Nige

I think everyone deserves a friend like Nige.

Nige is a mighty companion. (He is my tea companion, too; we must have drunk gallons of the stuff together - green, Earl Grey, or simply the breakfast kind.)

I could probably write about him for days, but I will restrict myself. What I will tell you is that he is a gifted actor (here he is, playing the Bedlam, an autistic, crippled beggar, in "The Roses of Eyam" back in July). He is also an incredible photographer, a powerful group facilitator, a funny writer, and an inspirational personal trainer, previously a natural bodybuilder. For an insight into the man from his own perspective, take a look at his blog - Rebel with a Cause.

I am not exaggerating one iota when I say that from the moment I saw Nige, I felt something akin to an electrical charge between us (he didn't look like this when I met him!). A split second of eye-contact, and I knew that I could easily fall in love with this man. For the first few years, Nige was a group facilitator and I a participant in A Course in Miracles-based experiential process group; for that reason, and also because he was in a committed relationship at the time, our relationship had a very different form to the one it does today. Indeed, some days, I still have to pinch myself to check that I am not dreaming, that this man is actually in love with me.

The work he did with me in those first three years, I will be grateful for always. His presence, his skill and his ability to allow himself to be of service resulted in many, many miraculous moments in that small room above the Victoria pub in Paddington.

Fast forward from 2004 to 2010, and this evening, I am at home, and Nigel Atkinson, my best friend and boyfriend (!!) is treading the boards at his local theatre company. Go Nige! I am so proud of him. I have decided to write and dedicate a blog post to him, because my heart tells me to.

Sometimes I think that in a way, each one of us is just like the wounded, shellshocked soldier Nige is playing in "My Boy Jack" at the theatre tonight. We are deeply affected by the things we have seen, the places we have been to in our minds and hearts, and the ways we keep encountering our deepest fears. Stop for a moment and ponder on this - does it not seem strangely coincidental to you that the same situations keep arising in your life, time and again? It seems that no matter how hard we try to avoid our wounds or pretend they don't exist, attempting to buck up and be strong, they simply keep reappearing, taking on countless different forms. Thankfully, I am surrounded by people who are learning to soften and surrender around their wounds, and are paving a new way, learning a different way to live.


The concept we are given by the world of what it means to be strong and have our shit together is flawed; we think that we have to brace ourselves against the world, against all the potential threats out there, against all the hurt, deception, evil and betrayal that lies snapping at our heels, waiting for our first moment of vulnerability before attacking us, sinking its claws into our flesh, tearing our very safety apart. I read a great line the other day by Stephen Levine, who says that the people who act like they've got their shit together are usually the ones standing in it.

To protect ourselves, and to try (futilely) to get rid of our own sense of guilt and shame, we fight back. The ego mind believes that if only it points the finger and lays the blame somewhere else, it will be gone from within us - the battleground will have moved location.

So, we fight. We fight anyone and anything: the state (bastard politicians); prejudice and injustice (protesting and signing petitions); we fight policies and procedures, things happening in the world, pretty much anything that somebody else is doing (have you every listened to Jeremy Vine's show on BBC Radio 2?). This morning, I returned from a run only to notice that the local council are putting an additional lamp post on the street where I live, between two trees so it will hardly make any difference, and I ranted out loud, "What a f**king stupid place to put a lamp post!" The ego will get its satisfaction any way it can: I mean, really - lamp posts?! Have I nothing better to focus my energy on?

Even sadder, we fight ourselves, harming and damaging the bodies we were born in; we fight our mothers, our brothers, our children, and especially, our husbands, wives and partners - if not overtly, then covertly.

It may appear that I digress, but I haven't: the reason I write that I think everyone deserves a Nige in their life is because Nige is a true friend to me. He doesn't join in when I slag off the world, but asks me questions to help me see my part, my side of the street, my 50%. He knows that I am bigger than all my ranting and raving. He also knows that the tantrums I throw are cries for love, God love him.

Nige's presence in my life - and mine in his - reminds me that I cannot ever, ever make another person change - no matter how much I yell or shame or point the finger at or persuade or cajole or encourage them - but I can make a different choice for myself. Nige's friendship means that he will support me in doing the work I need to do to forgive, but will not join me in bitching about every him, her, this or that. That to me is true friendship. It's not always pleasant or comfortable, but I know that while Nige might outright challenge me, he really has my peace of mind at heart, and I (usually) trust that he sees my innocence in the middle of it all.

Oh, and do you know what else? He is so much fun! We ride bikes together, we dance, we giggle, we listen to great music (what a collection he has!). We go on daytrips to places like Newhaven Fort, we go to the cinema, we stop to smell the late blooming roses in his garden, we hunt for shells on the beach, we go on epic roadtrips in Winston (his car), we meditate together, we read the Course, we make sweet love, we eat brown rice, we plan adventures, we dream dreams, we massage each other's shoulders, we sometimes even go to the gym together. Nige is creative, eccentric, and captivating. He is so much more besides, too. I absolutely love being around him (except for when I find him annoying, and that is when the above paragraphs really come into play).

He and I also try to give each other "a soft place to land". This is a phrase that Nige uses a lot. To me, a soft place to land means a place of safety and gentleness. There have been lots of occasions in the last couple of years when, world weary, I have projected my mum or my dad onto Nige, resulting in our relationship being another place of discomfort, reminding me all too much of my childhood abandonment experiences.

To maintain the softness, it's essential that I keep accountable for my thoughts and feelings, doing whatever I need to do to make that happen. Sometimes I need time alone. Sometimes, a clearing process (a 20 minute four-step process of fully owning and exposing the ego mind, the wounded child and the mistaken beliefs in order to return to a place of love and peace). I might need a run, or a sleep, or simply to connect. When I connect, the illusions, the thoughts, the lies I have been so emphatically pervading, all fall away, and I'm left with a person in front of me, who despite everything, is still 'ere, still hanging in there for me, still seeing my innocence.

The ego is, ACIM says, "suspicious at best, and vicious at worst". Left to its own devices, it quickly instills misery and a vast sense of separation into my life, into my very being. Having Nige as my friend is a beautiful gift and sure evidence that only the love is real in any situation.

I hope we walk together for many years to come.