Categories
Poetry

One

Here we are, world.

Another day of co-creation.

I do not own you.

You do not own me.

And yet we are one

becoming many

through each moment,

each hour,

each breath held

or released

in the face of it all.

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Categories
Poetry

Breath

I am

the same breath

as my art.

Categories
Life

My Contribution

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I keep my distance from the news.

I have to, because the moment I face the full ache of this thing, I feel the pain of the entire world. Already, I’ve felt the fear of the dying and the sorrow of their loved ones. I’ve intuited the secret shame of the many humans walking the earth who are afraid that they will be next. (It’s okay to be afraid, by the way. You already know that, though, don’t you. )

Anyway, I’ve felt it all, and…I’ve felt helpless, quite frankly— especially since I’ve been wallowing in a pit of my own selfish pain for quite some time now. Because life (all of it, the whole joyful ache) still happens, even when there is a monster on the loose.

So I zoom right out, and I really look at it all. 

What can I do about all these aches everywhere? All the lonely people. All the fearful people. All the dying.

Guys. I know what I can do.

I can write.

With all my heart I can write, with all my days, I can write. For you— for anyone that needs something more than what they have—until there is some relief in sight. Until we are all able to live fully and wholly for ourselves again.

I can’t cure this disease (omg, lol, no ha ha ha) nor can I erase the ache of a world in despair.

But I have lived. And I can write.

And so I will write.

Over the coming weeks, I will do my very best to show up here every day, and often, with new life, new breath, new feeling…just because I know that it is right.

I know that it is right.

So get ready to live it all through me. Love. Heartache. Tenderness. Humanity. Peace. Fire. Sex. Sensuality. Softness. Community. Spirit. Sunshine. LIFE.

Everything. All of it.

Because that’s what this place was always meant to be:

The Little Blog of Everything.

With all that said…let’s kick this virus in the butt with all the bloggy goodness.

Just because we can.

So much love, bloggy family. I may, or may not, love you all dearly. (Oh, okay. You’ve got me. I so completely do. 🙂 )

xx Brooke

adult archery beautiful beauty
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

Categories
Life

Live

It’s the morning.

I’m sitting up in bed, leaning against the material laden backboard of the bed I bought when my life tore into two separate pieces. It makes me feel more comfortable than the old wooden one. I feel safer, more at home, to have a bed clothed in the softer materials of life.

I’ve just been crying. And you should know by now that I don’t consider crying to be a bad thing at all. It’s one of the most beautiful connections we have to our bodies and souls; a bridge to connect the two, you might say.

I have a feeling— among all my so often elevated feelings— that I am here to teach the world this, and I will not stop speaking my truth until I’m satisfied we’ve all heard, and understood, that it’s really quite beautiful to live and love with all of your heart. To laugh and cry and feel it all.

To laugh.

And cry.

And be grateful for it all.

The reason I’ve been crying is: a few minutes ago my insides were melted by the most beautiful music—music that has just tumbled down my cheeks in the most blissfully warm river of tears. It wasn’t the music itself that drew the tears. It was the life and meaning that lived within it all that moved me, so.

This is a gift, this beautiful life.

Music. Friendship. Love.

We are so lucky to be touched by the people who feed us beautiful new parts of ourselves. We are so lucky to have these legs, these hands, these eyes, these voices, these hearts.

We are lucky, no matter what the outside of it all looks like.

Don’t waste a minute wondering what if, my lovely bloggy friends. Don’t fight the logistics of circumstance. Just take a deep breath and jump in.

Let go.

Turn your heart up to the highest notch, and go and find— and live—your truth.

Who are you? What do you want? Where is your real home? No really, ask yourself these questions, guys…because what else is there to do? Truly. What’s the point of life if it is not to live?

So, please, you guys. Post your artworks on Instagram. Look into that yoga teaching course, even though your Mum and Dad think Yoga is for ‘that dreadlock band of tree-loving hooligans’. And for heaven’s sake…tell that girl/guy exactly how much you love them. Tell them with your eyes.

Because surely the point of this crazy wonderful life is to know there is more,

and to be it all. 

Anyway, I’ll pop back into my cave now, I suppose.

I just wanted to say all that.

So much love, everyone.

Your friend, always.

