Categories
Poetry

This Quiet Storm

I am me.

Just me.

Not who you think I am.

Not who you wish I would be.

Just who I am.

This quiet storm.

Me.

Categories
Poetry

I Am Loved

There you are

behind a soft, uncertain smile,

surprised that you are loved.

You are loved.

It is your expectation

that has made it seem not so.

You see the world and ask it to hold you

as you wish to be held,

and yet this is not the way life works.

Life will hold you as it holds you

so that you may learn

and grow

and be.

Love is born in the quiet room

between expectation and reality.

Hold yourself in your quiet

and you will finally say:

I am loved.

I am loved.

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Categories
Poetry

Muddy Waters

Muddy waters are pure

beneath the mud.

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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
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Categories
Poetry

The Land In-between

The matrix rages beneath the skin and I am trapped.

So this is the land in-between.

The rose unfurls beneath a skin that longs to fall,

yet the chipped paint of a girl gone by

tethers me to yesterday.

A day I no longer choose.

Absolute quiet awaits behind the curtain of truth.

Bliss calls, and yet the world of illusion screams

so that always I must return.

I ask them: ‘where is home?’

and they ask me where I think I am

if I am not already home.

Who else knows the light behind these eyes?

Who else feels the rose opening within,

when so many see only a garden of falsehoods;

of black and white;

of right and wrong;

of normal,

of insane?

The river rolls on 

and asks me to believe in home.

The place beyond the in-between

is home.

I don’t know how I know.

I just know.

woman wearing brown jacket
Photo by Learda Shkurti on Pexels.com

 

Categories
Books

Books and Reality

I’ve had thousands of best friends and hundreds of mortal enemies.

I’ve been married a hundred times and divorced a hundred times more than that, probably. I’ve had lovers aplenty, built homes, mucked stables…and all this time, I’ve insisted I am an alone person. Oh no. I have never been alone, not for a day of my whole life long.

Books are sneaky like that, aren’t they? They introduce us to friends as real as the ones that stand before us, and they break our hearts just as deeply as a lost real-life love might. Books are a powerful force, and they are as real as reality itself: because, actually, what is reality? Our mind’s perception of a scene laid out before us.

That description of reality sounds an awful lot like our experience of a book, don’t you think? The difference being: a book gives us longer to sit within the scene and hold it up against our real life for review. True reality, in contrast, usually comes and goes in a flash.

I invite you to open your mind and your heart to the idea of a book and its characters being as real as any other aspect of reality. Think of how beautifully full life would be if we all embraced that idea. No one would ever be lonely— our books would see to it that we’d have a friend for every day of the week, or at least for whenever we really wanted one.

Think of a book as another room in your house, a room filled with the most beautiful, quirky, joyful friends you could ever wish to find. That’s what I’m going to be doing from now on. And that’s how I know that I’ll never truly be the alone person I always thought that I was.

selective focus photography of brown wooden book shelf
Photo by Engin Akyurt 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
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Categories
Life

The Dreamer in Me

It’s a world for thinkers, isn’t it, this one we live in?

A world where everything has a name. A world where everything and everyone has a reason to be. In this thinking dominated world, it’s all about the boxes, isn’t it? You know the ones—you’re hovering over one right this very minute, trying to decide if and how these words will fit into your life. By the end of reading this, you should know which box this little blog post of mine belongs in. And for the real dreamers among you…you knew from the very first sentence. Didn’t you?

I should probably explain this idea of ‘boxes’ from my place in the world as a creative person—a musician, an actor, a writer, a dreamer—because I’m betting there are flocks of my kind out there, who glide along on the surface of life, happy enough to go with the flow, but feeling, somehow, that they are a bit of an imposter in this big old world of thinking and doing.

When I was in my late teens, I looked at the world and I just knew my wide-eyed dreams didn’t quite belong. Every face I passed on the street seemed to live under a blanket of grey, dead eyes going about life like it was just something that must be done, without question, without…colour.  Was this what I had to look forward to? Dreams all wrapped up, locked away behind the curtain of responsibility? Right then and there, in my sparkling seventeen-year old wonderland, I closed my eyes tight and I swore to myself. This will never happen to me.

I’ve thought about that moment so many times over the past fifteen years or so. Because guess what? That promise I made to myself, the one that gifted me a life of floating in the breeze, of spreading my wings wide and flying into the setting sun—I smashed it to pieces. This thinking world smashed it to pieces. Sucked up the dreams. Spat me out on the other side all shiny and nice and ready to please everyone other than the person that mattered most in my life. Me. I know when it happened, too. It was around about the time I joined the work-life crowd when I bundled everything I was into neatly labeled boxes and became a responsible adult. And right before my very eyes—without me even knowing it was happening— my lovely little dream world was trampled flat.

For those of you who’ve come to know me via this blog, or my old one, you might be surprised to hear that my dream world ever went anywhere—since I very definitely have been plonking bits and pieces of it into these little bloggy worlds of mine, for a few years now. But yes. It did go somewhere for a time.

Well! Quite happily, and for no particular reason, it seems like I just might be back. All of me. Because after all these years of thinking that my ‘boxes’ needed to be packed in the same way as everyone else’s boxes…I’ve finally given myself permission to say this:

‘Dear world, I am a dreamer. I always have been, and I always will be. So, you can take your serious thoughts and angry eyes away from me, because giggling and sunshine is just what I do. And I will do my very best never to forget that again.’

creativity magic paper text