the world of the evils of folk.
Teach about the evil words and deeds of Woody Guthrie.
Make placards to protest when the heirs of Pete Seeger come to town.
I'm pleading with you, return to truth.
Don't make me cry please.
Stop turning the pages.
Stop searching for that song.
And paint out that false slogan you've painted on your guitar.
Repaint the Bible verse that you used to be proud to carry with you.
Try not to hate your mother so much.
Listen to her when she tells you what's good for you.
PUT DOWN THAT PLECTRUM AT ONCE YOUNG LADY!
Come back please.
Draw back from the precarious ledge you're standing on.
Remove yourself from Satan's clutches.
Destroy his works, his words, his lies.
Stamp out ecology.  Let Jesus save the world as he promised.
Throw out the disgusting theory of, I can hardly say it, climate change.
Rebuke the teachers of evolution.
Put yourself in sackcloth and ashes and
Destroy any notion that there is freedom in the cesspit of the world.
Young lady, put it down or you'll not be welcome under my roof.
Don't make me hate what you've become.
Remember The Bible.
Remember the way God touched you in the camp.
Don't try to tell me that Pastor Eric touched you too.
Don't you tell such despicable untruths about that lovely man.
Remember how you used to say that Jesus was your force field.
Remember how cute we said you were.
Think about how God was raising you up into a beautiful woman.

LISTEN TO ME.  Please.

 

In tears, I strummed the first chord.
Through the noise of my sobbing I began to sing.

Don’t use a tissue, sniff instead,

Don’t use a napkin, use a piece of bread,

Don’t flush the toilet every time you pee,

Do your bit for ecology.

Stop it.  Stop it.  For God's sake stop it.
Oh Jesus forgive me for my blasphemy.
Oh Jesus forgive me for raising a child of the devil.
Have mercy on her, she doesn't know what she's doing.
Help me to love her, a sinner.
Help me to hate her sin, her environmentalism.
Jesus Guide me.
Jesus show me your plan.
Help me to be strong when I cast her out as you command.
Never let me waver.

Get out of my house child.
Don't come back until you've learned submission to The Bible.
Watch me and see how much you've hurt me.
No, don't take the book with you.
Don't take the guitar either.
Leave them here so I can burn them.
Get out you socialist!


I left.  A friend took me in.
She lent me a guitar.  She had the same book as me.
She had many books.
A warm bed too and the best hot chocolate.
Mum called hot chocolate decadent,
A distraction from the work of the Kingdom.
My friend called it a taste of heaven.

I sang with my friend.
We smiled.
I cried too about my life.
She called me strong and held me tight.
Then I knew I could persevere, learn true freedom.

And then, the following Saturday, I sang that song again.
On the steps of the city hall I sang.
I sang of freedom too, of hope.
I sang of the power we have to change our world.
The people cheered.

Except for a few who stood where I once stood.
They brought placards.  Bigger than ours.

Repent!
Hate socialism!
Hate environmentalism!
Turn from the lies of science!
Love the sinner, hate the sin!

They looked so angry, so much sadness in their eyes.
They looked lost.
I had once been as lost as them,
Fundamentalists, terrified in case they ever wavered.

And there among them, my mother.
She too, one of the angry, the lost.
I caught her eye as I led my songs.
No pride there.
Just a mix of regret and hate.

I turned away from her
Into the embrace of freedom
And the warmth of inclusive love.

I prayed for her too that one day she might learn the truth.
It was for that same freedom Christ came
And for love Jesus walked among us.


As promised, here's that blog post with the lyrics of the song.

If you're wondering.  I bought some 2017 calendars very cheaply in a Christian bookshop in Bolton.  I plan one day to wreck them for my own purposes.  One page of one is a simple image and the words "Jesus is my force field."  Really.  Honest.  It does say that.  Photographic proof will be provided on request.

She's Addicted To Jesus But She Ain't No Jesus Freak.

A writing prompt from thinkwritten.com.  I read it this morning and have typed the following in an evening.  During the day lots of different thoughts passed through my head and I didn't know what I'd be writing about until I sat down and found myself typing the first sentence.  Even as I pressed the first key this post could have gone in several directions including a few with no basis in fact.

Addict: Everyone’s addicted to something in some shape or form. What are things you can’t go without?

Are you A to J?

