Categories
Healing

Healing Pieces

They were tears like rain. The sort of rain that brings your soul to life as you feel it hard and cold on your skin. Refreshing. Beautiful and nourishing, were those plentiful tears of mine.

I was meditating. It was early afternoon and the baby was sleeping. I’d set the intention to heal my heart, and to clear whatever stuck energy might be blocking me from achieving my highest purpose in life.

I still don’t know what the exact blockages were/are.

But I know that by the end of the meditation, I understood why several of the most heartbreaking things that have happened in my life had to happen. And that they had to happen so that not only I would grow in love, but also, so that others might grow in love, too.

Isn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard? Firstly that this sort of divine intelligence lies within the very skin we wear. But also, that even the bad things in life serve their specific purposes for the good of universal evolution.

Of course, I could have been making it all up.

Of course I could have been.

But the tears that smashed down my neck and the knowing smile that lit my whole being told me otherwise.

We are a tapestry. Not one of us leaves the quilt without touching another.

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Categories
Life

Chamomile

The word sipping is very pretty, isn’t it? Delicate, like the action it shows. I can see a small pair of hands, a little tea cup beside a little light. And I know it is home.

I know it is me.

I’m sipping chamomile tea and wishing to be held like this more often. Wishing to be seen in the softness, wishing to share it and have others agree it is a beautiful softness we feel.

Tea is like that. Delicate, like the first breeze of spring, like the bunnies that graze by the river, in the evening. It sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? An unreal imagining, only it’s true.

And so, so beautiful as the delicate rolls all around me.

I have been struggling more than usual over the past few months. Missing the beautiful flow I found a while back, and yet also feeling the embers of momentum begin to burn within me once more.

I wake each morning at 6 and I meditate, followed by yoga if I can fit it in. This is holding myself and my family as best as I can, with love.

I’m proud of myself for giving myself and my family these gifts.

If only a beautiful sun would light the rest of my world, so I could see clearly the path ahead. I forget myself so easily. What I love. Who I am. Each step is as sure as it should be. Why is it I continue to search for relief on the horizon?

I am home.

Let me stay here.

Let me fall into this beautiful sweet depth, forever.

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Categories
Poetry

She Remembers

How my soul asks to be held.

How she breathes

the cotton thoughts of yesterday

through the trees

as she remembers.

Categories
Poetry

Perhaps

Perhaps

you might ask your heart what it wants.

Perhaps

you might listen.

Perhaps.

Categories
Life

For The Birds

The birds are home and so am I.

I could say they are noisy, but they are not really noisy. They are only noisy if I think of them in relation to my world.

On their own, they are just who and what they are.

Birds.

Chirping, squawking birds.

I’ve deleted another of my posts (those of you who have been around for a while will know I have done this, from time to time) because the energy of the post didn’t feel like my truth.

It felt like the underside of my world. It felt like the dark parts of me, not my sunshine.

I choose only to shine on this world, when I can help it.

In the post I deleted, I spoke of scammers and manipulation, and where I have felt victimised as a woman in the past. These pains, I know, are real, and they will live within me and walk beside me in everything I do.

But they are not who I am. And the ways I have been victimised are not the people who have hurt me, either.

I see those who have bullied me, taken advantage of me, used or abused me, but I see the pain within them more. They have been small children, hurt by something in life, desperate to cover that pain with a bandaid.

Who am I to blame them when I am the bearer of the very same wounds that scar them?

I will try for the birds, to allow them to be.

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Categories
14 Day Creative Challenge

Sun and Moon and The Dusty Fridge of the Sky

As he spun his web of gold around the evening, Sun smiled on the river children, below. Oh, how they splashed and cackled and loved!

What would Moon think of this beauty, Sun wondered, knowing how his dear and sleepy friend ached for the pain of the humans. This sight would surely glimmer her into a new and cheerful day!

But where was Moon?

Not dangling upon the cherry trees, nor casting a shimmering trail along the rivers’ edge. Tonight, Moon was tidying the evening sky, waiting for the river children to fall tired, and find their sleepy ways.

