Energy speaks
truer
than words.
Tag: Life Journey
Categories
Layers of Illusion
Woman.
Professional woman.
Single professional woman.
Blonde single professional woman.
Old blonde single professional woman.
Sweet old blonde single professional woman.
Joyful sweet old blonde single professional woman.
Australian sweet old blonde single professional woman.
Human.
Man.
Unemployed man.
Married unemployed man.
Blonde married unemployed man.
Middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.
Funny middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.
Sad funny middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.
American sad funny middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.
Human.
I feel the truth
only because of the false.
A seeing
beyond the faces of clowns.
Play rolled in fear,
don’t you see
the squeaky carousel?
They feel the brittle bones
of life gone by
and bleed again,
but only if they see.
No.
They won’t see,
they don’t want to see.
Be anyone but the truth,
they whisper.
Be anyone
but me.
Categories
Each New End
Life is a story I tell myself.
And I daren’t tell it wrong
for fear of the unhappy ending.
But what is unhappy?
And what is an ending
if a beginning is found
on the other side
of each new end?
He bought it in 1946 for six pounds, which apparently was quite the sum back in the day. He’s 92 and wonderful, my darling neighbour, Joe, I’ll call him. The gigantic relic of a dictionary was his. Now it belongs to me.
Joe and I lounged in his well kept living room and sipped champagne to celebrate my family’s one year anniversary of owning our home. He had remembered, not us. We were flawed with gratitude and awe.
As we sat, he told me stories of his life; the pains, the joys, stories of beautiful friends and loved ones here and gone. I could have sat there all afternoon. Instead I settled for an hour and a champagne, and two home-made yoyo biscuits (made by a dear friend of his, and absolutely delicious, might I add.)
The dictionary came up in conversation and I mentioned how I’d planned to buy a special one myself, some day. Brooke, the writer; of course she’d need to invest in something so truly lovely, full of all that writerly goodness. And just like that, the dictionary, the precious illustrated dictionary, had become apart of our family.
I will cherish it for as long as I live. Not because it’s the dictionary I’ve always wanted, but because it will remind me of a beautiful soul that has touched my life deeply.
As I sat with him I told him, ‘Joe. You have such a pure soul,’ and it’s true. I’ve never felt a person quite like him and I wish there were more people in the world who felt as beautiful, to me.
The purest of hearts. The ones that lift us to be our best. The ones we all hope we might be for others.
I plan to go for tea again with him soon, my darling friend, Joe.
I cannot think of how I might repay his kindness.
Categories
My Garden Home
If light though the trees is your wish,
it is my wish, too.
If a meadow awash with eerie shadow
calls you,
I am gone.
Already beyond the boxwoods
and sweet peas
of my garden, home.
Day 24. Somewhere over the rainbow.
Categories
Sunrise
On this tired night,
I know I have been blessed.
And so it is
I send a seed of this sweet day
into the arms of the sorrowful.
And I say to them:
take this day and make it yours,
then you will know the sunrise
every minute.
Such a beauty has been this day.
Rest is now.
Rest is now.
Categories
Remembered
The words were simple.
A question.
A question of heart and soul.
‘If you could be remembered for one thing,
what would that be?’
What would that be?
And I knew I wouldn’t be remembered for the jobs I’d done or the titles I’d held.
I knew I wouldn’t be remembered for the degrees I’d received or the knowledge I’d gathered.
I would be remembered because I loved.
I would be remembered because I tried
(I always tried)
to be kind.
And to love in spite of it all.
I have decided
there is a way life should be,
a way I should be.
As a woman.
As a mum.
As a fictional character
plucked perfectly from the sky
of humanity.
And I run
and I run
and I run to get there.
To be that.
And I run until I decide
that I don’t have to run there.
Because I am here.
I am this.
I am this.
In waking dreams I see the past
and feel it waltzing me
down a sweet, sweet road.
Oh, darling days gone by.
How lovely to feel you tickle my bones.
How lovely to remember the depths
that sang to my aching soul.
Always, I will remember the nectar
of those darling days.
Never again will their shadow
remain hidden
by choice.
brooke-cutler.com 