Categories
Life

Thank You

I was in tears this morning, bouncing on my fit ball in front of the TV at my new favourite time of day (4AM).

I was watching the world news.

Small children were being handed over a fence to soldiers at the airport in Kabul, thankfully with no idea there is a better life for them out there somewhere.

And then there was me.

So small in the world, thinking of my own beautiful children tucked neatly, safely, away in their cosy beds.

I felt helpless.

I wanted to take all those beautiful people in Afghanistan under my wing and hold them there for a while.

I couldn’t.

I have no control over the mental state of the terrorists of the world, or the mental state of their fathers before them. Fathers who were taught by their fathers that love looked like fear. Fathers who passed this very fear onto their sons, and so on.

I have no control over the pain of these poor darling humans in Afghanistan, just trying to live.

But I have this blog.

I have my words and I have my heart.

And maybe I can’t make a difference for those poor people, but if you are reading this, and feeling in need of some love…I can make a difference to you.

So here I say this:

Thank you for being alive.

For being unique and wonderful you.

For being human enough to have bad days.

And for the strength I know you’ll find tomorrow.

I hope today is beautiful for you and I hope you remember the sun isn’t far away if it’s not.

Because even when the darkness of the world takes over, there is always something beautiful to find among the rubble.

This is my reminder to myself.

And this is my love letter to you.

So much love and strength to you all, my beautiful bloggy friends.

Thank you for being such a big part of my sun for so many of my days.

And so, life goes on.

xx Brooke

Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

To Be

I’ve come to realise that creativity is just the art and flow of being yourself. There’s really not a lot more to it than that.

At its core, creativity seems to be made of the absolute depth of who we are. And the depth of who we are is always waiting, somewhere beneath the surface, to be shared in its most resonant form. (I believe this is true for every human being. Not just those who are considered creative types.)

For me, the purest form my creativity takes is music. My voice, in particular, seems an extension of the calming, soothing essence that naturally seems to spill from the deep, internal parts of me…and so my music always does seem to reappear in my life, no matter how far I stray from it.

For a lot of years I judged myself (my voice, my performance capabilities) based on what others were doing with their own musical talents. Somewhere in my teen years I grabbed a hold of the idea that, although my talent was constantly being validated, I didn’t have a voice that could compare to a real singer. According to young human me, real singers had a range that reached far beyond the heights that my limited range could. Real singers were perfect, never to stray a note in pitch at all.

How sweet it is to have found the most beautiful new gift of evolved perspective when it comes to my music: that being…my music is my essence. Unique and beautiful, and only mine, never to be compared to any other. My voice and my music are here to achieve their own purpose. And this purpose has nothing to do with an out of this world range or perfectly crafted technique.

There may be singers who use a wider range of skills to express their musical essence in order to thrill…but to thrill is not what I am here for. I am here to express the depths of my heart. I am here to heal with my voice and perhaps to bring peace, calm and emotion to those who connect with my music, writing and creativity. How beautiful, to finally come to know this of myself.

And so I continue to release my musical essence as it is.

No more excuses.

No more foolish voice within trying to compare my musical self with others.

They are all beautiful fruits to be savoured and cherished in the fruit bowl of musical life. I am a different fruit, who finally understands that apples and oranges never will compare.

Photo by Skitterphoto on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

Waiting For Baby Again

Eight years ago it was, when I sat on the couch, a day before my 30th birthday, suspecting today might be the day I’d meet my very first baby.

There was a muslei bar involved. Four AM insomnia. And I suppose there must have been some sort of mild lower belly/back discomfort that had me thinking this particular morning might be different to other mornings. Waiting for baby. How epic a wait it had become.

Today, I sit upon the couch once more, again at an extraordinary hour, again watching the morning show and dealing with certain pregnancy discomforts. I am smiling quietly as I think of the years to come where I will reflect on the days I once ‘waited for baby’. Usually eating something grainy. Usually at ridiculous o’ clock.

I’m nearly 38 weeks pregnant, now, so it’s lovely to think that baby will be with us any time from now on. Just when it will join us is the greatest of mysteries and, I suppose, one of the most beautiful of life’s epic frustrations. It is one of the many times in a woman’s life where she is utterly out of control, and all that truly can be done to remedy the pain of resistance is relax and let it be. Let it be. It’s not an easy concept for a human mind to grasp, is it, and yet here I am. Having to give it my very best shot.

It’s come at the heals of a good few years of learning to ‘let it be’. Learning to release control and understand that life is only ever what it is, as opposed to what I always thought it was meant to be. What I often try too hard to make it.

I’m tired. I don’t know when I’ll meet this baby, I just don’t know.

But I do know I’m about to roll back into bed for the morning, which will be lovely.

I do know that first breakfast was lovely, and second breakfast (‘I don’t think they know about second breakfast, Pip’) will likely be wonderful, too.

Either way, I’m certain I’ll look back at this uncontrollable life, fondly.

The days I waited for my sweet, sweet babies to come with such frustration and desperation.

The days life happened sneakily in the background while I waited for something else to arrive.

