I knew it would take me there. To the place beyond everything, the place that shows me, really quite beautifully, who I truly am.
I can’t remember the last time I watched Legends of the Fall. A very long time ago. A lifetime ago, you might say, and if you did say that I wouldn’t argue with you. I last saw the movie before I had truly lived. Before I had truly ached. Before I had truly felt loss, and the echoing stillness of life’s fragility.
Last night I watched the movie through new eyes, and it tore me apart. Very beautifully, it tore me apart, but it tore me apart all the same.
It reminded me of the depth and softness of who I am.
It reminded me of the beauty of the human connection.
And it reminded me why I write: to feel and to help others feel, too.
How are you all? Well, I hope, and if not: that’s okay, too, because even rain is beautiful when you look at it a certain way.
I’m so sleepy but I wanted to say hello. I’ve been a little disconnected from here of late, and though most of you may not have noticed, it’s been weighing on my mind. There are some busy, happy reasons for my disconnection, which I’ll share over the coming months, but for now I’ll just say this:
I’m here when I am, and I’m not when I’m not. (Those of you who’ve been with me a while will know I’m a bit like the wind. Full on one day, not so much the next. This is a bit of a quiet season, I think. I hope that’s okay with you all. xx)
Anyway, I’m about to fall aslee…
Sorry, where was I? Oh, that’s right, awake. Good. Okay, good, I’m awake. But not for long so I’ll say goodnight.
Until we meet again. (Which may be soon, or not for a while, says the wind.)
Well. Isn’t the world in an interesting state. That’s more of a statement, rather than a question, really, isn’t it: hence the absence of a question mark.
I’ve been wondering if perhaps humanity, as a collective, might be going through the same sort of life stage as me. Sifting through all the nonsense, trying to figure out which pieces to keep, and which pieces to shiny up and multiply. Trying to figure it all out, really, and will we? Can life be figured out? What actually is a state of figured out? I don’t think any of us knows, which is probably why we’re all in a bit of a collective pickle stew, at the moment.
It interests me to no end, this state we find ourselves in: us versus them, such massive divides, each heart believing their own is the ultimate truth. It’s fascinating because it has me asking questions I really don’t think can be answered in a black and white sort of way. Where once I would have declared a certain type of opinion ‘wrong’, a certain type of person ‘wrong’, I’m finding it impossible to do so, these days.
How can one side say the other is wrong entirely when there is a fifty- fifty split in opinion: half believing one thing, the other half believing another? It makes me wonder if people might open up to the grand possibility that, perhaps, no one is right.
Perhaps we all just are.
Sometimes pleasant experiences arise from us simply being as we are.
And sometimes complete and utter chaos reigns, and quite frankly, disturbs a great deal of the beautiful many of us so cherish about life here on earth. Perhaps it’s a little like a bush fire. In order to see those beautiful new sprouts of green peeping through the forest floor, first the old trees must burn.
Maybe I’m sitting in a tree, somewhere, looking down at it all. I’m sure my feet are dangling, and I’m probably whistling in harmony with the wind through the branches.
What do I see when I look down at my life? I see myself sitting quietly at a little white desk, typing away, visualising a peaceful version of myself up there.
Peaceful me would look down at the small children running circles around the house, see me wincing at the too many seconds of loud for comfort and she’d send a little caring my way. An invisible hug, maybe. Whatever I might need to soothe me.
She’d also look down and see me laughing to the point of holding my belly. The six-year-old. The most HILARIOUS trick anyone has ever played on me. He’s managed to pull it off, and I highly doubt he’ll be able to top such brilliance in both wit and execution again, but I’ll remain on guard, just in case. Peaceful me would know that’s the first time I’ve laughed like that in a long, long time.Then she’d send a great big smile my way.
Peaceful me would see the good and bad of it and whisper to me: it’s all good.
Australian summer and there I was, sipping a glass of wine beneath the gumtrees, wrapped in my best winter scarf and topped with a little woolen hat. The wind: shocking.
It’s not unusual for the country town we’re holidaying in to reach these frosty temperatures at night. I’m certain we’ll look back in years to come with fond memories of swaying gums and whirls around the caravan park on bikes, but I also think we’ll marvel at Mother Nature and her wacky sense of humour. During the day, it is not unusual for the temperature to reach forty degrees celsius and beyond, some years, and yet the blankets come out when the sun falls. It’s quite funny, really.
