Categories
Poetry

At Five

Sometimes

I feel five.

Like the world is big

and I am small.

And there are kids all around

bigger than me,

louder,

scarier,

bolder than this softness

that folds me

like tissue.

(No one else folds like tissue.

Just me.)

The softness of me at five

lingers;

a scent

(like lavender)

on the breeze

of my soul.

The softness of me.

The softness of me.

Categories
Life

Relative Darkness

I’m sitting in the relative darkness and life is happening, all around.

In the bedrooms, my children are sleeping. In the branches, possums are creeping across the night. There are bugs out the window by the thousands, spiders spinning elaborate webs: the most stunning miracles of architecture.

And here, there is me.

Still wondering: what is it all for?

I still feel alone, in many ways, although I’m quite happy to be alone in my alone-ness. Everyone has their own version of alone. My version just so happens to be the way in which I view the world. Just a small difference. Just a tiny glitch of alone on the vast sea of everything.

I suppose I should learn to accept our society as it is. Everyone has vastly different belief systems, and I think that is entirely lovely, one of the shining pearls in the ocean of humanity. I just wish we could happily be ourselves, without the nonsense, though. To be truly authentically ourselves, without having to bend who we are to fit our art into trends. To fit our personalities into social groups. To fit our broken pieces into shining humanity: the great big flying flock of perfection.

I find myself currently wrestling with a box. A place I do not wish to be.

A box, largely self made, partially made by well meaning folk (much like myself) longing for connection and home. What is a box, in the context I speak, you might ask? A trend. A stereotype. A label.

I am (what they call) an Empath. It’s clear that my personality and many of my traits and sensitivities fit into this box they have called Empath, and it’s been so beautiful (and very handy) to have had so many resources and like minded souls to help me feel as though I’m not alone in the universe.

But as much as it thrills me to have found a beautiful little tribe of the sweetest, softest hearts to love: I am suffocating beneath this label. And I don’t want it. I just don’t. Because as like-minded as we who can identify with the label Empath are, we are also a whole world of different, in many ways. Not only that, but we are also very much the same as others who wouldn’t identify as highly sensitive. We are human. Just like everyone else. Not special, not broken. Human.

I want to be free. I am a wide-open, free as the wind that blows me, soul.

I do not want a box. I do not want a box.

I am ready and willing to help other sensitive muffins open to the fullness of who they are, but I just can’t move past this feeling of no, stop, reassess. Yes, it’s clear I am sensitive. But I don’t want this to be a focus in my world, I just want it to be something that is.

If I carry on with my new blog, Empath Days, this will tether me to a box I don’t wish to belong in, and that’s the part of this whole thing I can’t come to accept. Am I overthinking? Probably (I am me, after all). The frame ‘Empath’ has served me well. It has served as contrast and recognition, a mirror to help propel me forward. But I do think that’s all it was meant to be on my life journey. A rocket launcher. A breadcrumb. Not my life’s work. And certainly not my identity.

I started Empath Days (my new little venture, aimed at Empaths and sensitive folk) because I wanted to help others, like me, find their way and feel less alone. But I can do that here, I can do that at the supermarket, I can do that at school pick-up, ’round the dinner table. There are many wonderful Empaths (let me just use the term because it’s easy) out there whose purpose it is to guide other Empaths into wholeness through a specific channel.

I just don’t think I’m one of them. At least, not at this point in time.

Right now, if I am anything, I am a writer of my heart: a liver of my dreams.

If I do have a purpose it is to guide others to open and release from the boxes of this life. To find their dreams, to open their box. Not to encourage people to find a box and stay there. Are we not here to live? Are we not here to fly wherever, whenever, however?

I believe we are.

So I’m going to stop Empath Days in it’s tracks.

I don’t want to be an Empath. I want to be all of me.

I want to create what I create, and I want it to be beautiful, all of it, especially the journey to each sweet prize. The creative process: I want it to be free flying everything.

I want to teach what I’ve learned and drown in my passions.

I want to write my book, my poems, my soul.

I want to live, however I live.

Oh, and I want to love. (Always, always I want to love.)

So I’m going back to the drawing board.

I’ll be back, sweet bloggy friends, when I’ve had a chance to unscrambled my thoughts, a little.

xx Brooke

Photo by Burst on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

Changes

Hello my sweet bloggy friends. 🙂

Changes are happening everywhere in the world, and this creative life of mine is one place things are shifting! Oh my goodness, where to even begin.

I’ll have a few sneaky little surprises in store for you over the coming months, but one of them I can reveal now, and so…I will! (The rest I will be able to reveal once I actually get my act together and figure out exactly where I’m going with this funny old life of mine.)