That was a question asked at the start of a song called Addicted to Jesus, the title track of an album by a Christian recording artist named Carman.  On this track he was joined by a Christian band called DC Talk whose album Jesus Freak achieved more than two million sales in the USA.  I've got to admit it's a decent album and I confess that even in my post-theist days it's still on my phone today.

I do not have the song Addicted to Jesus on my phone or anywhere in my music collection.  Have a listen and you might be able to hear why. 

The album was released in 1992 and even then I found parts of it musically and lyrically painful.  I was addicted to other Jesus music in 1992.  In that year I had a subscription with Vineyard Music which churned out dozens of new songs from the Vineyard churches.  A new album. Every month, complete with sheet music for every song.  I loved those albums dearly and I adored singing those songs.  I would play them often with the guitar, often with friends.  That kind of behaviour was acceptable and normal because I was studying in a Presbyterian theological college.  That sounds grander than it was.

I became an evangelical, charismatic, born-again Christian in 1990 and it's safe to say that I was addicted to Jesus.  Or at least addicted to something that I found within that Christian tradition.  I think now that I wasn't addicted to Jesus at all but rather to the sense of belonging and certainty I found in my faith, a real sense of hope and meaning, the fuel that Christian books gave my head, and in those days to the highs and excitement given me in the kind of churches I attended.  My addiction was to ideas and experiences rather than to a historical man.

I had heard of Carman not long before becoming a Christian.  I can place a time and date on that conversion.  It was then that I prayed the "sinner's prayer", asked for forgiveness, and welcomed Jesus into my life to be my Lord and Saviour.  I prayed at about nine in the evening on February 20th 1990 in a friend's bedroom in a hall of residence in Bradford.  I remember it well and remember the surprise I had at how damn good I felt afterwards.  I honestly felt as if a weight had lifted from me and that "all things are possible to him who believes."  It was a solid and sound born-again conversion experience.  They're not uncommon.  Tonight there will be people in Britain who have a similar experience to mine and they too will feel damn good afterwards and their faces will beam as much as mine did that night.  These people may become addicted too.

Ian hadn't brought many personal possessions with him from home.  He'd had to transport himself from Belfast without a car and couldn't carry enough to furnish a room with the amount of clutter that I was managing to pack in to my own room across the hall.  He didn't have a lot.  He didn't need a lot.  Perhaps he had always been that way.  Or perhaps his faith had the useful side effect of teaching him that he didn't need lots of stuff in order to be happy.

What he did have in his room was a case containing twenty cassette albums of contemporary Christian music.  From Ian I learned the names of Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith.  I learned of Christian rock and I confess that I devoured it.  It might not have been the greatest music in the world.  Some of it was more dreadful than lame.  I loved it though and could listen to songs about Jesus and sing about him as much as I liked.  It felt marvellous.  I'd fallen for Jesus and could sing love songs that made me smile.  I listened to Whiteheart, Petra, Stryper and lots of other bands and when I'd worked my way through Ian's tape box I started to buy my own cassettes.

And then there was Carman.  Ian had brought a Carman album with him from home.  It was his live album called Radically Saved.  Here's the title track.  You may wish to block your ears.  You may wish to laugh.  You might even enjoy it.  I loved that album.  Mea culpa!

I received that album with much enthusiasm.  I copied all of Ian's cassettes and played that one many times before buying my own copy.  My girlfriend became a Christian a month after me - and stopped being a Christian twenty years before me!  She loved that album too and enjoyed Carman so much that when he came to the UK and played a gig in London she went to it.

So why am I talking about Carman and my Jesus addiction?  An addiction that in my post-Christian days I've relegated in my head to the status of special interest.  Why aren't I talking about my other addictions,  addictive behaviours, obsessions and special interests?  After all, I've had more than a few of those.  I was tempted today to write about self harm.  Or something more mundane like sudoku, old time radio, tea drinking and buying, books, CD buying, various computer games, or anything else that has veered towards being psychological addiction.  Perhaps writing too will become an addictive behaviour but I hope it doesn't.  My addictions or obsessions sometimes end badly.

