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.
But I am the wind.
And my soul is alone
as it blows through the jars
of neat and tidy life.
Oh, the aching.
For, home floats free;
I will never be bound.
Can you not see?
I will never be bound.
And my heart cries,
lonely.
My heart cries.
Lonely.
The wind was crisp
and the sun sang warm to my skin.
The rest of the world was too fast
to know bliss like that.
The truth is: the truth is too expensive;
a depth of emotion most are unwilling
to pay.
Humanity can’t see through true eyes.
Can’t see the fighting is a small child’s game.
Who are the adults?
Let me know when you meet them.
Wounded and scared;
don’t you know how deeply you once felt the world?
The carpet is there for a reason.
The broom is used by all until the carpet
spills the truth.
The truth, they say,
will set you free, and I am free
to tell you that.
But, then again,
the carpet is good, too.
I’ve lit a candle.
Classical piano plays.
I have coffee sitting beside me.
I am home.
Oh my goodness I am home.
The world is busy. The noise, sometimes far too loud.
But there is such beauty and softness in the quiet places.
Let the quiet places sing to your heart, always.
It is my dearest wish for you.
My dearest wish.
All my love.
xx Brooke
It’s hard to tell what brings me back to the Soft Girl. She’s certainly not always around, especially not these days of nappies and loudness and putting out the emotional spot fires of small children. But today she came back.
I found her in the music again as I drove back from the shops. Music has the peculiar ability to remind me of the beautiful people and times that have touched my soul, and when it does…the Soft Girl is right there. Opening the door. Letting it all flow in.
Why did I decide to call my spirit the Soft Girl, you might ask? Well, it’s because thats the way my energy feels when it moves within me. Soft. Like a gentle breeze blowing through me.
When the Soft Girl is around I feel calm and I feel peace.
And that’s all I’ve been looking for my whole life long.
Peace. That’s all.
That’s all.
And now I’m the closest I have been to having it, because I finally know that that is what I’ve been searching for all along.
I’m so grateful for the gifts meditation and yoga have brought to my life. I’m still unsure what it’s all for, and even what it is that I’m meant to do with these new and beautiful feelings, but I’m starting to gather the clues. And they are leading to new and delicious places, sometimes expected, sometimes a complete surprise.
I’m off to bed now, I’m exhausted.
But I wanted you, my beautiful bloggy friends, to know that I adore you, and I hope each and every one of you is in your happy enough place.
Goodnight.
From me.
The Soft Girl.
Where do I put the pieces of me
that I do not wish to see?
Where do I put the pieces of others
that cut my gentle flesh
and baste me in the black oil
of smiles and lies?
Are we not all perfect, here?
Are we not all, nice?
Tied in the sweetest bows
of comfort and light
are the stories we tell.
Tied by the jagged boundaries
of our own
raging
humanity.
Open your eyes.
It is time
to wake
up.
In the cupboard of me
you will find a heart that is love,
a mind that is scattered,
a wind that is soft and warm,
a day that will never end.
In the cupboard of me
you will find ingredients
unknown
and strange.
You will find
all of life
in the cupboard of me.
Life for the choosing.
Life for the taking.
I’m down in the depths of me, today.
It feels like sadness, but it is far more powerful than that.
This beautiful sadness.
It is a sadness I long for, a sadness I crave.
It flows through my veins until there is nowhere left for it to go but out.
Onto this page.
Into new hearts— yours, his, hers, theirs.
I was always told this bliss only lives in happiness.
But this is not happiness.
This is an ache.
This is the most beautiful ache of all.
You’ll never be everyone’s cup of tea.
Might as well be the cup of tea
that you are.
brooke-cutler.com 