Photo by Tatiana Syrikova on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Unleash

It’s time

to unleash

my soul.

Categories
Poetry

Someone Is Fighting

Wherever I look,

someone is fighting.

It hurts the softness of me,

this world.

It takes and takes the peace

and I am so afraid to be torn apart

by another day of humanity.

The carnival of dark and dense

dis-ease.

Wherever I look

someone is fighting.

When will enough be enough?

Categories
Life

The Way It Was

How beautiful.

I’ve just had the most soul shining few hours.

First: meditation. The deepest pains of the past rising to the surface, drawing all of my softness to me. An exploration of times where my life showed me the absolute worst of humanity. The true aches of life.

Second: I randomly found myself scrolling through old photos on my computer. Photos of the most beautiful moments life has ever given me. Reminders of the whole hearted joy I’ve been privileged to have experienced in this life of mine.

Do you think this turn of events was an accident?

Do you think my two seperate adventures through memories gone by was an accident?

I don’t. I think it was meant to be. The whole picture in view for me to see, back to back.

Good.

Bad.

All of it: my life.

All of it perfect, just the way it was.

Photo by Elizaveta Dushechkina on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

The Perfection of Life

The perfection of life is beyond the boundaries of good and bad, sad or happy.

2015. My fourth miscarriage. The loss of pregnancy at ten weeks.

The doctor looked into my soul and told me, ‘I know the obstetrician for you. Here are his details. If this was happening to my sister, I would be telling her the very same thing. Go to this man. He will treat you beautifully.’

Love.

Held by a stranger, through pain.

Never be afraid of the fullness of life.

Never be afraid to love beyond it all.

Photo by jasmin chew on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

The River I Am

The river I am.

I fall in love with the next creative thing,

and there I stay for a while (but not forever.)

When I create, I flow, I cannot be boxed.

I am sometimes a writer. Sometimes a musician. Sometimes a painter. Sometimes a poet.

But I am never just one thing, not for too long.

I am the river I am.

Always drifting, always changing.

Not neat and tidy (how hard it is for them to understand.)

Just the river I am the river I am.

The river I am.

Photo by Kamil Rybarski on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Choosing Better

The darkness of life is a wonderful teacher.

I’ve been there a time or two,

and now I say, ‘no’.

Lovingly,

with fire and ice,

I say no.

No, thank you.

No. Thank you,

no more.

Such a lovely relief,

the roaring breath of certainty.

The trust of a self who deserves better

than they have given.

My worth is here to stay.

My love is mine to give,

not theirs to take, and take

and take.

Let others play in the dark rooms of maddening life.

Let this girl fly,

a darling wonder,

into the sun beyond it all.

Safe.

Loved.

And perfectly capable of asking for love,

respect

and home.

Home.

How beautiful it feels

to finally tell them I am home.

Photo by NEOSiAM 2021 on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

Peace and Drama

The sky is marble grey and it is raining.

It is so very lovely. Peaceful if I were to give it a word.

And here I am, relaxing my way through another afternoon of life in the 35th week of pregnancy.

I had a rather large shock, today. We all did, actually, including baby, I’d imagine…which was partly what made the shock ever more shocking to me.

It all began with the sound of water splashing about in the laundry. An unfamiliar sound, which instantly raised alarm bells (isn’t the human brain completely brilliant? How it records the predictability of life so thoroughly that any change to the norm has it asking questions. Prodding for investigation.)

I rushed in to see if my suspicions of unusual laundry activity were valid. They were. The sink had flooded and water was spilling onto the tiles; an unwelcome flood, indeed. After fishing out the gunk that had somehow blocked the plug hole, I began the clean up efforts. One towel, two towel, three towels and that would do it.

Then it happened. I slipped, as if on a comical banana peel, on a puddle of water that had very cheekily pooled in the door way, and in moments I was on my bottom. Shocked. And extremely worried about the little baby inside me who, no doubt, felt a great big jolt at the moment my full weight struck the ground.

There were tears of fright as I relayed the scene to my very calm and wonderful husband. We both agreed. I would visit the hospital, to make sure bub was still travelling okay. I waddled up to the birth suite and met with the midwife (a lovely, gentle, kind one: aren’t they the best sort?) who directed me into the monitoring room, with a soft voice, and began the usual monitoring procedures.

Two bands around the belly to check for contractions and baby heart beat. One clamp on my finger to monitor my own internal state. And there I would stay, just for a little while, to make sure there was no sudden decline in baby’s health due to the fall.

Thankfully, bubby passed the test with flying colours, and here I am on the couch: so grateful for the beautiful, supportive health care system I have access to at any time, for free, during my pregnancy. Bubs is boofing away on the inside. Rascal one and two are quietly doing their thing on the outside. Everything is good again.

Although, my goodness, I do wish the drama might pipe down a bit.

I’d just like a few extra weeks. No falls, no unusual contractions.

Just me.

Just hubby,

kiddies,

bubby.

Just a sweet, calm breeze, wishing us merrily on our way, again.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com