Categories
Life

Fully Human

I’ve seen that image, again.

She sits alone (you could not get any more alone) at her husband’s funeral and we all just sit here and shake our heads, because what else is there to do?

I’m speaking of the image of the Queen at prince Philip’s funeral, but you already knew that. You must have. Who could un see that quiet ache, just another handed to us by the raging depths of humanity.

***

I have hidden from life.

Strike that. I am hiding from life.

Because it wasn’t the Queen sitting there alone that day, it was me. I feel the pain that deeply.

It wasn’t someone else’s little boy sitting in the back of a war zone ambulance, parentless; it was mine. That one slices my heart.

I can’t hide from that darkness, though I want to.

I have to see it.

I have to say it: I am torn to shreds.

***

I cried in my husband’s arms the other night.

I mean I really cried, remembering a time in childhood where I was chosen last of all the children in my class to join the netball team.

I cried, at first, for the poor and beautiful little girl whose heart broke that day. But the depth of my tears came from the realisation that that very moment in time made me the person who will always go in to bat for anyone who needs me. That girl will try her very best to lift others, so that no one else has to feel the pain of being unloved, unworthy, unchosen.

Born is the true beauty of aching life.

And born is the paradox. The knowledge that the other needs to feel that very same empathy-birthing pain, in order to truly see. Even though I’d give anything to protect them from it.

***

You see it, don’t you?

This ache, this wide open ache of humanity, has birthed the very best of us. It has grown our hearts and gifted us the ultimate; the chance to hold and love others from the very core of our being.

But, goodness gracious me.

It hurts to be fully human.

Fully seeing, fully being…

everything.

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Categories
Poetry

Unity

Unity is the magic pill.

But unity

does not look like

shaming the broken.

Hear it.

It is this,

my truth,

I speak.

Categories
Life

She Drifts, Again

It really did seem like the perfect plan.

And so I did it.

I set up an official page on instagram to act as the much longed for social media home of ‘The Little Blog of Everything’ and all things creatively me.

My goodness, it will be lovely to share an expanded version of ‘the creative journey of me’ with you.

There’ll be drawings and art.

No doubt, music and books.

There’ll be updates on life and the journey to picture book publishing I’ve just restarted, after baby.

My name on instagram is brookecutlercreative.

See you, there, my beautiful bloggy friends.

Or just, here. I’ll still be here, too. xx

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Categories
Life

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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Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

A Little Story

A little story. A lovely one.

While standing in line at the shop, today, holding a baby in one arm and a pram in the other, the lady in front of me turned.

‘Please go ahead of us. I see you have two little ones and a baby. Please go ahead.’

I could have kissed her beauty.

I could have held her love in the air and said out loud for all to hear, ‘this is the kindness I choose.’

Instead, I said thank you.

Once. And once again.

True sunshine.

The end.

Day 26. The good in the world.
Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

Kindness

Kindness is everywhere if we look hard enough.

Photo by bin Ziegler on Pexels.com

And you’ll know how it feels, because you’ll know how it looks.

And if you know how it looks…

you’ll know your most important identity.

You’ll know how to be beautiful you.

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Kindness is beautiful.

See it, feel it, know it kind of beautiful.

Or…not know it.

Kindness is kindness, either way.

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

Kindness isn’t something we need to think to life.

It is not a plan, it is not an order.

It’s a heart thing.

Our job is just to listen.

And breathe.

Photo by Eva Elijas on Pexels.com

So, don’t try to be kindness.

Just move over.

To the left of the Sun, to the right of the moon.

And I promise you,

I promise.

Kindness will be there soon.

Photo by mododeolhar on Pexels.com
Day 8. Just breathe.
Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

The End Of The Day

I gave my soul to the garden.

I gave her my heart, I gave her my dreams.

And now, I am weary.

So weary,

I am nothing more than this.

But how beautiful it feels to have come.

To have given a piece of my life,

however small.

Here I have left my heart

and searched for yours in advance.

Hello, until tomorrow.

Goodnight,

until the day is sweet and new.

Day Two. Grateful to have met again, so sweetly.

Categories
Life

Culture

Sometimes I wish I had been born of another culture, a culture of eyes wide open, a culture of hearts wide open.

They say to resist ‘what is’ is to cause your own suffering. Am I suffering? No. But I certainly do ask the question: what if?

Would I be further along in my life journey if, as a child, my sensitivity had been celebrated by my culture, rather than shunned? Would I have saved myself years of healing from the innocent unconsciousness of those around me? Because of a rigid cultural narrative, those who have loved me have accidentally hurt me. I shudder to remember those who have held me in their lives as an insignificant supporting character.

I hope humanity soon understands that the world they see is a choice, rather than a given. I hope the beautiful little soft girls of the world are one day celebrated for the depth and gorgeous attention to detail they bring the world. How shameful that they haven’t been, thus far.

Am I angry that I was brought up starved of female role models? Am I angry that not even my Mother knew how to teach me to truly grow into womanhood? How could she? All she knew was what the western world was. Hardened. Money hungry. Black and white.

There is an aspect of me that is angry. But a bigger part of me understands. There is no one to be angry with. We have all been brought up in boxes. Every single one of us, and when you’re inside of a box (we call them cultures) you truly cannot see there is another way. Another way to see, another way to be. And if you cannot see or be, you cannot teach. You cannot change.

I hope enough eyes are opening, now, to the beauty of individuality.

I hope enough hearts are ready to be free.

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Pexels.com

Categories
Life

Together

I have known a life and more.

I have tasted shame,

I have found my way

on the dark and dreary road.

I am you,

and you are me.

Together,

we are human.

Together we are home.

Categories
Poetry

I Will HoldYou

I will hold your ache in loving arms.

I will be the faith you have lost in the world.

I will shine a light on your breaking heart,

that you may hand stitch the truth

into the fabric of your soul

and know it is safe

to feel.

I will love you.

All the broken you wish not to see,

I will hold you.

I will hold you, love.