Most of you know I’ve been flipping about with this blog, not really sure where I’m going with it, and it’s been bothering me a little: I’ve felt as though there was something calling that I couldn’t quite hear.

Well, I’ve finally heard, and am now finally starting to slot all the puzzle pieces of me into place. Are you ready to hear what my latest creative adventure might be? I’ve created a new blog! On WordPress! (Ha ha ha: because of course I would do an odd thing like that, wouldn’t I?)

The reason for this move is because I’ve been growing increasingly aware of the importance of boundaries in my life, and as you all know: this blog is here, there, and all the way to the other side of the moon and back. (lol :P)

And as much as I love writing in this casual tone to you all, I’ve decided to really hone in on particular sections of my life and run with them for a little while. I’m also going to cut back on the very personal stuff, I think, and focus more on what you guys might benefit from, rather than just, well, waffling selfish nonsense and sending you all a bazillion love hearts whenever I feel like it. 🙂 Sadly, sharing those authentic parts of me are what I’ve loved so much about blogging. But. I really just need a change. I hope you’ll all understand.

So, I’ve created a little hub, I suppose you might call it. A place for people like us to gather, explore our depth and sensitivity, enjoy poetry and photography (which I’ll be shooting, focusing on nature, most likely, though I’d also like to work with exploring a deeper range of colours and textures.)

I’m currently still working on the design and layout of the new blog, but in the meantime you are so very welcome to join me over at:

Empath Days ( link below )

Home

Eventually I hope to offer some of my work for sale from that platform (my photography and poetry services/framed prints etc) although I’m only in the very early stages of this new creative adventure. It will likely take time to work out the logistics.

So! How exciting, hey, you guys. 🙂 I’m really looking forward to the change in vibe, and hopefully some beautiful conversations with some of you over there. For now, I’ll keep this blog open, but post less often just to free up some extra energetic space for planning ( and, umm, life, you know 🙂 ). I do imagine I’ll eventually shut this site down to focus on the newest arm of my creative journey, though. What a bitter sweet day that will be.

I so dearly hope you will all come along for the ride, my beautiful bloggy friends. Of course, if our journey together ends with the last words of this, my little blog of everything, I will so completely understand and love you for all the beautiful moments we’ve shared along the way. xx

Photo by Alexas Fotos on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

Together

This morning I was taken back to the year 1997, when I sat glued to the television, hoping with all of my everything that a man named Stuart Diver would be rescued from beneath a mountain of rubble — the devastating result of a landslide at Thredbo: an Alpine Village in New South Wales, Australia.

The landslide at Thredbo broke the heart of just about every human in Australia, I’d go so far to say. Stuart was the sole survivor of the landslide that killed 18 people, including Stuart’s wife, Sally, who drowned in the rising icy waters beside him.

This post has no direct link to Stuart Diver and his shining human spirit, but it does have a few indirect links to (and hopefully a few reminders of) the magnificence of the human spirit. So I’m writing these words in honour of Stuart, and also in honour of every human who knows how beautiful it feels to shine through our dark times together.

Right now, twenty three years after Australia came together so beautifully for the good of one man, humanity finds ourselves in the united states of everyone hates each other. Just when we need each other the most.

What happened all those years ago, however tragic, was the most magical shining human thing I’d ever experienced. Aching life had brought us together. All of us. Every Australian, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, personality type: we all became one as we anxiously waited to see if our mate Stuart would pull through.

We cried real tears as we witnessed the beautiful bond between rescued and rescuer. We winced at the thought of Stuart’s journey beyond the rubble (which, tragically, only got worse before it got better when Stuart lost his second wife to breast cancer.) My point is: we ached. And we ached together.

We’re not those united humans, anymore. We’re about a gazillion aspects of our oneness, bursting into about a gazillion fragments of hate and pain and judgement. What might happen if we take a moment to remember just how beautiful we are, together? What might happen if we sat in our quiet for a few moments and just loved each other fully?

Currently, humanity is healing from about a billion years of collective shadow trauma, so the mature part of me wants to be kind to us as we vomit up all the nonsense we’ve shoved down for so long.

But there is another aspect of me who wants to shout at us for being dicks, and say: ‘Guys. We’re not getting it. We need to just stop and see the bigger picture.’

Meep.

Sorry for the cranky pants.

I suppose I might post a soft and fluffy poem on here tomorrow.

Photo by nicollazzi xiong on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Innocent War

And there you are

with eyes wide closed,

slicing through bullies

with the very hatred you oppose.

It is all pain, to me.

The daggers of hate

disguised as love.

The broken ways in which

change

is achieved

in this world.

Are my eyes so different

that I must be an anomaly

of this world?

It is all pain, to me,

your innocent war.

I wish so desperately for peace.

