Categories
Poetry

Asking Questions

It is not the darkness

of others

I fear.

It is my own

crimson need

to mould the world

into a shape

that cannot possibly exist,

or remain.

Perfection is rigid,

solid,

stiff.

Life

is the ever flowing river

of everything,

everyone,

every way.

Broken?

Unbroken?

Right?

Wrong?

There is nothing

but life asking questions.

And answering them

as it will.

Categories
Poetry

The Sun, The Moon, The Mind

There is no day.

There is the rise and fall of the sun.

There is the opening and closing of eyes.

But there is no day.

Only a rolling eternity

split by the sun

and the moon,

and the mind.

Categories
Life

Time Is An Abstract Concept

I’m a bit of a nerd If you’d like to give that particular invisible stream of ‘me-ness’ a name.

My brain works in weird and wonderful ways (like all of our brains do). Perhaps, though, I glorify the magnificence of the human condition a little more than most— I can admit to that much.

I’ve never really understood why humans aren’t more fascinated by the wonder that is these truly magnificent bodies we’re built into.

How they can break, and heal, as if by magic.

How they can mix ingredients (male and female) to induce a process of growth and birth so miraculous it’s incomprehensible how any human has actually existed, ever.

How the light in my eyes can tell you how in love with you I really am, and how my words do not have to tell you a thing about the way that particular love feels inside of my body.

Anyway, I know:

I’m a bit of a nerd.

But don’t you guys think it is ALL so TRULY AMAZING?

I sure do, and that’s just the human body parts of it all.

I’ve just read a blog post that made me dig a little into the way I feel about all this human-ness at a deeper level, particularly the way I feel about the ‘invisible’ things of life.

Time.

The internet.

Love (or any emotion, really).

It all lives in the sea of nothing and everything, doesn’t it?

Energy. Nothing and everything.

My Dad always used to throw out this line—and laugh at his own hilarity, actually, as I often laugh at my own. I completely blame him. For that, and for my large selection of ‘funny but not really funny’ jokes.

Anyway, the line he used to toss out there was ‘time is an abstract concept.’

At the time (ha ha ha :P) —I was somewhere between eight and thirteen, I’d imagine— I looked at him, eyebrow raised. What on earth was he going on about? Time wasn’t abstract. Time was clearly time.

Part of me agrees still, that time is a very real thing.

There is a clock up there. Today is Saturday.

But is there really ‘time’ because there is a clock up there?

And is it really Saturday, guys?

And am I, indeed, ‘a nerd’? (Wink)

I’ll be back tomorrow with some more waffling, I think.

It’s time for me to ‘move’ somewhere new.

Again. xx

person in black jacket walking on snow covered pathway between trees
Photo by Domen Mirtič Dolenec on Pexels.com

Categories
Life

Reality. And How There is No Such Thing.

I send a text message to a friend: a message that warms my heart because I’ve said something that fills me with all the lovely things.

In my mind, I see my friend receive the text message. She smiles.

In my mind, we have just shared the most BEAUTIFUL tender moment together.

To me, this is my reality.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it?

I’ve constructed the entire story beyond reality as I truly know it to be.

The reality is that the actual version of events may have gone something like this:

I send message. Smile (all the lovely things, la la la.) My friend receives the message. My friend is emotionally triggered by something I have lovingly communicated in the message. They are not on the same page as I am. Not even one-little-bit.

Oh my goodness. You guys. Do you see what horror I have to put up with in this random little world of mine? How is a dreamy, love-hearty girl like me to deal with such a stern and logical talking to by the invisible powers that reside within? Lessons on how to live in the moment. Lessons on how to tear the dreamy light out of my eyes?

I mean, really, universe.

Shame on you for breaking a girl’s heart.

woman sitting on rock doing heart hand gesture
Photo by Peng Louis on Pexels.com

Categories
Life

The Puzzle

I believe the world is a puzzle, and we are the pieces.

All of us.

The trees.

The rivers.

You.

Me.

These guys. (Awwwww. xxx)

close up photo of a hand holding three white kittens
Photo by Peng Louis on Pexels.com

 

But no, I mean really. That’s what I believe.

We’re a puzzle.

And though we don’t often tend to think of it…

we all have our own special reason,

our own unique connector points

to make the world exactly the way it’s meant to be.

person holding save our planet sign
Photo by Markus Spiske temporausch.com on Pexels.com

 

Maybe it’s time to be brave, and ask out loud:

What does my puzzle piece look like when it’s home?

What makes it bop, and zing, and burst with yes!

Most of us have at least some of the answers figured out.

Just maybe not all of them, quite yet.

Because, actually, we’ll always be still learning, right?

light sunset people water
Photo by Negative Space on Pexels.com

 

We are all unique.

And if we really are a puzzle (which I truly think we are, by the way)

we need to be our uniqueness.

Otherwise, we won’t fit.

And if we don’t fit—

The puzzle will start to look a bit like…umm, yeah.

(Never mind. We’ve still got this, guys.)

red and three blue jigsaw puzzles
Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

 

We all have a yearning inside of us

that tells us, quite firmly, where and how we belong

in the puzzle of us.

And yet many of us deny we can hear it,

for fear of being judged by the people who deny the puzzle exists.

(Those people, I suspect, keep their eyes closed for a reason.)

active ash cloud ashes blaze
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

This is the start; I can feel it in all of my bones.

I don’t know where my connector points are.

I don’t know how to slot myself comfortably into place.

But I also know that doesn’t matter, for now.

The main thing is…I know about the puzzle.

And knowing about the puzzle has shown me

that we are all on our way to something good.

man building architect joy
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

 

 

Categories
A Blog a Day in May

Deep Diving: The Experiment

This is a little experiment where I will write. And I will not stop. Until I feel it’s time. Time, it’s an abstract concept, don’t you think? It’s not of the world, but also, it is. In an odd kind of way.

Life.

What is life, I often wonder. It’s the little things taken for granted. It’s the flowers we walk past every day, without looking. It’s me. It’s you. It’s us. It’s them. All of us living in a world where everyone else is so easily wrong. All of us looking for something more. Better. Free-er. Right-er.

A little bit lost, most of us. A little bit bamboozled. Unsure. Unsure and beautiful. Unsure and strange. Unsure and almost there, but never quite there because ‘there’ will never be a place we can find on a map. And if we do happen to find it, we don’t want it anymore because ‘there’ always looks better from ‘here’.

Nothing’s certain. Nothing’s true. Nothing’s right, nothing can be. Ever. Not when all our eyes are made from different shades of wonder. Different shades of serious. Different shades of true.

But one thing I do know is this. Life is beautiful. Precious. Mine. Yours. Ours. It’s safe and it’s unsafe and isn’t that the point? Isn’t that the beautiful part? The not knowing. The being here, the never really knowing where ‘here’ is?

This was a little experiment where I wrote.

A little experiment that will go on. And on. And on.

All the days of my deep-diving- human-life.

think outside of the box
Photo by Kaboompics .com on Pexels.com

Categories
Poetry

How To Be Good

It’s funny

isn’t it

that the secret to becoming

a good Mum

a good wife

a good friend

a good human,

is to realise that

actually

there is no good or bad

anything.

Because what’s good

to her

and her

and him

may be absolute

nonsense

to the one who truly

believes

they know.

pexels-photo-459800

Categories
Poetry

Some Kind of Magic

It’s some kind of magic

that you

and you

and you

will read these words

and think

and feel

and be

something different than you were

before you read them.

woman reading a book sitting on mattress near the blue string light inside the room
Photo by Ivandrei Pretorius on Pexels.com