Categories
Life

A Beautiful Epiphany

From the depths of the ache came a beautiful epiphany.

A knowing that the day could be different, and would be different, if only I’d offer myself a brighter choice; something beautiful to fill my cup to just enough.

I stood in front of the bed, exhausted from lack of sleep.

How can you love yourself in this moment? said the whisper.

The answer: make the bed. Admire its softness.

Again, I stood in front of the bed, exhausted from lack of sleep.

How can you love yourself in this moment? said the whisper, once more.

A glass of warm lemon water. A candle on the ledge of the shower.

It was a normal weekday morning. A weekday morning that could have taken my whole day down had I not listened to the quiet voice of my heart.

I sat on the couch, still exhausted from lack of sleep.

Knowing I had lived beautifully.

Knowing that had been the difference.

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Categories
Poetry

Soul Song

My

soul

knows

this

song.

Categories
Life

Peace

Peace.

It’s soft and it’s cool.

It’s free and it’s flowing.

And quiet. (Good heavens it’s quiet. I close my eyes for that one. Truly. I close my eyes.)

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Peace.

It lives in the candle beside me; within this flame, still and perfect.

I drink tea alone—peace lives there.

And the wind, swaying green beyond the window: it stops me as I wander.

It brings me home.

Peace is the language that brings me home.

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Peace.

It is such a beautiful thing.

And it’s funny. How long it has taken me to see its worth.

That I’ve been looking for it. That, always, it’s been mine.

If only I’d known that I needed it.

I needed it.

Peace. I need it, still.

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Categories
Poetry

The Next Step

I have spent so much time

searching for the next step,

and yet

the next step

has always been taken.

With no need to search.

Categories
Poetry

The Deep Of Me

You may name it what you will.

But the ocean will always smell like

what is beneath the name.

It will always look like

what is beneath the name.

And it will always feel like my very own soul,

(the underside of my name.)

You may name us both what you will.

But the ocean will always be beyond it all.

And so will the deep of me.

Categories
Poetry

Lovely

Good morning, sun.

And river.

Flowers and trees.

Happy day to you, wind,

and the bird song you sweep over mountains.

(Good morning, birds, and mountains, too.)

I will let you be, this day of life.

I will let you all be as you will,

and I will call you

lovely.

Categories
Poetry

Dear Sweet Music

The heavens sing like golden strings around my soul.

Here I am, sweet song.

Take this heart with your melody, dear.

It is yours to open,

it is yours to sing to life

beyond the ordinary day.

Take it.

Take it again.

It is yours,

dear

sweet

music.

Categories
Life

Some Days I Fall

Some days I fall. I’m not a good mum. I’m not a good human. I’m not a good me, on those days I fall.

It’s not a consolation to know that I do not fall alone. That humanity itself is in constant fluctuation, that some days we rise and some days we fall. I’ve fallen. Me. The writer of these words, the feeler of these aches. On those days I wish for more, I also wish for peace. The two do not go hand in hand.

But it’s not as easy as finding peace and being happy with that. Without this beautiful depth—without this wild and wistful wind that moves me—there would be no passion to whoosh me along the creative river of life, the river I know and love so well.

Is it about lowering the expectations I have of myself? Or is it about lowering my expectations of life? What, I wonder, would help me to feel at peace in a world that so often clips my wings.

I was given wings to fly.

I long to use them.

Is this me, using them? Right in this moment, is this the way I was meant to fly? To write about love and loss and sorrow and sacrifice? About life at its best and life at its worst and how, at some level, it’s all the same thing, anyway?

What is it all for?

And when will I stop asking: what is it all for?

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Categories
Poetry

How Is A Rose To Grow?

A rose to meet the morning bright,

to grow in cheer,

to gather life.

Yet day to day

the rose does wither,

day to day the rose does wither,

lost

beneath the foggy dreary.

Lost.

Beneath.

How is a rose to gather

honey sweet

from deep blue trees?

How is a rose to grow

in the dark

of uncaring

life?

How is a rose to grow?

Categories
Poetry

The Sound Of Night

My body is alive

with the sound of night.

How I hunger for this bliss.

How the melody of a simple tune

makes love to my senses,

and I am whole

like the wind,

like the sun,

like love.

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