Categories
Motherhood

Waiting For Baby

It’s a beautiful time, for me. I’m seven weeks away from meeting my sweet little baby number three, and nesting has well and truly begun.

Life has been busy and forceful, if I look at it carefully and agree with the truth of it. Lockdown and homeschooling. Rushing to finish painting our home before baby arrives (I simultaneously love painting, and never want to see another tin of paint again.)

Beneath it all, though, lies a quiet hum. A hum so lovely, I’m certain it’s the stuff a summer breeze is made of. Lately, it’s been with me when I open the baby’s wardrobe; I stand there a little longer than I need to, just because it’s so lovely to be with my baby in that ‘real’ kind of way.

It’s the same loveliness that occasionally stands with me at my children’s doorway while they sleep. And, although I’ll never deny that motherhood aches and destroys at times, I’ll always be grateful for the quiet moments it brings my soul.

I’m home in this softness.

I’m well and truly home in this place.

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Categories
Life

Serendipity

I’ve always been aware of the mysterious force just underneath the surface of life. I’ve never called it God. Sometimes called it fate. But, either way, always its been there, every so often offering up a situation or life lesson that I truly couldn’t explain in any sort of logical terms at all.

In my early twenties, acting was the creative force that lit my soul on fire. I was seventeen when I did my first amateur play: a fun pantomime, which I’ll always remember so fondly for both the acting experience, but also the experience of being a part of a family that wasn’t my own.

That experience was just a tasting platter to the acting adventures to come. Years later, when I was twenty, I auditioned for the role of Abigail in an amateur theatre production of The Crucible. The character was the total opposite of the way I perceived myself. She was wild, I was timid. She was daring, I was meek. She was sexy and vivacious, I was…absolutely not.

And yet when I took to that stage, there was nothing left of me. Just the shell that used to be me and a wide open storm bursting onto the stage, rising from the depths of my soul. It changed my life, that show. It gave me validation that there was something truly extraordinary about the human condition. That we could embody lives and situations that didn’t even belong to us, and with such authenticity that it really made me wonder: what on earth is this life?

But this show never would have happened had life swung the way I’d wanted it to. Some months before being cast for The Crucible, I had applied for one of Australia’s best acting schools. I didn’t get in. Devastation. I’d dreamed of going to acting school since falling in love with theatre in my high school theatre class, and there really didn’t seem to be any other pathway calling my name.

When the rejection letter came it stung, and it left me wondering: what now? All my eggs had been in in that basket, and now I had no eggs left at all. I didn’t want any other eggs. I just wanted those eggs.

Then I auditioned for The Crucible. I’d done the play in high-school but had played a supporting character and I wanted to see what it might be like to play a bigger part. So I auditioned for the main role. And got it.

The show was cast in two teams, which was highly unusual for an amateur production. Two girls were chosen to play each of the younger main characters (kind of so we’d each have an understudy) and, come showtime, we’d alternate performance nights.The performance schedule was a huge undertaking — much bigger than I’d ever taken on before, so a day off here and there sounded like a lovely idea to me. My days off would be spent playing a voiceless, nameless member of the cast. I was happy with that.

Over time, the disappointment of being rejected from acting school disappeared. I’m not sure where in the rehearsal process for The Crucible I realised I was apart of something profound, but it was certainly clear by the time we put our books down (which means: by the time we’d learned our lines). I was more alive in Abigail’s skin than I had ever been in my own, and I never would have known this truly extraordinary sensation had I gotten what I had thought I truly wanted. A place in acting school.

Whatever the mystical force is that drives life beyond the surface: it had done its bit, I knew it had. Several times I thought it. Had I gotten into that school…I wouldn’t be here.

What if. What if.

What if.

The miracle of it all turned out to be far bigger than I’d imagined. Partway through the run of shows…I lost my voice. Perhaps because there was a great deal of screaming involved in the production, I’ll never know, but it happened and all I could do was accept it. I wouldn’t be performing the rest of the season.

Of course I was devastated, but more than anything, I was flabbergasted, and I think the rest of the cast was also. What would we have done if not for the directors choice to cast and train two actresses in my role (and remember I said this was a highly unusual choice for an amateur show. What on earth were the chances of this happening? My goodness. The magic of it all thrills me, to this day.)

By the time the show had wrapped and the after party rolled around, I had adjusted to the disappointment and was happy to remember the magic that had already taken place within me. I didn’t need to perform the show more than I had, to see how it had changed my life.

And if I’d had a voice at the after party, you never do know what might have come of my life from that day on. Because it was at that party where I met the man who went on to become my lover and friend for the next three years of my life. It’s a bit of a giggle to think what might have happened…had I spent that first evening talking his head off.

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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.

Categories
Poetry

Wherever I May Go

Life and her currents.

I feel them like tears in my bones.

