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?
And with a smile,
she held life gone by.
And love kept her.
Love kept her,
home.
Home, at last.
And when there is sun
such as this,
and when there is beautiful drift
and swaying trees,
I see life as it is
and I know it is good.
For, the mind, I know
tells stories.
And yet
perfect truth
is this touch of fresh air.
Just another season.
Another precious season
of darling life.
Do not touch this softness.
I see you
angrily tearing at her bones,
leave her be.
Dear sweet, peaceful girl.
For she must rest,
she is weary,
must rest, she has been
battered and bruised
by the tentacles of careless,
careless life!
Even the most darling rose
is a work in progress.
Be the rose.
How beautiful
that she will show you the way
to freedom.
Life is a story I tell myself.
And I daren’t tell it wrong
for fear of the unhappy ending.
But what is unhappy?
And what is an ending
if a beginning is found
on the other side
of each new end?
There is no need to be afraid of the
not good enough.
This weakness you perceive,
this pathetic softness you scold yourself for
compared to
she who declares herself strong.
Close your eyes.
Breathe and know this.
You are perfection
just the way you are.
For you must know this flimsy frailty
in order to recognise the goddess
who one day will rise within.
It must be.
For without this shadow
the towering goddess inside
would remain hidden to you.
Trust the journey.
Trust in the perfection
of messy life.
Bravery
is born
on the tender tears
of loss and disappointment.
Keep stepping.
You are so loved.
‘Sun?’
‘Yes, Moon?’ said Sun as he fell into the evening sky.
‘I shine every night. I brighten the humans’ world. Why do they not love me?’
‘Moon?’
‘Yes, Sun?’
‘You have a chip in your tooth.’
‘Do I?! Oh, no! Maybe that’s why!’
‘Moon?’
‘Yes, Sun?’
‘It’s a tooth.’
‘I know. And I don’t want a broken one.’
‘But you have a broken one.’
‘Sun! You are not hearing what I am saying! The humans don’t love me and I don’t want a broken tooth.’ Moon stormed around the sky, looking for her lost boot.
‘Moon? I love you. And you have a broken tooth. Not but, and. Did you hear me? And you have a broken tooth.’
‘Sun. I have no idea what you’re on about,’ said Moon, putting her found boot on and keying in her crescent shine coordinates.
‘I know, Moon, I know. You’ll understand one day.’
‘Maybe.’
‘You will.’
And with that, Moon said goodbye and shone unconditionally for the humans below.
Let go.
For peace.
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