There is a reason Carman came to mind among the many thoughts of today and that reason is Facebook.  For some reason Facebook's algorithm decided that I would want to look at something he posted.  He is going to be premiering a new song on January 19th about Donald Trump.  How exciting.  A Carman song about Trump.  It is exciting.  It must be because a lot of people are excited about it.  I'm not excited at all.  A song about Donald Trump written by a man who called the election result a "miracle victory."  It's just not my thing.  I believe that Carman is doing his best.  And I believe that sitting down for a pot of tea with him might turn out to be pleasant.  Perhaps we would even sing together.  But I think I will give this song a miss even though it's likely to contain jokes.

Carman asked his fans what kind of things should be in the song.  My answer that racism and sexism should form the themes of the first two verses was not popular.  Nobody liked my idea.  I personally think any song or poem about Trump should include topics like that.  Donald Trump provides us with a lavish smorgasbord of things to write about and manages to create a new tasty dish nearly every day.  I can't decide whether he is a satirist's dream or a whether he's a satirist's nightmare because he is beyond satire.  A spoof Donald Trump twitter account would be no stranger than the real one.

Carman wasn't really asking for my answer.  I'm not a fan, though it's enjoyable to remember the time I was.  For the most part I can smile at the old songs again.

If Carman was to visit my home he might ask me this:  "Are you A to J?"

And I would answer, "No I am not."

But would I be telling the truth?  Or is my addiction much like it would be if it were substance abuse?  Am I still an addict?  Perhaps for me it is impossible for me to become an ex-Jesus addict.  Perhaps my brain will keep going back to him in different ways for as long as I live.  Maybe Jesus is like self harm and never truly goes away completely.

I just asked a friend this:  "Am I addicted to Jesus?"

She gave me an immediate response.  Didn't even have to think about it.

Yes, she said, you are.  He's not real and you're addicted to him.

So this is Clare, Jesus addict.

Ex-Christian.  Ex-theist.  Ex-Jesus Freak.  And Jesus addict.

Days of Gratitude - The Near Paradise Of An Autistic Fringe Yurt

These were great days.  I feel I should warn regular readers of something.  Lots of the days since have been very difficult indeed as my lovely autistic brain has struggled with the whole idea of getting through things and has failed to do so at times.  Although in another sense it has succeeded because, after all, I am still here.  Last night was very difficult.  Today has been very difficult indeed.  So many tears.  So much shaking and yeah, it's generally been horrible.  I cancelled today.  I had things I wanted to do or needed to do and cancelled the lot.  Later I did manage to get a few things done - like prepare this post.  But self care involved pulling out of everything I had committed to.

But these days below were great.  It astounds me.  Today I couldn't leave the house.  Yesterday I couldn't leave the house.  But I spent three days in the unknown-to-me city of Edinburgh, wandering the streets, navigating my way around - including managing to find the Quaker Meeting House in order to meet strangers for a bit of Shape Note Singing.  I spent time among more strangers and people I've not met that much.  I coped with a pretty harmless but rather too friendly drunk woman and was deemed brave by one of the "names" of the autistic community.

I was quite amazed with how well I managed those days.  Yes, much of it was spent in autistic space with autistic people and that's easier to cope with than most things.  But it was all unknown.  And I am pretty proud of myself for how well I did.  It's the confidence boost I mentioned in the last post.  There's going to be another confidence boost in the next post too - it won't just be staggeringly crappy days.

So here we go.  Four days.  And a musical decision at the end.  I was playing it today.  Parts of the Mozart Clarinet Quintet.  Badly of course.  I am surprised to be playing it at all.  It was a horrible day in many ways.  But I played a clarinet.  And I played a guitar.

September 16^th


Grateful that I have coped today with day one at an autism conference in Edinburgh.

This is the Fringe Yurt, safe autistic space.

And a conference hall that by all rights I shouldn't have been in.

Grateful too to meet up with a friend I haven't seen for 20 years. She says it was totally obvious then that I am autistic. Took me a long time to work it out for myself!

September 17^th


Grateful to have been given this opportunity to be in Edinburgh at the Autistic Fringe and to have been able to sneak into the main Congress too.

It's been a bit like an unstructured mini Autscape. Being with part of my tribe for a few days.

The yurt was well lit in the evening.

September 18^th


Grateful for the yurt days and the autistic space. But grateful for my own bed.

The weekend was an amazing opportunity. Totally glad I went. Now I need to recover from the last couple of weeks.

 Grateful too for a morning walk in Edinburgh. Pretty.

