Categories
Poetry

Soul Song

My

soul

knows

this

song.

Categories
Writing

Purpose

I’ve tried all the angles. I’ve felt all the rights and wrongs about what they say a writer should do, should be, should want…but I’m not like them.

I want barely any of what they tell me I should want.

To write from my heart, that is what I want.

To touch other hearts, I want that, too.

To shine so that others might know what it is like to shine on the other end of my words: I want that, more than anything else. Life is for dreaming and being the sweet dreams that we are.

I’ve tried to write for money: it leaves me empty.

I’ve tried to write any old thing: it leaves me tired, frustrated, hungry.

To share the depths of my soul is what I am here to do.

To connect with others at the level of the heart.

I want that.

I want that.

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

Categories
Life

An Open Heart

You might think the glow of an open heart to be impossible outside the honeymoon phase of romantic love, but I assure you: it’s quite possible. And it is very, very lovely, my goodness.

When I relax into the warmth in my chest, I feel the most beautiful sense of softness and love radiate through me. Especially when I’m listening to music. It’s as though a night light has been switched on in the dark of me, and there I am, ready to hold it out to the world in search of someone to share its glow with.

A physical feeling of heat and light, is the best way I can describe my version of an open heart, and there are not many natural feelings like it at all (apart from the primal urges of childbirth, perhaps, which…actually, I should write a post on that, sometime. Childbirth is often painted for its painful side, but overlooked for the absolute primal miracle it is.)

I’m so terribly unfinished in terms of my emotional healing from the past, but there are some beautiful things going on in my life in the now that I’m grateful for. For the first time in my life I’m happily rising early to do yoga. Every morning. I’ve done it for a week, and I know I won’t stop because I’ve decided it, firmly. It feels far too beautiful to wake my body up in such an earthy way, and it’s linked with the very best part—I’m no longer rushing around and frantic when it comes time to whistle the kids out the door. In itself, that is a small step in the right direction.

It definitely helps that I’ve found the most beautiful, gentle yoga teacher on YouTube. Every time he whispers ‘relax, it’s alright, it’s all good’, it’s like it activates something within my core that knows he is one hundred percent right. That, no matter what, it’s alright, it’s all good.

Anyhow, I just wanted to check in with my real voice and let you all know I’m still here and that, no, I’ve not got a poetry writing robot posting here on my behalf. Although, truly: I’ll be if I know where some of my writing comes from. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: some of the words I write really do not feel like my doing, at all. It’s all very magical and lovely and strange.

I’m happy with magical and lovely and strange, if you are. xx

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Categories
Life

Keeping The Soft Girl

I had an epiphany today.

The soft girl.

She’s found the place she remembers, the place she knows she’ll never leave again.

Not for any job, not for any man.

Not for any worldly fear that really wasn’t hers to begin with.

Because once the wind finds a soul, there’s no stopping the current that swings it merrily along.

That wind.

There is no denying it.

There is absolutely no rationalizing it because there really is nothing rational about the greatest love that ever there was.

The love of a soft girl.

I won’t abandon her to the logical minds of others again. She’s far too lovely to be over thought, and over criticized by a world too afraid to believe in the magic at the very fingertips of us. The magic of more.

I believe in the magic of more.

And my heart, my soul, my soft girl—I promise I’ll never leave you again.

I promise that to you now, because now I know you.

I finally know you.

And that means that all along…

you and I were the ones that were truly meant to be.

woman turning around on green fields
Photo by Jackson David on Pexels.com

Categories
Life

How I Love You

All the gentle, beautiful people.

How I love you.

And how this world needs you, so.

action adult affection eldery
Photo by Matthias Zomer on Pexels.com

Categories
A Blog a Day in May

Music: The Most Beautiful Dimension

I’ve just been at the Piano.

I’d like to tell you a story about that, actually. How my piano came to be my ultimate happy place (and healing tool, you might say.)

It’s in my soul, I think. Music. It’s the place I go to escape the world when it gets too noisy, and it’s absolutely the place I go when I need to re-make sense of the world around me.

I suppose you might say I had quite an explosive childhood— and when I say explosive, of course I’m being a bit dramatic (lol). All I mean by ‘explosive’ is that I was a highly sensitive child, and although the world was all sorts of fun and wonderful, my sensitivity sometimes got to me. When the teacher shouted at the kid in the next seat: it wasn’t the kid that felt the brunt of that rage. It was me. I felt it all.

Although I didn’t know it at the time, I needed an outlet, a way to remove the yuck of a world that somehow seemed so much bigger than me. I needed a night light. A safety blanket to catch the waves of emotion, especially the ones that didn’t belong to me.

I still remember asking Mum: ‘Please. Can I have piano lessons?’ to which the reply always came, ‘Brooke. We don’t have a piano.’ Of course, I knew that. But my heart felt like it was being called to. It felt like I just needed to play. I don’t really have the words to explain the pull of such a deep need, but it was there and it never went away until that one special day. My fourteenth birthday, I think. The day I got my first keyboard.

Well. I was beside myself. Here I was, surrounded by lashings of colourful paper, staring at the one thing I intuitively knew I needed. I quickly taught myself to play, which was really just me tinkering away until what I was playing became something that resembled a tune. Soon I was writing songs. When I wrote, I said all the things my heart needed to say, I just let it all go. Whatever wanted to come out. I let it be.

And it felt good. It felt like a wooshing tunnel of wind rushing through me, taking with it all the angry, the sad, the tension. When I played— when I wrote— a new part of me came to life. The right part of me.

The true part of me.

It’s not surprising to me, when I look back, that most of my songs were written when I was in my teenage years, a time of hormones and boys and tears. (Oh, gosh. All the tears.) Those years were a time of absolute truth. A time of boundless dreams, but also a time where the world really could have ended if I happened to be ‘spoken’ to by a teacher that really didn’t know that I was a crier.

When those things made my world explode: I escaped. Into my music, into the wave of beautiful that sang into my bones. And that’s just all sorts of magic to me. That still is all sorts of magic.

My first love. My piano.

Okay. 🙂 Well, that’s enough sop for day two, I suppose. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.

I hope.

xx

selective focus photography of piano keys
Photo by Steve Johnson on Pexels.com

 

 

Categories
Life

Find Your Magic

Go on.

Find your magic.

Categories
Life

Magic

It’s time

to believe

in magic.

Categories
Twelve Days of Christmas

Home

On the fifth day of Christmas

my heart remembered

it has another name.

Home.

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Categories
Twelve Days of Christmas

Peace

On the fourth day of Christmas my soul took me back to the river.

Same river.

Different tree.

The feeling was the same, though.

The feeling of the river washing all the sharp bits out of me.

Making me soft again.

Just like when it’s me and only me in the world.

Today, the river became me.

And I became the river.

And I now know why I was drawn back to this calm and sleepy place.

It was because I had something to learn.

I had to learn to recognise the feeling that takes hold of me when the river bubbles and the wind blows warm on my skin.

I had to give it a name.

It’s name is ‘peace’.

And I’ve come back to the river so that I might share this peace with you.

xx Brooke

Ps. Go find a river. Listen to it. Feel it. Life is too short to let the rivers of this beautiful life pass us by.