Categories
Life

A Mysterious Animating Force

The sweet divinity that lingers at the edge of life.

Writers and artists know it well. Actors and musicians feel it within their bodies. And none of us have any clue as to what it is. Not even those who believe, beyond a doubt, that they do know the source of this most beautiful, magical wind.

To understand this force would surely be like bottling and dissecting infinity. How could you bottle a never ending force like that? More to the point, how could you ever truly understand what it was or where it had come from? I just don’t think it would be humanly possible.

I read a book a little while ago, by Sue Monk Kidd, named ‘The Book of Longings’. I’ve been re reading it, and last night I couldn’t help but smile as I came across a familiar idea. The invisible divinity. She mentions it in the book, and right away I knew I had to share it with you all. Surely as readers and writers, both, you have felt this invisible magic. How beautiful it is to know we are not alone in our recognition of it.

The act itself of writing evoked powers, often divine, but often unstable that entered the letters and sent a mysterious animating force rippling through the ink.

Sue Monk Kidd. The Book Of Longings

At University, I studied writing. One of the units I studied was called, ‘Writing: Finding your Voice’ but the thing was…it never seemed as simple as that, to me. That we each have a ‘voice’ we can use to write with in a unique and beautiful way, or that one could simply ‘find’ this voice. Like finding a tennis ball beneath a shrubby, weedy bush in the desert.

All I can say about this mysterious voice is that I feel its magic arise when I relax my entire body and stop thinking. I’ve heard the phrase thrown about that, to evoke the force, we need to ‘get out of our own way’. To me, this is both entirely accurate and also impossible to comprehend.

Just whose way are we getting out of exactly?

And what, exactly, is the mysterious animating force behind it all?

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Categories
Poetry

Waves

I have lived on this earth with them,

but not apart of them.

It is a story I have not written.

I,

( whoever ‘I’ is )

would not write a story such as this.

I am them and they are me,

and yet there is a silence so loud in the air

that feeds on my soul,

and asks me to learn to be happy

despite of it all.

I love,

and I see they would love

if they would stop

for a moment

and breathe.

There is a beautiful fire in the belly of them.

A pure, raging storm

meant for the rising of their beautiful day.

But they use it to fight.

To stay lost in childhood gone by

and I resist it.

I resist the binds their stories have gathered,

knowing I am not a story of shame, fear, or hate.

I try to hold them, I try to wait.

And yet, perhaps I might try

to fall into the ocean of it all

and understand,

without resistance,

that I am just one of many waves

surging differently to the rest.

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Categories
Life

Cereal And Life

The oddities of humanity. The neuroses that so often become us that really have nothing to do with who we are, at all, or what’s best for our health, wellbeing and growth.

Take breakfast, for example.

My body doesn’t know that breakfast is a man-made occasion, and yet, still, I choose to feed it specific foods such as toast, cereal, orange juice or coffee at the very time it expects to find them in my life. The morning.

My body, I’m fairly certain, just needs food. To be nourished. It doesn’t care if what I eat in the morning is not, what I might consider, ‘breakfast food’. Only the odd little whisper of my brain cares about that. Should I listen? Or should I challenge what it has to say?

It’s not just cultural expectations around breakfast that rouse me. For too many years, I allowed the cultural narrative of suppressing emotional vulnerability to rule my choices, and, as a consequence, I lost the ability to live with my heart. Goodness gracious me. My precious life moments. Potential soul singing moments, destroyed because I succumbed to a life story that, ultimately, had nothing to do with the truth of who I am.

I have no regrets. Every wrong turn has brought me to this place of strength, wholeness and home, and I am grateful for the rocky roads I’ve travelled thus far. How could I be anything but grateful for the ways it has all helped to shape and expand my perspective?

Life. How it has me in awe.

Over and over, again.

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Categories
Life

Thank You

I was in tears this morning, bouncing on my fit ball in front of the TV at my new favourite time of day (4AM).

I was watching the world news.

Small children were being handed over a fence to soldiers at the airport in Kabul, thankfully with no idea there is a better life for them out there somewhere.

And then there was me.

So small in the world, thinking of my own beautiful children tucked neatly, safely, away in their cosy beds.

I felt helpless.

I wanted to take all those beautiful people in Afghanistan under my wing and hold them there for a while.

I couldn’t.

I have no control over the mental state of the terrorists of the world, or the mental state of their fathers before them. Fathers who were taught by their fathers that love looked like fear. Fathers who passed this very fear onto their sons, and so on.

I have no control over the pain of these poor darling humans in Afghanistan, just trying to live.

But I have this blog.

I have my words and I have my heart.

And maybe I can’t make a difference for those poor people, but if you are reading this, and feeling in need of some love…I can make a difference to you.

So here I say this:

Thank you for being alive.

For being unique and wonderful you.

For being human enough to have bad days.

And for the strength I know you’ll find tomorrow.

I hope today is beautiful for you and I hope you remember the sun isn’t far away if it’s not.

Because even when the darkness of the world takes over, there is always something beautiful to find among the rubble.

This is my reminder to myself.

And this is my love letter to you.

So much love and strength to you all, my beautiful bloggy friends.

Thank you for being such a big part of my sun for so many of my days.

And so, life goes on.

xx Brooke

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Categories
Poetry

Someone Is Fighting

Wherever I look,

someone is fighting.

It hurts the softness of me,

this world.

It takes and takes the peace

and I am so afraid to be torn apart

by another day of humanity.

The carnival of dark and dense

dis-ease.

Wherever I look

someone is fighting.

When will enough be enough?

Categories
Life

The Perfection of Life

The perfection of life is beyond the boundaries of good and bad, sad or happy.

2015. My fourth miscarriage. The loss of pregnancy at ten weeks.

The doctor looked into my soul and told me, ‘I know the obstetrician for you. Here are his details. If this was happening to my sister, I would be telling her the very same thing. Go to this man. He will treat you beautifully.’

Love.

Held by a stranger, through pain.

Never be afraid of the fullness of life.

Never be afraid to love beyond it all.

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Categories
Poetry

Feel

Some days,

I can’t be here for you.

Some days

I need you,

to hold my softness

and let me fall.

It is a beautiful drift of snow

that feathers the earth of me.

A gentle spring breeze

beyond the strength I’ve tried so hard to be.

And I lay me down to feel it all.

I lay me down to feel it all.

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Categories
Poetry

One Small Me

If I am not her,

that good and lovely girl in a box,

who am I?

Now that this body is alive

with the energy of all of life,

who am I?

I believe this,

but I believe the opposite of this, too.

I love you desperately,

I hate you just as achingly.

Both can exist within, but how?

But how?

I am bursting fire,

I am calm ocean blue.

I do not understand, and I understand entirely.

For one small me,

these feelings are large.

Too large for me to carry

alone.

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Categories
Poetry

The Sound Of Silence

How lovely it was

to call the darkness an old friend.

The darkness inside,

the darkness outside.

Did they even know it was both

of which they spoke?

A Neon God was made

so beautifully to shine

light

for all the world to see.

And so the world saw.

And so the world changed

for a moment, just one.

And so the world went on

to lose its voice

over

and over again.

To the darkness.

To the never ending lies

that remain hidden

beneath a grand old rock named

fear.

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Categories
Poetry

Forever Home

Sorrow is quiet and soft.

How strange, that during the saddest times, the quiet is the loudest voice of all.

Tonight, I send my voice into the stillness.

To honour the love and the sorrow that lingers when we lose our most precious hearts.

Quiet, the place where unconditional love floats free.

Peace. Our soft and gentle, forever home.