And all I can do is let the river run,

let the stream carry me

wherever I may go.

Through the high clouds of white.

Through the deep dungeons, dark.

I will be there.

Life,

I will be there

to follow the rainbow, home.

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Categories
Life

Octopus Mum

I just fell in love with an octopus.

It was an octopus mum, to be specific, a mum just like me. And my mum, and yours, and his mum and hers.

I wouldn’t say it was the octopus herself I fell in love with, exactly…

It was the love.

The love I somehow absolutely knew she felt for her little tiny octopus babes. It was grace in motion, the way she bundled her precious little ones into the ocean, the way she held them with her soul.

Maybe it’s because I’m pregnant (29 weeks, not that I’m counting down or anything.)

Or maybe it’s just because love is what connects every living creature on this earth and I think that is the most beautiful miracle, regardless of the motherly hormones surging through my veins.

I think it’s the miracle thing.

The love thing, the complete and utter mind boggling beauty of it all.

I am so saddened it took me this long to connect to all of life, truly I am, but I’m also beyond grateful to have had a chance to know this depth of connection with my fellow planet dwellers. It really is the most magical, wondrous thing.

Now, If you’ll excuse me…there must be another adorable octopus video on the internet somewhere. I mean, surely.

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Categories
Life

Life, Ever Fragile

The fragility of life can be truly shocking.

There’s a beautiful line from a Sarah Barellies song called, ‘She used to be mine’.

It goes like this:

Sometimes life just slips in through the back door, and carves out a person, and makes you believe it’s all true.

It makes me think of how funny we all are. How we travel along believing we’re very much in control until suddenly we realise…we never were in control. Not ever. At all.

Perhaps we maintain the beautiful illusion of control, quite well, but ultimately when life steps in and presents its aching quiet…all we can do is look at it peacefully and understand: this is.

Life, ever fragile.

Always beautiful.

In fact, it’s the darkness that shows us what light is.

It is our fragility that shows us our strength.

It is our failures that show us the right way forward.

And it is anger, fear, hate that shows us how deeply beautiful surrender is.

How deeply beautiful love is.

Life frightens me, sometimes, but peace is the shining puddle I look for beneath every rainy day.

I feel it, now.

I feel it, now.

Sending sooooo much love, however life may be swaying you, lovely bloggy friends.

Always, so much love, from me.

xx

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Categories
Poetry

Rainbow

In my softness I hold this gift, for you.

A small slice of home,

and a tiny sun to shine

only on you, sweet friend.

This rain will pass,

it will pass on through the air.

And in your eyes I will find

the joy

lingering,

calling from the horizon of you.

And in my eyes, the shine of knowing.

Knowing that rain built the very rainbow

that now shields you, for life.

Knowing you always were okay.

Every moment.

Safe.

Loved.

And on your way.

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Categories
Poetry

My Fire

Oh, this is the depths of desire!

How wild winds do blow

within the halls of this longing.

Lingering aches

clutching at far off stretches of my truth.

Built over lifetimes,

tasted this day:

I see you, raging humanity.

How hungry you’ve been

for my soul,

my flesh,

my fire.

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Categories
Poetry

A Fine Rose

I will craft this scar into a fine rose.

Soft pink and berry, Mum,

like the sweet child I was to you.

Take this rose

carefully,

softly,

sweetly, remembering home.

I have been afraid

because of you,

and yet

because of you

love has broken me open;

I shine our memory into the world

like a moonlit day.

Take this rose

carefully,

softly,

sweetly,

for I am still afraid

I will craft this fine rose into a scar.

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Categories
Life

Creative, Loving,Life

I’m very aware of the rich soil of this place. How I am peeking through the soft earth, unravelling beautifully. How I am fully becoming myself.

Over these past few weeks, I’ve been allowing myself to be as I am, just watching the world go by. Watching all the expectations I had for my life and my dreams fall apart, so sweetly.

I am here to create and to love.

That is all.

It seems that, for most of my life, although I have been creating, although I have been loving…I have been looking to frame this creativity and love within an identity. Within a ‘reason’. For example: I must write a book in order to write legitimately, to be accepted under the culturally approved model of what a writer/creator must wish to strive for.

But I don’t wish to strive for this. Although it would be lovely to hold a book of my heart in my very own hands, I am so fulfilled by life that it truly does not feel necessary, to me.

I only wish to create. To be utterly fulfilled by this most beautiful connection with myself and the people I write for.

How or where my creativity (my essence) finds these people has become unimportant to me. I trust my words and heart will find home, effortlessly. I know this logic might make no sense to some, but for me, to flow through life feels like the only right way.

I never had to write a book to be a writer. I never had to be ‘a writer’.

I only had to be my wind.

Living. Creating. Loving.

Because this is my life.

This is my creative, loving life.

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