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?

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
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

Some Days

Some days,

even the days that are kind,

(and quite lovely)

feel a deeper shade

of aching life.

And you’ll never know why,

(at least, I never do)

but you might hope

(like me)

that one day the ache will settle

and you will no longer wish

(quite desperately)

for something more.

Or less

(I can never quite tell.)

What did the poets do,

you might ask yourself

(like I do)

and you’ll try desperately to forget

the ones who didn’t make it

all the way.

I will make it all the way,

(this I know)

because I choose life

even when the skies are grey.

For alchemy was the golden lake

of dreamers past.

And dreamers present fill the aching

(world)

with streams of sunshine

and honey milk days.

Shall I fill my own cup

and drink the nectar, sweet?

Shall I ask the golden lake

(of life)

to flow this way

and bring me home?

Categories
Life

Thinking

It’s an odd spot I find myself in. This middle land of bloggy days.

This creative world of half-begun.

These are the things that I know:

  • I know I love the freedom of this blog: it doesn’t feel right to be stuck in a box.
  • I know my new blog is ‘a box.’ A lovely box, that I hope to be very proud of one day, but it is a box. I need more than a box.
  • I know I love this place. It’s home to my love of books. Music. Friends. It is my heart and soul. My unbridled creativity.
  • I know I’m not ready to give up on my Little Blog of Everything, yet.

So I’ve decided I won’t.

I thought it would make sense for me to let it go, and in some ways it does but in other ways it doesn’t. This grey world. However do we make it through. 🙂

This blog allows all my creative seasons to be, and to be shared.

I love that. I love sharing my talents and passions: for much too much of my life, my creativity was held captive, losing life behind the bars of solitude. I fear that by leaving this place, I will be placing that creativity back in the hands of a sloppy, unappreciative owner. I don’t want to do that.

I want to always let it fly.

So I’ll stay until I know in my heart of hearts that it’s time to say goodbye.

That’s what Mary Poppins said to the children.

I’ll stay.

Until the wind changes (which might be never.)

(And Empath Days will carry on as planned. xx)

empathdays.com(opens in a new tab)

Photo by Jade on Pexels.com

Categories
Writing

The Novel

Two years ago, before the universe exploded everything around me, I began two very writerly things. One thing was this blog (and what an absolute gift this place has been to me. Writing and a beautiful little band of friends to share my life with? I mean, what life experience could be more wonderful. )

The other writerly thing I began was my very first novel, which became just about my whole entire heart when it began to spin its delicate web within me. I fell in love with the people, the places, the thoughts, the ideas. Everything. My novel felt like a safe and lovely home, and I felt like I was the lucky owner.

Apparently it wasn’t time for the novel, though, because the universe decided to blow my life up and make me a whole new person (thanks very much universe. Oh, you’re really quite welcome, Brooke.)

Anyway, I’m getting silly ( 🙂 )but according to the universe, there were a few more breadcrumbs of life for me to pick up before this novel could take flight…and without ruining the story for you, I can tell you: the universe was right. My goodness, how right the universe was to blow up my world and my novel.

I can’t quite articulate how I feel about the novel now that I’ve returned to it, but I can say that the clarity of thought and expression I now experience in my creative life— due to the meditation and healing I’ve done since then, I’d imagine — has given me a new set of eyes. And a new piece of my heart to write with. My goodness, you guys. It is the most magical, wonderful thing.

A great deal more of my novel makes sense to me now. I couldn’t possibly have written the novel that was asking to be written back then because I didn’t have the right ingredients within the writerly/ humanly cook book of me, then.

But lately I’ve started hearing whispers from the universe and this is what they’ve said:

It’s time. You are ready.

And guys?

It’s true.

I am so completely ready.

Let’s do this.

Photo by Janko Ferlic on Pexels.com

Categories
Life

On Writing

I write a lot about real life events. Sometimes I connect to fantasy and spin a beautiful story from worlds that don’t exist, but often I write from a place deep within. A place of memory, but more than that. It’s a place of alchemy, the unconscious breathing life into the conscious.

Friends and lovers gone by — how they’ve changed me. Hopes and dreams lost to the wind of time, moments of what if merging with moments of what is. It is a beautiful gift for a writer: to explore the world within, to honour the people, places, life paths that have made us who we are.

I hope my inner world will become a gift for you, also. A mirror to help you discover your own story, and the parts of your soul you’ve yet to explore.

Every person who has grown me into who I am lives within the worlds I write.

And every person that lives within me, through my writing, now lives within you.

I will never take for granted the profound beauty of that.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

What Matters Most

I’ve been loving the chance to melt into human stories again. And music. My goodness, how it feels to connect to that deeper place within and melt into the sweet symphony of another.

These past few months have seen me dipping in and out of the great creative loves of my life: writing and music. I can’t remember a time in my life when I was without them, and I’m so terribly glad for that. A soul merging with life itself. Surely that’s what creativity and self-expression are—at least, that is what they are to me.

I’m wondering why my soul has drawn me back to music so strongly at this time in my life. Why it’s chosen to show me the true effects music has on my body. Why it’s chosen to speak to me through the musical stories I tell and hear.

I don’t suppose it matters why or when.

I’m grateful to have found my whole heart again.

That’s what matters most to me.

acoustic guitar adult chain city
Photo by Caio on Pexels.com

 

Categories
Life

The Soft Girl Snooze

I like to pop in every day, if I can. Often there are days that I miss, and today was going to be one of them. I’m just a bit tired, today. The only me I have available to give is a little ‘hello, I hope you’re all doing okay.’

It frustrates me when the Soft Girl is out of action (for those of my bloggy family who are new, the Soft Girl is what I call my intuition/connection to self/connection to my creativity).

That beautiful wind feels ridiculously lovely as it moves through me, and the results of the Soft Girl’s blissful energy in motion are often just as lovely. So I’m missing her, today. She’s having a little snooze, and that’s okay. ☺️

Anyway, so much love bloggy friends. Hopefully I’ll be back with a little more in the tank, tomorrow. xx

Categories
Micro Fiction

Lavender

They used to meet in the meadow and gather lavender.

How sweet it was to raise their faces and breathe.

How sweet it was, just to be.

Side by side.

Alive.

aroma aromatherapy aromatic basket
Photo by Jill Wellington on Pexels.com

 

Categories
Poetry

Write With The Wind

I cannot create unless I soften.

I cannot write with the wind,

I must become it.

I am the beautiful breeze that flows these words into the sky of all things.

Human is but a small part of me.

The blissful wind

I am

is the rest.