 September 19^th


Grateful for a decision to pick this thing up for the first time in years and blow air through it.

There is a plan to blow lots of air and maybe make some nice sounds too.

But it's been a long time. The sounds are not currently as pleasing as once they were.

Days of Gratitude - The Music of Greenbelt, Belts and Beliefs

Some more gratitude to take me to the end of August.  Eight months of keeping a gratitude diary every day apart from the nine that I missed.  Nearly 250 days to look back on and see the happy things in the good days and the hard days.

These three days cover the later parts of Greenbelt and then a day of being back home after all the excitements and sleeplessness of being away.  I'm looking forward to Greenbelt 2017 even though I still don't do that theistic God.  I wasn't converted by the God festival but enjoyed all the nice people who do God in a pleasant way.  Possibly this week I'm going to attend a humanist meeting.  I'm not sure how that will go.  It might clash with dancing though and if that's the case then dancing might beat secular humanism.  It'll be a tough decision - both events are happening in the same building, a building where lots of good things happen and where I should probably be more often.

Onwards!  Greenbelt.  As the Bible would put it - in my basic Hebrew lessons at college:

And it came to pass that ...

29^th August

Grateful for even more freebies - including ones from some people who knew my mother. The first from them came (this belt) on the second anniversary of her death.

Grateful for a storytelling workshop.

For three trips to the theatre which were the best three of the weekend.

Grateful to relax at The Wee Sing - songs from The Wild Goose people from Iona.

Grateful to have accidentally found myself right by the stage for more loud music. This time from Tankus The Henge. Awesome. Again. With more point, click and hope photos.

Grateful for the music question. And to experience some of the answer. I was incredibly smiley and happy flappy afterwards when meeting Amanda afterwards - she had been making an icon - and heading to see a cabaret show by Bourgeois and Maurice on how to save the world. Hilarious. I actually cried laughing at one point.

And grateful for a day of lots of noise, lots of people, lots of unknown things - but almost zero panic or meltiness. Yay!

30^th August

Grateful for the all night cafe not far from us in the festival campsite. Cheapest place on site for tea - including spicy chai that we drank lots of. At 6am after a night in which the temperature attempted winter and zero sleep was gained, it was so much appreciated.

Grateful to have spotted Kate by the entrance as we left. She's an MCC minister and volunteers there with the access team. Turns out that we qualified, because we had signed up for access to the access team, even though we hadn't actually remembered to do it!, for a free taxi to the shuttle bus back to Kettering station. Very grateful for that. And for the nice shuttle bus driver who waived the fee because we pleaded bus pass with him.

The weekend was brilliant. But:

Grateful to be home with my bed. With that luxury of a shower. After so little sleep and a ten hour journey - via Manchester - I was very happy for comforts.

No photos were taken of the day. But that only partially compensates for the ones I've shared from the festival.

So much happened. So many good people. So many stories. So many blog posts to write! And we plan to return next year. Grateful for an offer of easier transport in 2017.

31^st August

Grateful to have woken up in my own bed. Because it was my bed. And because "woken" implies sleep.

Grateful that the GP did everything I wanted her to do. My posture is awful and I often have rotten pain and have just gained a new determination to sort it. The NHS may be able to help. Or maybe there is a good yoga for people with almost zero flexibility, bad posture and pain and muscle knots gained over years of holding everything in. The yoga must be VERY cheap. Rather than the cheap most people talk about which is generally more than I can afford with a personal income of zero.

Grateful to be able to look back on Greenbelt and spot that Clare can do more than she believes. Sometimes.

The height difference between my normal standing and my standing up with better (but still very imperfect) posture.  It's a bit more than two inches.

Remembrance of Times Past: How The Living Earth and The White Lodge Saved Me

Thirty years and a couple of months ago I was in a mess.  I had been talking about committing suicide and my parents didn't know what to do so they sought medical advice.

I was taken to see a child psychiatrist who said I needed immediate long term hospitalisation, a range of drugs and ECT. Urgent.  She wanted me placed into the child psychiatric hospital in the county.

Somehow that didn't happen. I didn't want it to even though the psychiatrist had pretty much built up the hospital as a fun place to be.  Hey, fun.  A child receiving ECT in 1985.  Fun, fun, fun.  I realised that the good things she had said were not that good and that the experience would be hell not help for me.  I was totally distraught the next day.  I've cried a lot since that day but probably never as bitterly and uncontrollably.

