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.
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.
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?
I’ve done it again.
I’ve pressed delete.
Any words that might hurt another, even if they are my truth, cannot stay here.
And though the post I’ve just deleted feels right from my perspective…there is the potential that it may hurt certain people either close to the story or who have opposing views.
And so it is: delete.
It’s my way.
To care.
So let this truth be for my heart only.
And I will send love into the world, to take its place.
How my heart breaks when I think of it. The moment I was curled up on the hospital bed, weeping in my husbands arms, just absolutely sobbing with fear as the two doctors stood by, helpless to my tears.
Only moments earlier the male doctor had told me I was fine.
An hour or so earlier the female doctor had done the same thing.
And yet I wasn’t fine, my body was alive with movement. And in that moment, on that bed, all I could do was cry for the absolute terror of it. The absolute helplessness I felt in the face of what, to me, was one of the most frightening moments of my life.
I have experienced heart palpitations on and off for as long as I remember, they are not foreign to me. I know the blips. I know the sort of big, and a little scary ones.
But none of them have been like this. I called the ambulance. For myself. None of them had been like this.
They tell me: this is what anxiety does. Anxiety causes heart palpitations, and panic attacks. Apparently it was one of those.
But still, it frightened me.
It frightened me into an awareness that I wasn’t aware of before.
I am afraid of dying. If you’d asked me if I was afraid of dying three weeks ago I would have said, no, absolutely not.
But when my heart went to loopy land and energy shot straight from my heart up my throat, things changed. I have seen that fear, now, and there is nothing for me to do but honour it as best as I can.
I’ve cleaned up my diet, entirely.
I’ll need to look into ways of removing as much stress from my life as possible.
And also, I’m really quite open to believing that this episode has a great deal to do with where my energy healing journey is at. Trying to explain to Western doctors that energy moves within my body, though, is like trying to explain the housing market to a fish.
And so I’m on my own, largely, on this journey.
They tell me my heart is well. They tell me my health is perfect.
This is good.
Now, all that is left to do is live my best life, and hold my beautiful fear in the palm of my hand.
I have you, fear. It’s okay.
I have you. xx
It is a softness that becomes me, and I am gone.
Lately I am understanding more and more about this mysterious creative force that takes me, and yet, truly, I understand nothing. I know it uses me in ways I cannot comprehend. I know it takes my body and dances me.
Makes me write, makes me draw, makes me love.
It is Devine.
It moves within me, like the wind.
I saw the new Avatar movie, recently. It made me smile, because I recognised me. A girl who feels the world, who knows the earth, who breathes its song.
I suffer greatly for my sensitivity, at times, but it is also my greatest gift. My sweetest home.
To create is to live a life of pure bliss.
I cherish this soft, sweet wind.
I was on my knees, in the garden. If she was a person, we would have been forehead to forehead, and I would be whispering my sorry into her skin.
But she was not a person.
She was a plant.
One that was alive before I left for twelve days of holidaying, and dry as a crisp when I arrived home.
I could have cried. I’d planted her and one other, just before Christmas, forgetting that we’d be going away and there’d be no one home to water them. I thought about them often while we were gone, just hoping. They both died. It was too long in such dry hot conditions.
In the moment I sat with her whispering ‘sorry’, I felt her. It was a sacred sorrow in the air, beautiful and sad, slow and soothing, one that only a few years ago I wouldn’t have been able to feel.
There are many who would laugh at me for loving, connecting and understanding nature as deeply as I do. To me, everything is alive, and I try to treat all the living beings in my care with as much love as I would a human.
It is my way, to love those who cannot speak for themselves.
It is a beautiful life of the deepest connection.
It is pure. And it is right, for me.
It’s just gone 12:30, a new year has rolled in.
Of all the people I have to wish a dear and beautiful new year to…it is you, bloggy friends. My soul folk.
I ache to express what words cannot.
I love celebrating New Year’s Eve, which is quite funny, really, considering my perspective has changed quite a bit over the years.
What is a year, but a day after a day after a few hundred more days?
What is a day, but a spinning of the giant ball upon which we sit?
A year is a human construct.
All of life as we perceive it is.
Can you imagine the first cavemen sitting around the campfire discussing who they aim to be ‘next year’? To them, the sun rises, the sun falls.
There is no day. No month. No year.
Think of all we frame in a year. Time frames can limit us in ways I’m not sure we entirely understand.
But I will still always celebrate the new year as a beautiful way to express gratitude for life. It’s especially beautiful to have a reason to connect and celebrate with each other.
Anyway. ☺️
Happy new year, team.
I send you bucket loads of unconditional love and care.
Take it and sprinkle it every where.
xx Brooke
brooke-cutler.com 