Tag: Philosophy

Categories
Life

Small Ball

Here I am again with nothing to say.

How often have I done this, since the birth of my blog? How often have I just been here because being anywhere else hasn’t seemed like an option? Many a time.

I feel as though, for a very long time, I’ve been in between here and there. Not quite knowing where here is, and not even willing to guess where there might be.

I get the distinct impression I am meant to find here and stay here, without even a thought or wondering of ‘there’. After all, when we get ‘there’ it will become ‘here’, just as today will always be today, and tomorrow will never come. (I wonder if that makes any sense at all. I am running on very little sleep. I do hope you will forgive me.)

All this rambling makes me think of a moment I had today as I sat upon a picnic rug in our yard, with my baby crawling around at my feet. In my left hand I held a large ball and in my right, a small ball. It occurred to me that without the presence of the other, neither could actually be called ‘small’ or ‘large’. The terms large and small are always relative to something else. How would I know I was holding a large ball if I’d never seen a small ball in my life? I marvel at the wonderful nerdy goodness of that.

And it makes me think of all the other ways us humans have framed our world in order to communicate clearly. What would happen, do you think, if every ‘large’ ball was just a ball? To take it even further, what would happen if every ball was nameless; just an odd sort of circular object that sat perfectly in your hands, without a preconceived idea or purpose. What might we think to do with it if its possibilities were not as clearly defined?

Gosh I’m rambling. I really don’t even know why, or what all this is about, so I will say goodnight. Goodness, I’m tired.

I hope the world is being kind to you, bloggy friends.

If not, I am sending my heart.

The sun will shine again.

I promise.

xx Brooke

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Categories
Poetry

The Stories We Tell

The stories we tell ourselves

about what life

is,

does,

means,

will make our hearts

or break our hearts.

The choice,

I suppose,

is ours.

Make, break

or both, sometimes.

If only the answer were simple.

Then again…

what is simple?

Categories
Poetry

One

Hush, dear soul,

there is no need to question

the aching sorrows.

For they are there,

as is the joy;

two faithful companions

on the road to somewhere

and nowhere.

Oh, dear soul.

It is true there are questions

unanswered,

doors left unclosed.

Listen to the wind and you will see

there are no doors

truly

to close.

Only the ever drifting whispers

of impermanent life.

Always moving.

Never arriving.

My, dear soul.

Yes, we are weary.

Yes, we shall row into the sunset

as one.

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Categories
Life

Words Are Not BIG Enough

The room glowed orange. And LOVE. A wooden carving of the word sat against the wall in my room, opposite my meditation cushion, on top of a painting of my favourite tree (the letters light up if I really want them to. I very rarely want them to.)

I’ve become increasingly frustrated with words and their inability to capture and express the absolute truth of the concepts they frame. Love is one of the best examples of that, for me.

Love, for instance, is on a spectrum, for starters. There are differing types of love, differing levels of depth, differing levels of understanding of it as a concept, differing levels of experience with it.

And here is the problem I have: LOVE, the word, is far too small.

It is too small to capture

and hold

the vast ocean

that love

truly

is

to me.

So I get a little frustrated.

Words, in general, are a little frustrating to me, because even people we share a language with will never know the exact meaning of a word according to our perception and expression of it.

An example. I experienced the most profound moment the other day, when discussing some things with my beautiful, spiritual counsellor. She is trying to help me work through some of my energy blocks, at the moment, but as we discussed a particular topic I found myself fumbling. I knew exactly why.

Words. They were vastly limiting us in a few ways: one way being our different perception of particular words (it seemed we weren’t quite on the same page). Another being the energy beneath the concept I was trying to express. The whole thing seemed far bigger than any means of communication we had in our toolbox to discuss it with. It was as if we were trying to catch a whale with a plastic fishing rod. It was just never going to happen.

I even said to her that I felt so frustrated because I couldn’t possibly express the depth of what I was trying to convey to her in words. This was a feeling. But it was also something so much more than a feeling.

I don’t need to capture the entire universe and express it in form. But if I did…words couldn’t possibly reach the heights I’d need to climb to pick that apple.

I wonder if there is any human tool that could.

I wonder a lot of things, actually.

Perhaps I’ll keep wondering.

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Categories
Life

14 Days

It has been fourteen days and the wind has brought me here.

What happened was quite accidental (but then, is anything ever accidental in the universe?) Rather than my plan expiring as I thought it was going to (for reasons long and complicated) it has rolled over for another year.

For a moment, when the ghastly realisation was made, I thought to approach wordpress and tell them, ‘Thank you, but I’m done, here.’

I never did do that. I never did pick up the phone.

I put this down to orders of the wind. The sway of the universe whispering me to stay just a little while longer. So, here I am, writing these words–half wondering why, half quite sure that there is nowhere else I’d rather be.

Why is it that there are so many segments of us, and why is it that not all segments of us want equally?

Some pieces of me want to be heard, to be known, to be understood and validated by like minded souls who feel a little like they’re swimming around in the ever spinning washing machine of life. Other parts of me want to hide. To never be seen. To only be known by the quiet that surrounds me, the quiet that I am.

I know I must write to experience myself truly.

I know I must create in order to find home.

What else do I know?

I know I’ll always be asking questions that make me feel a little lonely.

I know I’ll always think I know the answers until I, once and for all, understand that there is no one answer. Only the next question, the next step, the next choice.

The wind has brought me here.

And here, in this moment, I am.

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Categories
Life

What In The World?

Well. Isn’t the world in an interesting state. That’s more of a statement, rather than a question, really, isn’t it: hence the absence of a question mark.

I’ve been wondering if perhaps humanity, as a collective, might be going through the same sort of life stage as me. Sifting through all the nonsense, trying to figure out which pieces to keep, and which pieces to shiny up and multiply. Trying to figure it all out, really, and will we? Can life be figured out? What actually is a state of figured out? I don’t think any of us knows, which is probably why we’re all in a bit of a collective pickle stew, at the moment.

It interests me to no end, this state we find ourselves in: us versus them, such massive divides, each heart believing their own is the ultimate truth. It’s fascinating because it has me asking questions I really don’t think can be answered in a black and white sort of way. Where once I would have declared a certain type of opinion ‘wrong’, a certain type of person ‘wrong’, I’m finding it impossible to do so, these days.

How can one side say the other is wrong entirely when there is a fifty- fifty split in opinion: half believing one thing, the other half believing another? It makes me wonder if people might open up to the grand possibility that, perhaps, no one is right.

Perhaps we all just are.

Sometimes pleasant experiences arise from us simply being as we are.

And sometimes complete and utter chaos reigns, and quite frankly, disturbs a great deal of the beautiful many of us so cherish about life here on earth. Perhaps it’s a little like a bush fire. In order to see those beautiful new sprouts of green peeping through the forest floor, first the old trees must burn.

Who on earth knows what’s going on.

Who on earth (and all the planets) knows.

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Categories
Poetry

Magical Questions

Where do thoughts go

once we have thought them?

Where does the wind go

once the storm has passed?

And why do so few wonder about life,

why do they not ask more

magical questions?

Like where do thoughts go?

(And the wind: are they together, somewhere?)

And how is it that these words

came to be called

words

when there is surely

a deeper dimension to language

and life

that will never be captured

by labels

and concepts.

Categories
Poetry

Curious

The concept of listening to music.

Curious.

Close your eyes.

Where is the music?

Are you listening?

Or is the music

in

you?

Categories
Poetry

When I Sleep

When I sleep,

am I asleep?

Or am I sleep itself?

Or both?

Or none?

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.