In a state of complete worry my mother asked some people we had met that year for advice. They recommended that I be taken somewhere that might help me. It was called White Lodge.

The woman I met there was named Judy Fraser and she counseled me and led me to a place where I could lead myself out of the darkness and survive and find a way. There has been a lot of darkness since then but I firmly believe that without White Lodge and without Judy, I would have died.

Plain and simple.  If we hadn't found White Lodge I would not have reached adulthood.  I would have committed suicide.  There is no questioning that.

The cover of this little book shows one small part of the place that used to be White Lodge.

The first time we met I somehow knew I was in a safe place. At the end of that session Judy gave me a few things. I have none of them now. Among those things was a cassette of "new age" music. I played it a great deal. I lost the cassette a lot of years ago but I've thought of it often because the simple, peaceful music helped me in bad times.

This post has arisen from thinking about that cassette.  I saw some CDs by Medwyn Goodall in a charity shop today.  I have some others by him that I haven't played in while and rather than buying more CDs I wondered if his music could be found on YouTube.  It can.  Lots of it.

And then my brain asked.  "What about that cassette that Judy gave me?  That cassette which stayed with me through that deathly dark period.  It was never released on CD.  But is it on YouTube?"

And yes.  It's there. Yay!  I looked a couple of years ago and it wasn't there but someone uploaded it last summer.  Since then it has received 115 views.  Popular music.  But more so than something else I looked up once.  That had received a total of zero views before I looked at it.

It's simple. It's probably nothing special. But listening to it now takes me back to listening to it then.  It's not the best instrumental music ever created.  And there is background hiss from the transfer from a maybe thirty year old cassette.  But these simple notes and melodies take me right back to a place of comfort in my pain and a place where bright light shone into my blackness.

I am grateful for the cassette. Grateful for Judy. Grateful for White Lodge. Grateful that I didn't die at the age of fifteen. Grateful to be alive.  I am so grateful.

And proud too that I have got this far.  Proud that I have got through all the dark years of self hatred, all the years in which I didn't know whether I would make it.  Proud that in the last few years I have been learning to accept myself.

Annie Locke has a website.  http://www.innerharmoniesmusic.co.uk/  The tracks are available to buy.  It's tempting.  Because they are an important part of my own history.

I bought a book of daily readings today too - for fifty pence - by a woman I had not heard of before coming to White Lodge.  I hastily disposed of her books when I became a Christian.  Unchristian!  Unclean!  Satanic!  [yes, I did used to think that way.]  That woman is Eileen Caddy, one of the founders of the Findhorn Community.  The circle turns, the paths lead to the beginning.  I now have many of the books from my White Lodge days again and approach them from a very different place and perspective than I ever could have done thirty years ago.

Eileen Caddy writes, as part of today's reading:

Do what you know you must do because it is something which has been revealed to you from within, not from without.  Always know from within that what you are doing is right; then you can go right ahead and sweep all obstacles aside with real strength and conviction. Know that I AM your compass, I AM your guide, and I will lead you to your goal, no matter how difficult the path may appear to be.

Now that's a challenge.  But it's one that I am increasingly determined to commit to.

Days of Gratitude - Awesome People, Art, and the Sacred Harp

Catching up.  Another eight days of gratitude.  Except I missed a day because Manchester was so busy and I didn't have time to think of posting.

8^th March

Grateful to be heading to Manchester today to spend a couple of days with Amanda.

We met 200 days ago. When I got up 200 days ago I could not have imagined her, or being so close, or sharing what we share. When I got up 198 days ago I had the hope that a solid, long-lasting friendship would develop. Totally grateful for those days.

 (isn't she awesome?)

10^th March

Grateful that it was five years ago today that we moved to Newcastle. Grateful that we made the crazy move when it wasn't in our list of possible options. I could write lots on why it's been a good move and how many of the good things would have been pretty much impossible had we stayed in North Wales.

These photos were taken just before we left Wales (brown door house) and just after we arrived here.

The kitchen photo is the last taken of me in the old house. The lounge is the first taken of me in the new house. 

It's fair to say I've changed a bit! And that the changes aren't over.

