Flying to another place.













5.30am : Belfast International Airport

I just poured boiling hot tea over my hand in Starbucks.

Matcha Green Tea in a pyramid bag.

I drove through the night watching a huge crescent moon rise like a scythe.

My flight is at 7.45 but there were stories of three hour queues at security.

So I woke to the alarm at 2.45 wondering if I was mad!

How much dearer was the next flight? Or did the time not suit?

I can’t remember.

My eyes burn with grit.


My friend’s mother died yesterday.


Six long weeks of dying.

Or living another day.

“Your Mum doesn’t have cancer any more.” I told her.

“Nor pain, nor worry.” she said


I put Reiki into my hand.

Which symbol is for a burn?

I try Hosanna for clearing, but it doesn’t seem right.

I can feel my body’s reaction to the scalding water.

Defend! Repair!

How tender we are.

How vulnerable.


I notice the barista hasn’t written my name on the cup.

Just an M.

M for Mary, Moira, Mum. My mother’s many names.

Emmm for “I don’t know.”

Emmm for “Let me think.”

“What is it I should say?”

“What is it you want to hear?”


I blow Reiki into my hand and think about the moon.

A scythe.

Cutting down the dying in me.

The need to please.

To be acceptable.

The need to be careful.

Not get burned.


The ice has helped.

The Barista was kind to get it for me right away.

He knew the importance of time.

The burning has eased.

Hosanna and ice worked together.

Maybe getting burned isn’t so bad.

If you ask for help.



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