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Experiences of Height and Depth

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Last weekend I wrote a story. It was a half hour exercise on my final play therapy training weekend in London, using my own painting from the previous half hour exercise as a stimulus: As I read it back to myself, I noticed the elements of height and depth, of which I hadn't been conscious as I wrote. Today I went on an unusual walk which also caused me to notice height and depth, so I decided to write a rare blog post consisting of my story followed by an audio visual account of my walk.    I am Walter. A water molecule. Ancient, older than the hills. Eternal, indestructible. H2O transformed over and over. Today I am surrounded by a dark loamy soil deep in the earth in a pine forest. I fell here some weeks ago and sank down deep, into a cool haven, free from the threat of evaporation for the time being. Not in a puddle for children to stamp in, just sunk down, deep and dark. I do sense a gently upward tugging though, and as the days go past I am drawn to the roots of on...

Pasaka par mazo koka karoti

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Reiz sen senos laikos dzīvoja kāda maza koka karote. Tā dzīvoja lielā atvilktnē, skaistā , siltā virtuvē, kopā ar citām koka karotēm, kuras piederēja Laipnajai saimniecei. Laipnā saimniece katru dienu cepa kūkas, lietojot savas koka karotes maisīšanai, jaukšanai un mīklas noņemšanai vienai no otras, mainot tās pēc vajadzības. Tā viņa laimīgi darbojās pa virtuvi. Koka karotei patika būt vienai no komandas. Tas bija lieliski un jautri – gatavot gardās kūkas, kad Laipnā saimniece sāka rosīties, un visas karotes palīdzēja cita citai. Tā bija brīnišķīga sajūta, kad viņas stiprais koka kāts grozījās un kustējās dažādos virzienos, maisot mīklu. Karote jutās Laipnās saimnieces pasargāta un mīlēta, nekad neuztraucoties par to, kā kūkas izveidosies, jo viņa zināja, ka Laipnā saimniece visu kontrolē. Kādu dienu pie durvīm klauvēja Laipnās saimnieces kaimiņiene. Viņa vēlējās aizņemties koka karoti, lai īsā laikā pagatavotu daudz kūku - tam bija nepieciešami papildus instrumenti. Laipnā saimnie...

The Little Blue Marble

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This was another warm-up exercise in which we were given a bag containing six objects, all of which had to appear in our story. The Little Blue Marble jostled for space amongst all the other marbles in the bag. He was SO FED UP with being stuck in the boring black and white bag with all the other marbles. They were so dumb! They thought they were something special. Some were bigger than him. They bumped him around and never even noticed that they'd hurt him. Others were very shiny and beautiful, always polishing themselves and going on about how lovely they looked. Others were were very bright, loud colours and considered themselves more valuable and important than all the rest. The Little Blue Marble thought life very dull and boring, stuck in the bottom of the bag. One day he noticed a little hole had split open in the bottom of the bag. He wiggled around in the seam, wiggling and wiggling until eventually the hole was big enough for him to jump out. BANG! He landed on a har...

Bank Holiday Monday in Brighton

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This story was written as a warm-up exercise at a training session in therapeutic storytelling. We had to choose a postcard and write a story with a main protagonist, a beginning, middle and end. so here it is: Bank Holiday Monday - at last! I am desperate for a whole day of relaxation, switching off, chilling out. I've been working so hard - all the hours God sends at my desk at a leading City insurance company. At age 50 I need to keep proving my worth to the bosses. I dread the 'invitation' to take early retirement and be put out to grass. My wife loves my salary. Always out shopping. Today we've come down to Brighton on the train. She has met up with some cronies of hers and gone off to shop the boutiques in the Lanes, high heels going clackety clack and shrill voices chattering nineteen to the dozen.  I, however, have ambled down to the seafront, breathing in the salty air, listening to the rhythm of the waves, the swoosh as the pebbles surge back and forth, t...

The Little Wooden Spoon

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I wrote this story during a therapeutic storytelling training session for all those children who find it hard to get started on schoolwork because they are afraid it won't turn out perfect. Thank you to Madara Molnika for beautiful illustrations and for the Latvian translation, which you can read here . Once upon a time there was a Little Wooden Spoon. She lived in a big drawer in a lovely warm kitchen with all the other wooden spoons that belonged to the Smiley Cook. The Smiley Cook would bake cakes all day long, using all of her spoons for stirring, mixing and scraping batter off each other, swapping from one to the other as she moved happily around her kitchen. The Little Wooden Spoon loved being part of the team. When the Smiley Cook was in charge, and all the spoons were helping each other, it was great fun to make such delicious cakes. She enjoyed the feeling of her strong wooden handle turning and twisting this way and that as she stirred the batter. She felt safe and lo...