Blog entry by Alan Chapman
Every Home is Floored
'Every Home is Floored,' is the first, perhaps only published, line from a song that emerged for me a few weeks ago.
It is a pun or double-meaning with the word 'flawed', which means imperfect or spoiled in some way.
Of course everything is flawed, if we consider perfection being absolute flawlessness.
Language depends on agreeing definitions and meanings.
We might describe a sunset as perfect and flawless, which it is in so many ways, and yet it is flawed if we apply geometric or other scientific rules of perfection.
People too are flawed, in infinite ways, and yet in my personal experience the most beautifully perfect people are the ones with the most flaws, such as disfigurements and disabilities, or neurodiversities labelled as illnesses.
People in grief display lots of 'flaws', probably because grief is a traumatic sort of growth that manifests as behaviours and other signs of 'abnormalilty', compared with people not battling to make sense of, and survive through, a grief situation.
Grief is not just when someone dies.
Or when a pet dies.
Grief is the processing of loss.
This can be the loss of a home,
a stage of life,
a limb or eye,
the letting go of a dream or plan,
or an idea or belief,
small or large,
or the letting go of who we are,
who we believed we were.
And so grief is a lot about growth,
from a life we thought we had,
to a life that we now have.
And perhaps the big grief,
is the acceptance and embracing,
that we will die,
and all that this entails,
especially the discussions with those who will grieve for us afterwards.
It is helpful perhaps for some,
to talk about this sooner rather than later,
and certainly before it's too late.
Because if we never talk about this,
then our dying will be more traumatic for those we leave,
when instead we can make our dying a gift of fearlessness.
This isn't easy, especially for younger people,
and especially for people who've become seduced by,
and attracted to,
notions that modern medicine and healthcare,
can keep people alive indefinitely,
or so easily that we need not even think about it.
Follow the money.
In February 2020 I began to destroy my home
Why did I do this?
Having accepted that I do no need to explain this to myself,
I am ready to begin explaining this to anyone else interested:
Notably, how some people can become so 'flawed' -
arising from trauma and grief -
that they become destructive towards themselves,
and/or towards their environment,
which can include people.
A traumatised person,
when he/she can bear the pain no longer quietly and harmlessly,
tends to vent their angst in destructive ways,
if not prevented,
can easily lead to suicide,
or homicide, or both.
Self-harm, and violence directed outwardly,
are obvious steps towards final destruction,
of self, other(s),
after and if personal disintegration,
is so terrible,
that it feels like the hopeless,
(pointlessness of everything, even recovery),
'Feels like' is what we make real in our heads.
'Feels like' is not actually real.
Many thousands in any country,
many hundreds in any city,
know all this very well.
The wanting not to be alive any more.
Not actually wanting to die.
Rather, wanting the pain of life to stop.
I'm far from alone in surviving.
I'm perhaps a rarer example of one who's able to see trauma as growth.
And profound trauma as profound growth.
It's not a competition though,
and it's different for everyone.
Perspective is almost everything.
Mostly, it seems to me,
systemic exploitation and addictions,
big pharma, alcohol, etc.,
persuade the disintegrated,
that a state of numbness,
is the answer.
Each to their own choices.
Although 'informed choice',
and 'educated choice',
are concepts that seem alien,
to those who govern us,
prescribe to us,
sell stuff to us,
Follow the money, as ever.
"This is the systemic terrorising,
of the traumatised and vulnerable,
that we tolerate and support."
We are all on the other side of the divide,
And my words will mean very little,
except perhaps to those who know the path,
the other side of the divide,
because they have walked it,
through the wreckage of a life,
Suicide and homicide and what I was imagining
I'm very comfortable now admitting,
that a few years ago,
quite soon into my disintegration as a man;
quite soon after my bereavement by suicide in 2015,
i.e., the traumatic hanging of my partner Liane,
who'd been my soulmate and bandmate since 2010;
towards the end of a harrowing ten-year divorce,
that began in 2007,
when my ex-wife very understandably found a new partner,
and the divorce completed in 2017;
I thought quite a lot about homicide and suicide,
as being almost plans for my exit from this 'living' world.
It was all just life;
and there was,
Not even her solicitor,
although for me to mention him,
shows that forgiveness is a matter of time,
and letting go the old me,
and what very nearly killed me.
It's just life
It's not about anyone else;
it's just about what in our own heads.
How we see ourselves.
How well we grow,
and especially adapt to life's traumas,
Because success can be the foundations,
of traumas and losses,
if we believe it belongs to us for ever.
it seems good,
that we can disintegrate,
that this is how we grow.
Other paths to peace are available,
but in the end we die.
And to live a life denying this,
seems to me,
part of the systemic terrorising.
What control would banks and big corporations have,
if we all were fearless?
"There is a systemic terrorising,
of the traumatised and vulnerable,
that collectively we all tolerate and support."
It is life.
Every home is floored.
I am lucky to have survived my traumas,
so that I am now slowly rebuilding my destroyed home,
and my destroyed old pre-traumatised self (good).
'Good' that my old pre-traumatised self was destroyed.
He (I) was an ignorant foolish tiny fraction of the man I now am.
I have in my heart and head now a resilience,
that transcends whatever I'd imagined resilience to be,
before the old 'me' was destroyed.
Obviously a phoenix comes to mind,
and butterflies and trees.
It is said,
a tree takes several thousand years,
to walk across a field or forest.
Rather like a flame,
passed from candle to candle.
So, our soul is reborn.
A tree carries the seeds,
as a candle carries the flame.
My destroyed house is slowly being reborn,
as is my soul.
We do not hear the cries of a tree as it dies,
because we do not know how to listen.
We think we understand the wax,
and candlewick and air,
(we do not),
and we know,
we cannot explain the flame.
As we cannot really explain anything.
Except to sense it...
And what are our senses?
And yet the flame will burn us,
or warm us,
or cook our food,
or spark and power our engines.
And the trees will make our houses,
and sustain our breath,
and all we eat.
Flawless and flawed.
When we stand in the fire,
and know the point of the pain,
eventually we become the fire.
Other paths to peace are available.
It is my life that I know the flawed destructive way.
The fire is now my friend.
The devil is the fool, not me.
We make the devil,
in our heads,
because we fear
and his hell,
When they are simply in our heads.
The systemic destruction of the traumatised and vulnerable,
which we all become one day,
one way or another,
is what we make ourselves.
We make the world we live in,
by what we tolerate and support.
So, to love
Love seems the best ideology.
The only collective system that can be trusted.