Hush, dear soul,
there is no need to question
the aching sorrows.
For they are there,
as is the joy;
two faithful companions
on the road to somewhere
and nowhere.
Oh, dear soul.
It is true there are questions
unanswered,
doors left unclosed.
Listen to the wind and you will see
there are no doors
truly
to close.
Only the ever drifting whispers
of impermanent life.
Always moving.
Never arriving.
My, dear soul.
Yes, we are weary.
Yes, we shall row into the sunset
as one.
There is no need to be afraid of the
not good enough.
This weakness you perceive,
this pathetic softness you scold yourself for
compared to
she who declares herself strong.
Close your eyes.
Breathe and know this.
You are perfection
just the way you are.
For you must know this flimsy frailty
in order to recognise the goddess
who one day will rise within.
It must be.
For without this shadow
the towering goddess inside
would remain hidden to you.
Trust the journey.
Trust in the perfection
of messy life.
Tasmania is beautiful.
And that feeling of being outside of your life, even just for a little while, is so intriguing and lovely, it’s no wonder humanity clings to the promise of the odd holiday, every now and then.
The escape from reality.
The escape from too much of something that none of us can quite put our finger on.
I’m so grateful for the contrasts of life. If it wasn’t for those aching days, moments like this beautiful one (a moment that finds me at a large wooden table, the ocean over my right shoulder) wouldn’t feel quite so extraordinary.
Day two of the Tassie trip.
Perfection.
Grateful.
And so we rise.
And so we gather all hope and find our way to peace again.
We think we have broken, we think we have lost our way.
Such beauty lies beyond that which we call failure.
Such strength waits for us patiently beneath the rubble.
Do not be fooled by the darkness.
It is only there so that we may know the light.
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.
Who on earth knows what’s going on.
Who on earth (and all the planets) knows.
Am I a good
and proper
human.
Yes.
No.
Life.
It is not the darkness
of others
I fear.
It is my own
crimson need
to mould the world
into a shape
that cannot possibly exist,
or remain.
Perfection is rigid,
solid,
stiff.
Life
is the ever flowing river
of everything,
everyone,
every way.
Broken?
Unbroken?
Right?
Wrong?
There is nothing
but life asking questions.
And answering them
as it will.
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