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Anne Townsend

@ Sunday Times Books LIVE

A Permission Slip from the Head Prefect

IMG_0076Shred the (unwritten, unconscious) contracts.

That’s pretty much the sum of it. Go on then.

Rip.

Rip.

Rip.

Those family contracts you inherited, without your consent?

Rip the fuckers. Or, if you have a gorgeous garden, like I do?

Burn the sh-t.

The Secrets. The Pacts. The Lies. The ‘Keep it in The Family’?

Here’s your permission slip. I wrote it. You earned it. Use it, today.

These contracts no longer apply. Stop protecting your friends, your exes, your relatives, stop protecting people who behaved poorly.

Forgive them, if you like, but stop protecting other people’s poor choices.

The permission slip erases the contracts you signed, in blood.

It gives you permission to write or shout or memoir the secrets you keep.

It gives you permission to design your own rituals to nullify those contracts.

‘Don’t wash our dirty linen in public’, the thrice cheater told me.

Those contracts only benefit the bull shitters. They no longer apply to us.

So, not only as an elder, but as the head prefect, I give you this, in bold.

The truth has to be invited home.

The truth will be the home-coming you need.

The truth is scared and muted and avoidant but it’s still alive, waiting for the permission slip I just donated to you.

Don’t waste the rest of your life. The truth is the soul mate you never had.

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images of pixel (my neighbour’s cat) by anne townsend

 

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