I am a child of the wind.
My bare skin knows the beauty of this life, and yet, within these soft walls, I am bare.
How heavy it is to hold this uncertain hand of mine.
Sometimes.
Tag: Vulnerability
The word sipping is very pretty, isn’t it? Delicate, like the action it shows. I can see a small pair of hands, a little tea cup beside a little light. And I know it is home.
I know it is me.
I’m sipping chamomile tea and wishing to be held like this more often. Wishing to be seen in the softness, wishing to share it and have others agree it is a beautiful softness we feel.
Tea is like that. Delicate, like the first breeze of spring, like the bunnies that graze by the river, in the evening. It sounds like a fairy tale, doesn’t it? An unreal imagining, only it’s true.
And so, so beautiful as the delicate rolls all around me.
I have been struggling more than usual over the past few months. Missing the beautiful flow I found a while back, and yet also feeling the embers of momentum begin to burn within me once more.
I wake each morning at 6 and I meditate, followed by yoga if I can fit it in. This is holding myself and my family as best as I can, with love.
I’m proud of myself for giving myself and my family these gifts.
If only a beautiful sun would light the rest of my world, so I could see clearly the path ahead. I forget myself so easily. What I love. Who I am. Each step is as sure as it should be. Why is it I continue to search for relief on the horizon?
I am home.
Let me stay here.
Let me fall into this beautiful sweet depth, forever.
Categories
The Home Of Me
Categories
Far Too Long
It’s been far too long since I’ve written like this.
I’ve just been reading over old diaries, feeling my voice through them, knowing my heart.
It made me think of how I used to do that, here. How I used to be unafraid, how I understood that sharing my heart was something I needed to do, like breathing.
I write my heart because I want you all to see it is okay to be vulnerable.
More than okay.
Necessary, even, if you are someone like me.
So I wanted to find you again, in this place, as myself.
And I wanted to tell you, whoever you are, whatever your story: it is okay to be yourself.
It is okay to be your beautiful, however you are, self.
I have seen myself in the world around me.
In the people, things and places I love.
In the people, things and places I hate.
In the people, things and places I care only slightly for.
I block myself from myself when I am afraid.
When love is too much, too broken or not enough.
When dreams meet reality and reality must win, for the greater good.
I block myself from myself because I don’t know who I am.
And I think I should.
Because others do.
I should, too.
And so it is I unzip my skin and let it all fall down around me.
The aching of lost dreams.
The stinging hope for dreams to come.
They eat my soul, I hold them close.
I am meeting myself.
I am losing (and missing) myself at the very same time.
It has been fourteen days and the wind has brought me here.
What happened was quite accidental (but then, is anything ever accidental in the universe?) Rather than my plan expiring as I thought it was going to (for reasons long and complicated) it has rolled over for another year.
For a moment, when the ghastly realisation was made, I thought to approach wordpress and tell them, ‘Thank you, but I’m done, here.’
I never did do that. I never did pick up the phone.
I put this down to orders of the wind. The sway of the universe whispering me to stay just a little while longer. So, here I am, writing these words–half wondering why, half quite sure that there is nowhere else I’d rather be.
Why is it that there are so many segments of us, and why is it that not all segments of us want equally?
Some pieces of me want to be heard, to be known, to be understood and validated by like minded souls who feel a little like they’re swimming around in the ever spinning washing machine of life. Other parts of me want to hide. To never be seen. To only be known by the quiet that surrounds me, the quiet that I am.
I know I must write to experience myself truly.
I know I must create in order to find home.
What else do I know?
I know I’ll always be asking questions that make me feel a little lonely.
I know I’ll always think I know the answers until I, once and for all, understand that there is no one answer. Only the next question, the next step, the next choice.
The wind has brought me here.
And here, in this moment, I am.
Deep within my heart
there is a river, raging on.
And I ask this river to be careful.
‘I am fragile,’ I say, on the softest breath.
‘Sway me,
always,
never to rush me,
never demand.
Hold me carefully, river.
Hold me carefully,
I am not like the others
made of brick and bone
and steel.
I am only like I am.
I am only like I am.‘
I think about her, sometimes, when my heart turns to sun. Nan. Her heart used to shine like that, too, which is why I can’t help but think of her when I feel intense love radiating from my own chest. As an off shoot of the kind of love she gave to me (and, let’s face it, probably genetics) I am who I am. And I love, as deeply as I love.
We fluff our ways through life, bothering about the silliest of things: when really we should hold the beauty, longer. Feel the love of our loved ones, longer. Express our love to others, without fear: give them the beautiful gift of sun that Nan gave to me.
I often think of Nan, and when I do I wonder why I loved her so deeply, why I still feel her today just as beautifully as I did when she was here. I loved her because she loved me. I loved her because there was never a question when I felt her energy how much it meant to her that I was alive. What a gift to be given by someone. What a gift: to know that you have touched their life, that you have meant something to their moments.
I shine when I look at my children with the same kind of love my Nan did when she looked at me, and I can only hope the depth of that love sinks into them as deeply as it has me.
I’m waffling a bit today, and that’s okay. I’m in my love place. I’m in my world of grateful and I intend to make the most of it and spread Nan’s sunshine, while I’m here.
She would have loved that.
She would have loved that I’ve given her sweet sunshine to you.
Categories
Life Be Cradled
Let the soft and delicate know me.
Let my life be cradled
by the warm arms
of peace.
Categories
The Ache Of Ever After
When the sun joins hands
with the silver white mountain tops,
she will remember him.
And an ache will drift slowly
across the heart left
between them.
An ache of ever after’s
‘what if.’
An ache
always to linger on.
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