What is this softness
that takes my heart dancing
beneath the sad moon?
When aching life pours from the sky,
and my heart cries
to be heard
for once
without question.
Will I listen?
No.
I will hear,
but I will not listen, for fear,
of what?
The heart needs too much.
The heart needs too much
that I,
whoever I am,
cannot ask life to give.
No rose
(not a single one)
ever bloomed in an instant.
Listen to the silence
of the journey.
Let the rose bloom
as she will.
Sweet bloggy friends. ☺️
How are you all? Well, I hope, and if not: that’s okay, too, because even rain is beautiful when you look at it a certain way.
I’m so sleepy but I wanted to say hello. I’ve been a little disconnected from here of late, and though most of you may not have noticed, it’s been weighing on my mind. There are some busy, happy reasons for my disconnection, which I’ll share over the coming months, but for now I’ll just say this:
I’m here when I am, and I’m not when I’m not. (Those of you who’ve been with me a while will know I’m a bit like the wind. Full on one day, not so much the next. This is a bit of a quiet season, I think. I hope that’s okay with you all. xx)
Anyway, I’m about to fall aslee…
Sorry, where was I? Oh, that’s right, awake. Good. Okay, good, I’m awake. But not for long so I’ll say goodnight.
Until we meet again. (Which may be soon, or not for a while, says the wind.)
xx Brooke
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.
Ah, the loveliness.
There it is again.
As smooth as the drifting river,
as quiet as the song of a mother
to the sky.
Lovely loveliness.
The sweetest of all the dreams.
I do not care to be seen.
I do not wish to scramble,
do not wish to fight my way
to the top
to be seen,
to be loved
a little more than this.
Perhaps I should try harder
to care.
Perhaps I should wish
that I might choose,
one day,
to fight like them
until I have been
chosen
and loved.
A little more than this.
How lovely.
The wind of peace.
Here.
Now.
My
how lovely.
The concept of listening to music.
Curious.
Close your eyes.
Where is the music?
Are you listening?
Or is the music
in
you?
You might think the glow of an open heart to be impossible outside the honeymoon phase of romantic love, but I assure you: it’s quite possible. And it is very, very lovely, my goodness.
When I relax into the warmth in my chest, I feel the most beautiful sense of softness and love radiate through me. Especially when I’m listening to music. It’s as though a night light has been switched on in the dark of me, and there I am, ready to hold it out to the world in search of someone to share its glow with.
A physical feeling of heat and light, is the best way I can describe my version of an open heart, and there are not many natural feelings like it at all (apart from the primal urges of childbirth, perhaps, which…actually, I should write a post on that, sometime. Childbirth is often painted for its painful side, but overlooked for the absolute primal miracle it is.)
I’m so terribly unfinished in terms of my emotional healing from the past, but there are some beautiful things going on in my life in the now that I’m grateful for. For the first time in my life I’m happily rising early to do yoga. Every morning. I’ve done it for a week, and I know I won’t stop because I’ve decided it, firmly. It feels far too beautiful to wake my body up in such an earthy way, and it’s linked with the very best part—I’m no longer rushing around and frantic when it comes time to whistle the kids out the door. In itself, that is a small step in the right direction.
It definitely helps that I’ve found the most beautiful, gentle yoga teacher on YouTube. Every time he whispers ‘relax, it’s alright, it’s all good’, it’s like it activates something within my core that knows he is one hundred percent right. That, no matter what, it’s alright, it’s all good.
Anyhow, I just wanted to check in with my real voice and let you all know I’m still here and that, no, I’ve not got a poetry writing robot posting here on my behalf. Although, truly: I’ll be if I know where some of my writing comes from. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: some of the words I write really do not feel like my doing, at all. It’s all very magical and lovely and strange.
I’m happy with magical and lovely and strange, if you are. xx
Here I am, now.
Me.
And I fly and I fly
and I fly away, now.
Still me.
Flying, flying away.
They tell me not to fly away.
They tell me not to fly away.
