Do not try to wrap me
with your perfect edges.
Boxes are not for me,
the wind,
the stars that burst
through time,
through space,
through you.
I am all.
Do not limit me
with your unknowing.
Tag: Authenticity
Categories
As You Are
There is no need to be fearful
of the ‘not enough’.
Of the
too different to fit in,
to be chosen.
You are who you are,
and you will rise as you will rise.
Take care
and wander with head held high.
As you are.
To become
you
again
and again.
Categories
Remembrance
There she was.
She had always been there
beneath the rubble of crumbling
life.
How sweetly the sun did shine
upon her remembrance.
And I will quietly be
as I am.
Yes, I will quietly be.
The word sipping is very pretty, isn’t it? Delicate, like the action it shows. I can see a small pair of hands, a little tea cup beside a little light. And I know it is home.
I know it is me.
I’m sipping chamomile tea and wishing to be held like this more often. Wishing to be seen in the softness, wishing to share it and have others agree it is a beautiful softness we feel.
Tea is like that. Delicate, like the first breeze of spring, like the bunnies that graze by the river, in the evening. It sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? An unreal imagining, only it’s true.
And so, so beautiful as the delicate rolls all around me.
I have been struggling more than usual over the past few months. Missing the beautiful flow I found a while back, and yet also feeling the embers of momentum begin to burn within me once more.
I wake each morning at 6 and I meditate, followed by yoga if I can fit it in. This is holding myself and my family as best as I can, with love.
I’m proud of myself for giving myself and my family these gifts.
If only a beautiful sun would light the rest of my world, so I could see clearly the path ahead. I forget myself so easily. What I love. Who I am. Each step is as sure as it should be. Why is it I continue to search for relief on the horizon?
I am home.
Let me stay here.
Let me fall into this beautiful sweet depth, forever.
Categories
Stop. Imagine.
Stop.
Imagine.
There is a human here and a human there.
Both are different, vastly so.
Human number one feels okay being bombarded with a box full of emails. He tackles them, one by one, and then he continues on to more busy things. He flies to the top of the work chain. He never rests. Not even when he’s sick. Successful. They say.
(Nobody can figure out why success looks like that.)
Human number two feels overwhelmed by emails and noise, so instead he chooses to paint. Beside the trees. He struggles with focus, but he needs to struggle with focus, because if he focused he’d lose his flow. His authentic flow. The thing within him that changes the lives of others in profoundly beautiful ways.
(Nobody can understand him. Nobody can figure out why he’s broken like that.)
He feels ashamed. He has a choice. He takes medication so he can be more like the first guy. Everybody breathes a sigh of relief.
He slowly dies inside.
And so does everyone around him because
where are all the beautiful things?
Imagine.
Stop.
All toxic cultures die.
Everybody is happy, being the person they were always meant to be.
Everybody.
The end.
Categories
Sadness in The Corner
There is sadness in the corner.
A beautiful sadness that calls to me, many a day, and I can’t help but follow. I can’t help but wonder why.
When life is ever so dear, and joy is found sweetly in the eyes of the ones I love, why is the sadness in the corner? When the rest of the room is flooded with colour; the corner.
Why is it aching, why is it grey?
Whole and beautiful life is here,
but the corner.
Why is there sadness in the corner?
Shall I be sensible
a moment?
Oh, dying to live,
dear dreary day.
Let you find me
twisted beautifully
among the berry vines.
Let you be the one
to be sensible.
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.
Categories
Far Too Long
It’s been far too long since I’ve written like this.
I’ve just been reading over old diaries, feeling my voice through them, knowing my heart.
It made me think of how I used to do that, here. How I used to be unafraid, how I understood that sharing my heart was something I needed to do, like breathing.
I write my heart because I want you all to see it is okay to be vulnerable.
More than okay.
Necessary, even, if you are someone like me.
So I wanted to find you again, in this place, as myself.
And I wanted to tell you, whoever you are, whatever your story: it is okay to be yourself.
It is okay to be your beautiful, however you are, self.
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