Categories
Life

Happy New Year

It’s just gone 12:30, a new year has rolled in.

Of all the people I have to wish a dear and beautiful new year to…it is you, bloggy friends. My soul folk.

I ache to express what words cannot.

I love celebrating New Year’s Eve, which is quite funny, really, considering my perspective has changed quite a bit over the years.

What is a year, but a day after a day after a few hundred more days?

What is a day, but a spinning of the giant ball upon which we sit?

A year is a human construct.

All of life as we perceive it is.

Can you imagine the first cavemen sitting around the campfire discussing who they aim to be ‘next year’? To them, the sun rises, the sun falls.

There is no day. No month. No year.

Think of all we frame in a year. Time frames can limit us in ways I’m not sure we entirely understand.

But I will still always celebrate the new year as a beautiful way to express gratitude for life. It’s especially beautiful to have a reason to connect and celebrate with each other.

Anyway. ☺️

Happy new year, team.

I send you bucket loads of unconditional love and care.

Take it and sprinkle it every where.

xx Brooke

Categories
Life

Merry Christmas

None of it makes a difference to me.

Some of you I barely know.

Some of you I have known and loved to the depths of my soul.

None of it matters.

Because each of you has my heart.

And each of you deserves to hear this on Christmas day:

Life is a journey.

You are not always going to get it right, and it is not always going to make sense.

But you will live.

Isn’t

that

wonderful?

I so adore you, bloggy friends.

Thank you, again, for allowing me to be as I am.

Merry Christmas.

Love, Brooke.

Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com

Categories
Life

I Miss You

I miss you, my beautiful bloggy friends.

My goodness my heart misses you.

It is truly a strange thing, that here, more than any other place, my truth shines her beautiful light.

Everywhere else on earth, I am partly starving.

Here, I am free.

Like a feather on the wind.

I am free.

Thank you for holding me, here.

xx Brooke

Categories
Poetry

She Remembers

How my soul asks to be held.

How she breathes

the cotton thoughts of yesterday

through the trees

as she remembers.

Categories
Poetry

Perhaps

Perhaps

you might ask your heart what it wants.

Perhaps

you might listen.

Perhaps.

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.

Photo by Nathan Martins on Pexels.com
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
Poetry

I Have Loved

I only have to give

this love that I have.

I only have to give it,

and cherish the way it feels

to know I have loved.

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

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

They Know Not What They Do

Why,

when the road is so beautiful,

(dappled sun on white)

do these lashing tongues

slice my delicate sky, so?

I shall find a cave, as promised.

A dear and perfect home

to soothe.

And I shall cherish the broken,

never shall I fight, as they do.

They know not how their barbs sting.

Be silent and sure, my battered soul.

Silent and hopeful,

the slicing pain will end.