‘But Moon!’ said Sun, ‘The humans are smiling, look at them! Each of them laughing all along the shore!’

Moon put her quiet finger to her lips. Gently, without changing the calm expression on her face, she pointed to a patch of earth, darkened with gloom.

‘Oh, Moon,’ said Sun, heart broken as he spotted a small child, among the darkness, sad, cold and alone.

‘The others don’t know about him, Sun. They can only see what shines upon their day. This little boy needs me, Sun. I see him. I am ready.’

And with her words of calm and compassion, Moon spun a ball of silvery blue and cast it upon the lone boy of the earth. The boy, who had previously been lost in a puddle of tears, caught sight of Moon’s shine in the pool at his feet.

‘Look, Moon! He’s not crying anymore!’ shouted Sun, like a ball bounding along the open horizon at daybreak.

‘No, Sun. I don’t suppose he is,’ Moon smiled, wiping the last of the cobwebs off the dusty fridge of the sky.

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Categories
14 Day Creative Challenge

Golden Light

She holds my hand and walks me home

while rabid dogs do lie,

she takes each ache, and wraps them dear

though fear, old foe, won’t die.

Her seeds of goodness, daily, sprout

she guides my heart by day,

the softest wind, she whispers me,

her sun the warmest ray.

And with this peace, I lay her tune

I sing her through the night,

oh, softness, take, me home again,

sweet angel, golden light.

***

When I believed in angels, a golden one would shine.

And I would see her face in the dark of my mind, always smiling, always soft and sweet and dear.

And she would hold me through this life, the golden one, when I was broken, lost or bruised.

I wish I still believed in angels.

I wish I still believed.

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Categories
14 Day Creative Challenge

The Unfortunate Story of A Large Dog.

The German Shepherd changed things. She considered revenge, but then, he had always nurtured a sick fantasy of being mistreated by women. How inconvenient life could be at times.

Still. He had known she would only consider small dogs, and so, it was absolute that he must pay. The unfortunate event would be dressed as an accident. She would smile politely as a fall occurred.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months without a glimpse of opportunity. No staircase to fumble him down, no veranda step to miss at the expense of his face. It was odd. And yet, she remained vigilant, eyes wide open to any subtle clue that the Gods of revenge were ready to offer a hand in support.

The dog, whose name was Bart or Simpson (or something vulgar) was really rather sweet, which became confusing. It was as if a thorn in her thumb had become a familiar, almost welcome, friend; the sting long gone. All that remained was the dog, and her aloof husband who, for some reason, was acting a jealous fool of the dog and her joyous embrace of his overly large paws.

She would think on his odd behaviour again, in the morning. Or now, perhaps, as the Nurse set her cast for the third time in three weeks and told the same old story.

How unfortunate that the nurse had also fallen down the stairs in that very same year.

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Categories
14 Day Creative Challenge

Charlotte’s Web. and why I am me because of it.

Perception is a vastly misunderstood word, I think, because, for the most part, we use it in very one dimensional terms. It looks like that man over there is grumpy. It sounds like he is, too, given he’s just yelled at the mail man.

But have we been underestimating the truth of what it is to be human? Are we forgetting to tap into the depth that lies beneath the known? Our five senses really only begin to explain to us the absolute vastness that is the universe within and around us.

And Charlotte’s Web helps me to know this truth, in my own life.

Because I feel it. Every word, every meaning, every heartbeat of its beautiful flow…I feel it within, like a gentle wave, like a Mother’s touch. The subtle energy of the book tells me everything I need to know about it, and me, and who I have become because of it.That, to me, is profound and beautiful. And really rather magical, when I think about it.

The energy of Charlotte’s web (or, perhaps you might like to think of it as the ‘voice’ or ‘essence’ of the writer) is soft, gentle and wise. It makes me feel safe in a very real sense. It holds me in an invisible world that I only know because of my relationship with what lies beneath the words.

Such is the power of a beautifully written book.

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Categories
14 Day Creative Challenge

14 Day Creative Challenge

My beautiful bloggy friends.

Let’s do this. xx

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All my love,

Brooke ❤️☀️