It reminds me of Melbourne (my hometown) and her ability to display every single aspect of all four seasons in one day. The rest of Australia laughs at our expense, but the truth is: Melbournians gladly identify with this peculiar trick of the weather. We happily declare it one of our most impressive party tricks.
I’m breezy and happy, today. After a solo journey back to Melbourne, earlier, to celebrate my beautiful Grandma’s 90th birthday (and a nice big heart-opening drive back, listening to music) I’m so grateful for all the experiences that have brought me here. To this place in my life, I mean. Not just to this dodgy little caravan park in the middle of nowhere.
I am reminded of the worth of life experience each time I feel the beautiful glow of wholeness beneath my skin. Each time I feel the spirit rise within me; the times I’m ready, and quite able, to speak the truths my heart knows to be absolute. I am not perfect. Life is not perfect, and never will be. But I am here, and I am grateful for these exhausting family days (and even you lot fall upon the grateful-o-metre of me…aww, sigh. Like, really, you guys. x) so a girl couldn’t ask for much more to help drift me through my days.
Right. Off to drink my tea and snuggle up with, what is turning out to be, one lovely heart-filling book.
Death, I suppose, does that to us. It’s one of those accidental growth inducing things that none of us actually want, but do end up getting from time to time. Lessons in perspective. Lessons in gratitude, these are just some of the positives that can come from death knocking on our doors. But today, death has broken me. And my empath metre is still reeling.
I’ve just read an article written by a Mum recounting her five-year-old sons final days. Cancer. To say I struggled to hold myself together wouldn’t be accurate. To say I fell to pieces is absolutely correct. What a devastating, devastating thing: to lose a child, and yet people do experience this sort of loss in life, and far too often for my liking.
I felt I owed it to that precious little man to reiterate the message his beautiful, heartbroken (positively grace-filled) Mum put out into the world, on behalf of her little boy. To live and love, is surely the greatest gift. To live now, to be grateful for this. What’s here. What’s out the window and how beautiful it is. To see that it’s pointless fussing over the little things, when there are even more little things to honour and cherish in this mixed bag of a life we live.
This Mum. She was given a beautiful gift, in the end, when her son’s final words were: ‘I am happy Mum.’ I am happy, Mum. It makes you think how dumb we are worrying about the extra weight we might put on over the holiday period, doesn’t it? It makes you think that, in the end, all we’re really here for is to realise nothing matters but the people we love, and love itself.
Anyhow, I should stop this because it’s going to take me down, again, but I think I’ve said it all, anyway. Most of you already know the way I view life. It is short and beautiful, and we have one chance.
You might think the glow of an open heart to be impossible outside the honeymoon phase of romantic love, but I assure you: it’s quite possible. And it is very, very lovely, my goodness.
When I relax into the warmth in my chest, I feel the most beautiful sense of softness and love radiate through me. Especially when I’m listening to music. It’s as though a night light has been switched on in the dark of me, and there I am, ready to hold it out to the world in search of someone to share its glow with.
A physical feeling of heat and light, is the best way I can describe my version of an open heart, and there are not many natural feelings like it at all (apart from the primal urges of childbirth, perhaps, which…actually, I should write a post on that, sometime. Childbirth is often painted for its painful side, but overlooked for the absolute primal miracle it is.)
I’m so terribly unfinished in terms of my emotional healing from the past, but there are some beautiful things going on in my life in the now that I’m grateful for. For the first time in my life I’m happily rising early to do yoga. Every morning. I’ve done it for a week, and I know I won’t stop because I’ve decided it, firmly. It feels far too beautiful to wake my body up in such an earthy way, and it’s linked with the very best part—I’m no longer rushing around and frantic when it comes time to whistle the kids out the door. In itself, that is a small step in the right direction.
It definitely helps that I’ve found the most beautiful, gentle yoga teacher on YouTube. Every time he whispers ‘relax, it’s alright, it’s all good’, it’s like it activates something within my core that knows he is one hundred percent right. That, no matter what, it’s alright, it’s all good.
Anyhow, I just wanted to check in with my real voice and let you all know I’m still here and that, no, I’ve not got a poetry writing robot posting here on my behalf. Although, truly: I’ll be if I know where some of my writing comes from. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: some of the words I write really do not feel like my doing, at all. It’s all very magical and lovely and strange.
I’m happy with magical and lovely and strange, if you are. xx