Categories
Life

All Of Me

This morning, I stood at the sink and cried.

Years ago, quite by accident, and quite without me knowing why…I stopped crying after a lifetime of being a human river. I didn’t notice it happening, it just happened and there was nothing for me to do but keep living, wondering if this was the me I was meant to be all along.

I now know the lack of tears meant that I had lost myself. That I had been suppressing my emotions, either for the comfortability of those around me (to fit in) or just because the difficulties of life had closed my heart in order to keep me safe.

This morning, as I slushed around in that pile of dishes, I felt my wholeness again. For those of you who are new to my beautiful bloggy family, this reawakening of my spirit/senses began about two years ago, I’d say, and every so often I find myself reaching new milestones of truth, you might call them.

This morning delivered one of them, and every beautiful current of the river that once moved me was back, if only for a few moments. I’d just been told a story. A very sad one. A story of a man who had lost his wife and child in a car crash many, many years ago.

I cried those tears as though I was that man. I felt those tears as though I was that man. I ached for his pain. I cried for him.

And I knew it was right.

And I knew that, once again, I was all of me.

Photo by Kat Jayne on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Write With The Wind

I cannot create unless I soften.

I cannot write with the wind,

I must become it.

I am the beautiful breeze that flows these words into the sky of all things.

Human is but a small part of me.

The blissful wind

I am

is the rest.

Categories
Healing

Healing Again

Some more memories came up for healing, today.

It is the most fascinating process, it truly is. Especially considering the memories, as they come up, are attached to a physical feeling within my body and a recognition of the vibration of that particular feeling. (Eg- shame, guilt etc.)

For those of you who are relatively new here, thinking: what on earth is she on about, I should probably explain. I experienced quite a drastic life change a couple of years ago which I call, and many call, a spiritual awakening. After this time, my nervous system returned to the super-sensitive energy system of my youth and has since been dragging me through a healing journey of sorts— a journey that is slowly bringing to the surface the buried wounds of the highly sensitive girl I once was.

The emotions that came up with the memory today were guilt and shame. My goodness. All the bellyaching. And interestingly, the recognition of these particular vibrations was a surprise for me, momentarily, because I had completely forgotten that guilt and shame were a part of this particular experience. Obviously, I’d done an excellent job of burying them.

Let me go through the memory that came up.

I was around nineteen, I’d say, and still living at home. I’d never had a large group of friends, always opting for my own company and the company of my precious keyboard (and my C.D’S and my Nintendo 64.) I was working with my Dad at the time of the memory and, one day, full of excitement, he pulled out a gift for me. A very expensive one. A game of laser tag— a game that would require a large group of friends to go along with me. Friends I did have, If I counted them all, but…I didn’t want to.

I froze.

I could not do this.

‘Why?’ my Dad asked.

‘Because I don’t have enough friends,’ I said, petrified.

Shame-ridden because anxiety was the real reason.

Guilt-ridden that my Dad had done this beautiful thing for me, and yet there was absolutely no way I could even think about doing it. My mind, my everything, was frozen.

Anxiety wasn’t a new thing for me. It had stopped me from taking part in the year eleven ball a couple of years before because I just wanted to watch my friends do it. That was nonsense, of course. I was a dreamer, an all the way through romantic. I longed to take part in the ball. The real reason was that I was terrified. Surely no boy would want to go with me…and the rules were that the girls had to do the asking.

Nope. Not me. What if they said no?

Or worse…what if they laughed at me. And then said no.

I still struggle with my sensitivities, I won’t lie, but now I am able to appreciate them, too. I’m often able to harness the most beautiful depth and power by bringing them to life and asking them to shine, instead of just having them break me like they sometimes choose to do. So there’s that lovely thing. For example, without them, this blog would have died about two years ago. And where would I be without you lot, hey? 🙂

The thing is, though, these ‘superpowers’ have done quite a bit of damage to me in the past, and now is absolutely the time to take care of that poor little muffin child I was. My goodness, I ache for her.

But the great news is, in this moment, she is safe and well.

In this moment she is here.

And healing.

purple rose on wooden surface
Photo by Creative Free Stock on Pexels.com

 

Categories
Poetry

I Am The Air

Music is the wind,

and I am the air.

And we gracefully dance,

and we blissfully play,

and we claim our place

within the fabric of

the other

until we are one.

man wearing denim jacket singing on stage
Photo by Eric Esma on Pexels.com

 

Categories
Poetry

Disabled

Imagine.

If the highly sensitive

folk

labelled

those who are not

like us:

disorder,

disabled,

broken.

Imagine.

Just imagine

that.

And we’re the broken ones

they say.

The ones who paint a canvas

as naturally as the sun paints

the earth.

Disabled,

they say.

No

I say.