(I really do mean that.)

Brooke. xx

two men holding red heart balloons
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Categories
Life

Rainbow

Is this a rainbow I see

reaching through the collective heart

of the dreamers?

Wide eyes open, lovely dreamers.

You were made to shine

the most beautiful lights on the world.

Categories
Life

Sweet Muse

Come to me, sweet muse.

Float into my heart and wake me from sleep.

Light the fire within and shine me on my way

for a thousand lifetimes.

I see you, sweet muse, for what you are to me.

A million dreams to share.

A million dreams

to unlock the pure and gentle ecstasy of the world.

woman open arms while closed eyes smiling photo
Photo by bruce mars on Pexels.com

Categories
Life

Perfect

It only took her an entire winter.

But she finished it, eventually,

without even glancing

at the cupboard of unfinished things.

There were wobbly patches

and imperfections,

but to the young boy, it was perfect.

And, so, to her…

it was all the world

in a little, yellow loop.

Categories
Poetry

The Brightest Angel

The brightest Angel

slides on her spectacles,

and smiles.

It’s the painting

of us

that she loves the most.

She soaks the brush tip once more:

crystal blue and white,

and she paints

until her miracle

is perfect.

Categories
A Blog a Day in May

The Cupboard of Unfinished Things

It happens every year.

The wool balls enter the stores in preparation for winter, and my brain enters a frenzy of the most bizarre kind. You see, I’m not really a knitter. And yet, every year, as soon as the first wool balls hit the supermarket shelves…an orchestra made up of little tiny people begins to play inside my head. That’s how I know. I absolutely must start knitting something. Again.

And so I do. I sit down with a new pile of wool and my pretty pink hot water bottle, and I begin to knit the one. A precious new creation. Another chip off my creative spirit, that, ultimately, I always know, will be banished to the rickety cupboard of ‘unfinished things.’

It’s quite the comedy, really. Because I can’t actually knit, my choices of what to knit are always limited: a blanket made from a thousand hand-sized patches, or, yet another scarf. All the while, the little devil on my shoulder sits and quietly smiles. Because he knows. He knows it doesn’t really matter what I choose, and he also knows the reason why. (Ah, yes. There he is. Already preparing that nasty little cupboard. Sheesh.)

Well. There I was at the supermarket, once again with the wool, and I wouldn’t let any of that stop me. The decision was made. My little boy would quite like a scarf, and maybe knitting for him would give me that extra boost to save this one from the cupboard of impending doom.

But as I examined the stacked shelves—faced with a wall of fluffy, colourful possibilities— something came to me, something big. The reason. The truth that could have saved me the shame of every project that’s ever wagged it’s sweet, broken little tail into that big meanie of a cupboard over the years.

I’m not meant to finish.

I was never meant to finish, not any of it.

Maybe for some people, knitting is about creating something useful and beautiful. But, for me…it’s really not. Yes, it would be lovely to knit something of use. Lovely. But entirely unnecessary in the grand scheme of the life I’ve chosen.

For me, knitting is about the journey.

It’s about that blissful repetitive tune, the clickety-clack that somehow soothes me and brings me back into my body when I fly too far into the land of the perpetual dreamer. It’s a way for me to take one step (or one row). And then another. And then another. Rather than simply fly through life, looking for the greener grass that lives at the very top of a hill that I just may never get to.

Who cares if I don’t get to the top of that hill. The journey is lovely enough. It’s a journey that slows me down and reminds me to just…be here. In my body. On the couch. Knitting. Joyfully aware that this scarf— just like its many older siblings— will probably never be finished.

 

 

 

 

Categories
A Blog a Day in May

A Friend Of Convenience

Her art is a friend of convenience.

It absorbs her.

It turns her delicate into raw and beautiful scenes of naked flesh on linen.

It turns her hard into lashings of angry black with no recognisable form.

The artist removes the brush from her mouth and strokes, one final touch of pink and she’ll be satisfied.

But she won’t. She’ll never be satisfied.

Because she is an artist.

And an artist, she knows, is always a work in progress.

An artist—a passionate, heart dwelling artist—will always be full of too much life, and never full of enough.

This is what living has taught her.

This is her reason for art.

woman sitting on brown stool
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