11^th March

Grateful for the awesome time I had in Manchester and for something unexpected that happened.

Grateful though to be home and that this parcel was waiting for me. I have a drum.

12^th March

Grateful for entertaining books received in the last week.

And for the meditation group and lunch today. Hoorah for things that are free!

13^th March

Grateful that, though it was damn hard, I got through this morning's appointment without a full blown panic attack or meltdown. Just.

Grateful for spending rather more money than expected on water colour paints due to the accidental (oops) addition of two lots of pens, water colour pencils, glitter paint, a large glitter set, sketch pad and pencil sharpener that is NOT going to get borrowed and then get lost. Grateful for the masking fluid and paint pens bought yesterday too.

When Clare gets a streak of enthusiasm she over does it!

14^th March

Grateful to see the Tyne and the sea today even if I didn't take many pictures.

Grateful to have been able to put my clothes away tonight having cleared out thirty tops. The wardrobe is still full.

15^th March

Grateful for having the energy and mental well being to get out and sing in the evening. Grateful too for not too many wrong notes even though it's a while since I sang this wonderful stuff. 

For anyone in Newcastle, people sing from this book and sometimes other similar songs every Tuesday evening in the Bridge Hotel from 7.30 to 10.  It's free and there are copies of the book to borrow and sing from too. It's sung in various places across the country - as detailed in this list.  Go on, try it.  You might find a new love and get excited about the sound of it and the experience of singing in such a way.  Or you might hate it.  But that's okay, you won't have spent lots of money finding it out and you'll have still experienced something new.  For some more information about this book and the shape note singing tradition look at http://fasola.org/

I first encountered the book when a man named Robin Fox led a singing school at the Fylde Folk Festival in Fleetwood in the mid 1990s.  I loved it and bought myself the book.  The book then sat on the shelf for a long time as I did not encounter shape note singing again - it doesn't happen near Fleetwood or Bangor.  But not long after we moved here I saw a poster advertising a singing school and since then I've intermittently been singing again.  Hoorah!

2016. Day One. Things For Which I Am Grateful.

It's a new year.  An idea was suggested at the last Sunday Assembly that there would be a facebook group on which people would post pictures each day of things for which they are grateful.  I've signed up and started posting early.  Celebrating our gratitude and the gratitude of others is a good idea.  And in the spirit of that, here's a blog post filled with some of the things for which I am grateful.

2015 was unexpectedly hard for me, perhaps the hardest I've ever had.  That is saying a lot given what's happened in previous years - not least 2013 and 2014 in which I came to terms with my gender, my precious faith fell apart, my dad's health deteriorated rapidly and my mum died of cancer.  In 2015 my mental health has been worse than it has been for a very long time and there have been some awful times.  Awful times.  Many tears.  Near despair.  Meltdowns.  Shutdowns.  Sometimes very publicly.  I am currently on four different waiting lists relating to different aspects of my mental health.  But today I don't want to focus on the bad parts of the year because there has been so much good.

So.  Some positives.  There are many to choose from.  These are just a few.

Autism.

2015 has been the year of accepting myself as autistic, starting to learn what that means for my entire life and for the future.  It's been the year of gaining a lot more self understanding.  It's been very difficult for me but worthwhile.  The way that certain unconscious survival techniques fell apart and I learned what it's like without them has been staggeringly difficult.  But I am glad to know who I am at a base level and to be at the point where I can begin to learn to live as who I am rather than as who I am not.

The process of reading and learning and of examining my entire life has been wild.  It affects pretty much every aspect of how I see my life and of how I should seek to be living it in the future.  And through the year I've found excellent people to read online and then met great people.  That led in August to Autscape, a four day gathering/conference for autistic people.  Such a wonderful time.  My name badge from Autscape hangs by my bed.

Autism will affect the rest of my life.  The hopes for this year include learning a lot more about it, seeking some training in how to help and educate others, to be involved with a network in Newcastle for support, advocacy, campaigning and education and to go back to university and study autism in an academic context.  The hopes for the rest of my life are to live it more fully, as someone who can be wonderfully autistic rather than thinking she is a dysfunctional neurotypical.  There will probably be many surprises.

I could write much about autism and my life, and I'm sure much will be written this year.

The Church.

