Do not try to wrap me
with your perfect edges.
Boxes are not for me,
the wind,
the stars that burst
through time,
through space,
through you.
I am all.
Do not limit me
with your unknowing.
Author: brookecutler2
Liver of life, lover of everything. 💕
But there you are, darling softness.
Keeper of my hopes, dreamer of my dreams.
How do you hold my heart, this night?
Full of dear, sweet memories.
Full of dear, dear
days and nights gone by.
Categories
Let It Become
It is a softness that wanders the fields with me.
Everywhere I go, it is there, sending me off on my uncertain way.
Sometimes, I feel like a small bird, left to battle the raging storms of life.
I do not fight this softness. I only seek to know it well (though sometimes I wish it were a tiger, fierce and free.)
It is me and I am it, this softness of heart.
Let it become.
Categories
As You Are
There is no need to be fearful
of the ‘not enough’.
Of the
too different to fit in,
to be chosen.
You are who you are,
and you will rise as you will rise.
Take care
and wander with head held high.
As you are.
To become
you
again
and again.
Categories
Someone, Somewhere
Beneath the surface,
gripped by the ripples
of life gone by.
It is a sad softness, and there are cold
lashes of fear, set into the marrow
of my bones.
Take this tender heart, I whisper.
To someone.
Somewhere.
I mourn
the turning of time.
Shall I clutch at the moment,
or the passing days gone by?
Or shall I be free
to stroll the fields, with you?
Free to know the wind
as an ever changing friend.
I am a child of the wind.
My bare skin knows the beauty of this life, and yet, within these soft walls, I am bare.
How heavy it is to hold this uncertain hand of mine.
Sometimes.
Categories
Quietly Contemplating
I’m an explosion of heart. Tender and soft, especially of late. Quietly contemplating, missing the people I love, whispering a subtle question to the world of nothing around me.
Where am I going, and who am I? So much of me has become new. It is a sure sign that there is no fixed identity, as much as we cling to who we think we are and tell our stories until well beyond their used by date.
I nurse a quiet hope in my heart that, someday, I will have crossed a bridge between not knowing and finally knowing life and its meaning.
Life is a journey, this much I know.
Life is a teacher, of this I am also certain.
This understanding is, in itself, a beautiful thing.
Can I let go fully, though, and allow life to happen effortlessly, and without a care?
I ask the small voice of my heart, and she smiles in response.
I know nothing of what that smile means.
Not yet, anyway.
There is a quiet, here.
My husband is away, so it’s just me and our sleeping children beneath this roof. In this room, it’s just me and my heart quietly whispering away. What is she saying? I’m not entirely sure.
She’s telling me I worry too much.
That I should remember the wind and her sweet softness. How peacefully she blows, without a thought, without a care or question.
She’s telling me she sees me. That even though, sometimes, life’s tenderness swells to the point of overflowing…I’ll always be okay. My tears could fill an ocean some days. After they fall, though, everything seems a little brighter than it did before, and a little softer, perhaps.
I do like the softness very much.
It feels like peace, it feels like calm, it feels like love.
I am only me.
I am only here in this small body, with this small, helpless voice calling out.
I reach out to hold them in pain, while others seek to tear them down.
What are we doing, in the name of the law?
What is the law?
What is punishment at the highest level?
Isn’t it the feelings of heartache, guilt, shame, loss, that arise as the natural consequences of our mistakes? Do we need to drive the pain and the self-hatred into them more by casting them out and throwing away the key?
My heart breaks for those who have lost their way, who have committed an accidental crime for which they must pay a heavy price.
Why can we not hold them deeper?
Why can we not see their pain and feel it so deeply in our bones that rehabilitation is our only wish for them?
I could roar with this anger within.
It is why I wrote the post I deleted last night.
A man who’d been jailed for causing an accident that killed a child. He was a fool. He made an impulsive mistake, driven by ego.
And now the law stands, throwing stones at him until his soul is dead.
His soul is already broken beyond measure.
The child he accidentally killed was his Son.
How can they not see that this man could be their own Son?
How can they not see that we should be holding him through this tragic, tragic day?
brooke-cutler.com 