Categories
Poetry

The Rose

Even the most darling rose

is a work in progress.

Be the rose.

How beautiful

that she will show you the way

to freedom.

Categories
Life

The Beautiful Things

There are days when the wind blows my feelings in storms over the sea of life, and on these days my old friend fear rows back to me and makes himself known. Do you need me, he says, can I hold you a little longer, he says.

On those days, I am human. On those days I worry and I cry and I tense up, thinking I might have lost something precious that once held me perfectly. Thinking, oh no. What if my life tumbles into bits and pieces, again?

Then there are the moments that shine like a diamond struck directly by the suns brightest ray. Moments of Devine breath. Like the other day, for instance, in the garden. The silent whispers were there again, and not in some imaginative fairy world kind of way. In a very real feeling kind of way.

Somehow (and you all know by now that I am completely clueless as to the how and the why of these sorts of things) there was communication happening between my heart and the earth. The weeds for heaven sake, weeds I once would have gritted my teeth at and angrily resented. They were silently singing. I couldn’t help but love them dearly.

Have you ever looked into someones eyes and felt they were speaking to you without words? If you’ve been in love before, it’s certain that you have. This kind of energetic communication happens between man and nature, too, apparently, and I am the first to say how surprised I am about this glorious darling of a thing.

And it is glorious. My goodness, it is.

There is no human language to describe a Devine beauty such as mans union with nature, but I truly hope that if you’ve not yet known this depth of beauty in your life, you one day will.

If not, I have been here, giving you my words and my heart, hoping they have been enough.

No one should leave this planet without going to this lovely place within themselves.

And so it is I send my wish out for all the world to find their way.

And so it is I am grateful.

I have found heaven at home.

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

The Wind

The wind, I think,

is peace.

The breath of the earth.

The song of the trees.

And we will bathe in her softness,

today,

and every day.

The wind, I think,

rolls all days into one.

May she catch us

and show us

the truth in her song.

Categories
Life

Soul

I had to write. With my heart open wide and my energy flowing, I had to write because writing is what my soul does when it needs to breathe.

My soul needs to breathe.

I stood beneath a tree in my front yard the other day. I was gardening, but gardening has become so much more than just a word, to me. How about caring for, nurturing gently, cherishing life as it grows beneath my hands? That sounds about right.

I was always going to love like this. Always going to be the one to love that little bit more. And where it often hurts a great deal to live with my heart wide open, I can’t imagine any other way of being.

A bug caught my eye as it crept up a branch. It was my baby daughter. Of course, it wasn’t my actual baby daughter, that would be insane of me to consider. But I knew in that moment that I loved this little beetle. That I would protect it. That I cared so much more deeply for this little life than I ever thought I could.

I have only just allowed myself to feel this deeply again. It was often unsafe to be my fullest self in this world, and many have hardened beneath the hardness of generations before them. My culture was not built to tolerate a soft heart. It is a culture of jokes at people’s expense and arguments over petty things. I reject it entirely. And it rejects me.

But I stand under trees and I love them with all that I am.

And I write.

Because my soul asks me to write. So I do.

I write.

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Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

Little Koala Arms

Such adorable little roots.

And no one is more surprised than I am that my plant journey has taken me this way. It was just the way of the wind and so I flew there, in a great big gust of life, and suddenly I’d begun propagating succulents.

What you do is: you take a leaf from the plant and you let it sit in the world to do nothing for a while. The idea is that the wound (where the leaf tore from the plant) dries out and, when it does, you place the leaf on a bed of soil and lightly mist over the coming weeks. That’s when it happens. That’s when the teeny tiny roots appear.

Such adorable little roots.

My little darlings have begun to dig their arms so deep into the soil that, when tugged, they come away with an arm full of soil, clinging like little Koala arms to the soil below.

They remind me of my baby girl. The way she clings to me as I wander about the house, knowing I am her only life line, the one she needs to feed her and grow her perfectly into this big old world.

My succulent babies are the same. They cling to their Mother (Mother Nature) and she breathes them to life as they hold her.

The whole act is a vulnerable one.

Such adorable little roots.

Such achingly tender little Koala arms.

Photo by PrathSnap on Pexels.com
Day 28: Plant Mum forever.
Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

The Ocean

It never ceases to amaze,

the ocean of life;

how wide it must be.

If I can see but one river

from this, my dainty hill.

One glimpse of time,

one slice of space,

what else must the ocean be?

Day Five. How lovely it is to wonder.
Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

Flowers

The flowers opened with the rooster’s crow and closed as the sun went down. Everyone called them weeds, and that’s what they were if you were someone other than me.

Whatever their name, they woke and fell asleep with the sun, like us, and that was just so beautiful to me.

I’ve lived in several houses where this sort of ‘weed’ rose upon the front lawn like a problem to be dealt with, and though the grass was neater upon their official doom…it was never quite the same. Never as alive. Never as lovely, such is the vibrance of dynamic life.

And so it was that I loved that lawn much more when the weeds were alive.

Because Shakespeare was right.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

Photo by Jackson David on Pexels.com
Day One. Thank you for stopping by. ❤️
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.

Photo by Pia on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

It’s Love

Perhaps I am here to write. But at the core of that, at the core of my words, at the core of my message…I’m here to love. I always have been, and it’s more clear to me now that I’m allowing my love to be seen.

I can’t help but feel great waves of empathy, particularly for those who are struggling in life. Those who are scared. Those who are being unfairly treated, by those who don’t even recognise the wrongs they perpetuate (as a result of their own messy humanity.)

It’s all a bit of a mess.

It’s all a bit of a mess.

So maybe I shouldn’t waffle at you about love.

Maybe I should be writing something of substance: something about the politics of what’s going on with the floods in eastern Australia, maybe, and how they’d want me to say it’s got nothing to do with the way we treat the planet (when, actually, I believe that Mother Nature was the very first woman who learned to powerfully speak her truth.)

But I’m not going to talk about natural disasters, or about who believes what.

I’m going to talk about love, and how I feel it, and how I feel for everything and everyone, and wish that more humans did.

Because underneath every natural disaster, lives love. The rescuer rowing a family to safety while their own home—a home they have loved and cared for with everything they have—drowns behind them.

That’s love.

That’s not politics.

It’s not who made the wrong choice about dam management and should be fired because of it.

It’s not who is right and who is wrong about the effects of climate change on a struggling earth.

It’s love. It’s always been love.

Beneath it all.

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Categories
Poetry

The Very Same Breath

But surely you know

the earth still breathes

the very same breath.

The very same breath.

And surely you know

we earthlings do breathe

the very same breath.

The very same

breath.