My faith has seen highs and lows and most of the time I don't particularly believe in a creator God-being.  But church is still a home and the people there have stuck by me through everything - even the time where my mental health was such that I pulled out of leading worship half way through a service in which I was helping lead worship.  I haven't been able to go back to that role or any other role.  I am grateful for what Northern Lights MCC has been in my life for the last two and a half years.

Friends I didn't know a year ago.

In particular:

The autistic friend who helped me accept that I might be autistic after all and helped me get to the point at which I had to face myself.  She also got me to read the first of a series of books that I mention later.  And I am grateful for her company, which is always relaxing because there is open encouragement to be who we are and to accept each other in all our perfect imperfections.

The wonderful Christian friend I met at an atheist gathering.  She is so accepting and has encouraged me consistently to be myself, that it's okay to be me, and has encouraged me to explore creativity.  And she tells me how I've helped her which is great to know.

The wonderful witch friend I met at a day singing Christian songs.  Her company is relaxing and I just know whatever happens time with her won't be predictable.  Case in point:  The day I went for a walk in the country with her and ended up leading a pagan funeral for someone's dog.

The wonderful people who are a part of Autism In Mind, a charity based in Sunderland that does so much excellent work for autistic people and in campaigning and education.

Two of the Blue Babes.  Wonderful people I met at Autscape.  We started a little group to talk (and mainly text) and we've been in contact since.  I hope to see them both before Autscape if I can.  The cat pictured belongs to one of the Babes.

And last, but most definitely not least, the other member of the Blue Babes.  Another wonderful person.  We have become very close and she is massively precious to me.  I am extremely thankful that we met and that we have become what we have become.  I guess I may be writing more about us through the course of this year.  There have been quite a few surprises in the last year but she is the biggest surprise I've had and I am grateful to be surprised in this way.  We love each other so much and are both incredibly thankful that we have each other and can share what we share.

This is Portal.  She made Portal for me.  Portal is named partly because we can't be together much but can be connected by a Portal.  Portal is also named after the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Hearts.  To represent us.  Together.  We love.

One of us is blue.  The other is purple.







Just a few positives.  I could talk of my home, my wife, my child, the way people were understanding when my mental health stopped me doing things that I could really have done with doing.  I could talk of Shape Note singing and the joy of that terrible noise!  I could talk of living in Newcastle which is a place that's been so good to me.  I could talk of playing in the sunshine in the water fountains of the Olympic Park when visiting one of the Blue Babes.

I could talk of encountering Broadacre House, of being able to help with the work for refugees - if only for a brief period of good mental health, of the mindfulness groups I've been to there.  And there will be a Broadacre post sometime - with some of the photos I took wandering round the place a few months ago.  I reckon there will be more unexpected Broadacre things in my life this year.  Here's a collaborative picture a few of us made in a session during the Peace Conference there in September.

I could talk of drinking tea in Tea Sutra.  There was a lot of tea drinking in 2015.

I could talk of the joy of having a concessionary bus pass.  The joy of being able to get to the coast easily, not having to buy a ticket, and seeing sights like this.

I could talk of the way I endlessly find new music to enjoy.  Of how much I like my noise cancelling headphones.  I could talk about how 2015 was the year in which I made my first steps into playing with art and how it looks like that will develop this year.  Art is freedom.  The future can be freedom too.  This is my first art attempt - made for a friend's birthday.

I could talk of spirituality and the exploration in the last year.  Or of the free meditation group, Soul Food Spaces, that I have been introduced to in the autumn.  I could talk about an incredible series of children's books, Skulduggery Pleasant.  (If you haven't read those books, read those books)  And of the first post-Skulduggery book by Derek Landy and how fun the signing evening was when we got him to sign two full sets of his books.

I could talk about how my hormone treatment as a transgender woman is progressing well.  I could talk of how I was able to see a friend again who I hadn't seen since 1988.  I could talk about the fact I've taken more photographs in the last four months than perhaps in the previous forty-four years.  I could talk about how we replaced our very collapsed sofa with a lovely, comfy three piece suite, which cost us £25 plus delivery.

I could talk of so many things.  That's not an exhaustive list.

Yes, 2015 has been one of the most difficult of my life.  But there is so much good.  And today I choose to focus on all that is good.  And a year that starts out surprisingly very different to how the last one began.  There are a lot more challenges.

But I firmly believe that the future will be better than the past.