Categories
Poetry

Messy Life

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.

Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

Peaches In The Darling Sun

It’s my birthday, today.

And because the sun is so beautifully shining on my world, I’ve decided it’s time.

Time to shine the sun outwards, once again. The world surely needs some sunshine, right now.

And so it is that, once again, this little blog of mine becomes a beating heart for the world, to hopefully bring you a smile on these days where smiles may be a little harder to muster.

I should say right here, feeling the depth of what is true (however painful) is so beautifully important in life, but so is feeling love from its brighter side, so that’s what this month will be all about.

I’ll be sharing many things this month to help us all stay (or become) connected to our hearts, including stories of joy, hope, or love, and also little tips and tricks I’ve learnt along the way that help me bring out my own sun.

As those of you who’ve been with me a while know, I’ve ventured out on many a ‘blog a day’ type journey over the years, and when I have, I’ve found it sensible to give myself a little room in order to create what wants to come. So this time around the theme will be centred around the heart in general, including themes such as mindful living, joy, hope, self love, inspiration, kindness, compassion, empathy, human connection: everything beautiful about what it is to be human.

So! Please, feel free to join me on this lovely little adventure. I’ll even be going on a family trip to Tasmania part-way through, and I’ll be bringing you all with me!

I’m so excited. I hope you are too!

So much love, my dear bloggy friends.

xx Brooke

Categories
Life

The Soft Girl Again

It’s hard to tell what brings me back to the Soft Girl. She’s certainly not always around, especially not these days of nappies and loudness and putting out the emotional spot fires of small children. But today she came back.

I found her in the music again as I drove back from the shops. Music has the peculiar ability to remind me of the beautiful people and times that have touched my soul, and when it does…the Soft Girl is right there. Opening the door. Letting it all flow in.

Why did I decide to call my spirit the Soft Girl, you might ask? Well, it’s because thats the way my energy feels when it moves within me. Soft. Like a gentle breeze blowing through me.

When the Soft Girl is around I feel calm and I feel peace.

And that’s all I’ve been looking for my whole life long.

Peace. That’s all.

That’s all.

And now I’m the closest I have been to having it, because I finally know that that is what I’ve been searching for all along.

I’m so grateful for the gifts meditation and yoga have brought to my life. I’m still unsure what it’s all for, and even what it is that I’m meant to do with these new and beautiful feelings, but I’m starting to gather the clues. And they are leading to new and delicious places, sometimes expected, sometimes a complete surprise.

I’m off to bed now, I’m exhausted.

But I wanted you, my beautiful bloggy friends, to know that I adore you, and I hope each and every one of you is in your happy enough place.

Goodnight.

From me.

The Soft Girl.

Photo by Angela Roma on Pexels.com

Categories
Poetry

Call Me Shakespeare

Oh!

Has this truth been truly seen!

But a glimpse into a floating sea

of strange reality,

but a knowing truer than true can be!

Who is Shakespeare?

That terrible, desperate soul,

falling,

falling,

landing evermore in the stories

of aching romance and tragedy?

I am Shakespeare.

I am the writer.

I am the lover.

And so are you, love.

So are you,

lover of passionate life

and love.

Categories
Poetry

Tomorrow’s Rose

How delicate it is, the garden of eternity.

Interwoven; the past, present, future

of our sleepy meadow, dear.

One cannot possibly know how

or what

the wind of today will drift to the valley

of tomorrow.

One can only hope to gather roses in arms

and lay them down, admired.

But what of tomorrow?

A dried rose is surely a beauty.

A delight preserved from time gone by.

Take these roses, fine.

Take this heart

and scatter my soul freely

into the arms of the dreamers, next.

Tomorrow’s rose.

Today’s quiet and careful sun.

Photo by Irina Iriser on Pexels.com
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.

Photo by Kendall Hoopes on Pexels.com

Categories
Poetry

Twinkling Silence

Hush.

Here in the silence

that lingers between each star.

Close your eyes,

let the sweet velvet black

hold you.

And you will know

(you will know)

that this is all you need.

The twinkling silence that is you.

This is all you need.

Categories
Life

All I Am

How lovely it is

to find home again.

In this home

I am what I am,

and what I am

is a river,

a rock,

a lion,

a ballerina.

What I am

is all I am.

All I am

is all there ever was.

All I am

is all

I am.

Categories
Life

Choosing This

I’ve always looked beyond.

Always searched for the more.

Sometimes I wait for the more,

craving the sweet beauty of tomorrow.

Other times, I wait in fear.

For horrors that may, or may not come.

None of it is real.

None of it is now.

None of it is me…

until it is.

And even when it is,

it is not me.

It is always only life.

Life that has come.

And life that has gone.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com
Categories
Motherhood

A Beautiful Mess

This messy home,

an incorrectness:

something broken

needing to be fixed.

The wars we rage inside ourselves

just to keep control,

to maintain clean,

to maintain ‘right.’

It is a mistake of the eyes

and the heart

not to see the true beauty

of a home:

messy, chaotic,

beautifully lived in.

These crumbs on the floor.

They are not bad or wrong.

They are a reminder of my children.

How lucky I am to have them at all.

This beautiful mess a child does bring.

Mess is life.

And though a pristine home

is a gift to be treasured,

so is this mess.

This mess of sweet

imperfect

life.