There she was.
She had always been there
beneath the rubble of crumbling
life.
How sweetly the sun did shine
upon her remembrance.
Categories
Remembrance
Tag: Humanity
Categories
In The Gentle Woods
It is the depths that call me here.
It is the silence
and the bells
of yesterdays wish.
Let there be now.
Let there be this walk alone
in the gentle woods.
I hold this fear in soft arms
and let her be.
She is a dear traveller.
She knows this village well.
Peace, dear friend.
We shall sit
and we shall be, without wishing
to change one another.
Categories
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
The scars of life run so very deep. It’s hard to remember them, hard to sit with that pain.
The moments of quiet are beautiful, though, and moments of love revisited are to be cherished.
How beautiful true love feels when compared to its total opposite.
And I will quietly be
as I am.
Yes, I will quietly be.
Categories
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
For The Birds
The birds are home and so am I.
I could say they are noisy, but they are not really noisy. They are only noisy if I think of them in relation to my world.
On their own, they are just who and what they are.
Birds.
Chirping, squawking birds.
I’ve deleted another of my posts (those of you who have been around for a while will know I have done this, from time to time) because the energy of the post didn’t feel like my truth.
It felt like the underside of my world. It felt like the dark parts of me, not my sunshine.
I choose only to shine on this world, when I can help it.
In the post I deleted, I spoke of scammers and manipulation, and where I have felt victimised as a woman in the past. These pains, I know, are real, and they will live within me and walk beside me in everything I do.
But they are not who I am. And the ways I have been victimised are not the people who have hurt me, either.
I see those who have bullied me, taken advantage of me, used or abused me, but I see the pain within them more. They have been small children, hurt by something in life, desperate to cover that pain with a bandaid.
Who am I to blame them when I am the bearer of the very same wounds that scar them?
I will try for the birds, to allow them to be.
Perception is a vastly misunderstood word, I think, because, for the most part, we use it in very one dimensional terms. It looks like that man over there is grumpy. It sounds like he is, too, given he’s just yelled at the mail man.
But have we been underestimating the truth of what it is to be human? Are we forgetting to tap into the depth that lies beneath the known? Our five senses really only begin to explain to us the absolute vastness that is the universe within and around us.
And Charlotte’s Web helps me to know this truth, in my own life.
Because I feel it. Every word, every meaning, every heartbeat of its beautiful flow…I feel it within, like a gentle wave, like a Mother’s touch. The subtle energy of the book tells me everything I need to know about it, and me, and who I have become because of it.That, to me, is profound and beautiful. And really rather magical, when I think about it.
The energy of Charlotte’s web (or, perhaps you might like to think of it as the ‘voice’ or ‘essence’ of the writer) is soft, gentle and wise. It makes me feel safe in a very real sense. It holds me in an invisible world that I only know because of my relationship with what lies beneath the words.
Such is the power of a beautifully written book.
Categories
Stop. Imagine.
Stop.
Imagine.
There is a human here and a human there.
Both are different, vastly so.
Human number one feels okay being bombarded with a box full of emails. He tackles them, one by one, and then he continues on to more busy things. He flies to the top of the work chain. He never rests. Not even when he’s sick. Successful. They say.
(Nobody can figure out why success looks like that.)
Human number two feels overwhelmed by emails and noise, so instead he chooses to paint. Beside the trees. He struggles with focus, but he needs to struggle with focus, because if he focused he’d lose his flow. His authentic flow. The thing within him that changes the lives of others in profoundly beautiful ways.
(Nobody can understand him. Nobody can figure out why he’s broken like that.)
He feels ashamed. He has a choice. He takes medication so he can be more like the first guy. Everybody breathes a sigh of relief.
He slowly dies inside.
And so does everyone around him because
where are all the beautiful things?
Imagine.
Stop.
All toxic cultures die.
Everybody is happy, being the person they were always meant to be.
Everybody.
The end.
brooke-cutler.com 