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
Micro Fiction

The Lolly Shop on Hope Street

The little boy followed the balloon through the Summer streets.

He knew nothing of the balloon except that it was red and tied with a glistening blue string: and that he must follow it, wherever the wind might float it.

And although the boy didn’t understand how he knew, still he knew the balloon was leading him home.

And so he followed.

And so the balloon lead him to the Lolly Shop on Hope Street.

Photo by David J. Boozer on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

A Great Land

I have lived in a great land

beyond time,

beyond name

beyond here.

Where the sun kissed my soul

morning and night,

and my days were surrounded

by honey pink flowers

and tangerine trees.

Sometimes,

I try to forget about that place.

The faded perfection of this world

never does compare

to the sweet milky sunsets

of my homeland.

Still, I visit occasionally.

Still, I suppose I always will.

Categories
Poetry

Flight

Her flight

was sweet.

And every bit as magical

as the hummingbird

sipping honeysuckle

beside her.

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

Brave

I’m feeling such a tender ache within me, this morning. The aching quiet, I call it, this softness. This knowing of connection between humans and life, between humans and other humans.

Tenderness — more specifically, sitting within the depths of this beautiful, intense feeling with others — is something I’ve accidentally avoided in the past. I had no idea I’d been avoiding it until…oh, about ten minutes ago when I realised how beautiful it feels, and how much I’ve been craving it. And avoiding it.

I thought I wore my heart on my sleeve. I do wear my heart on my sleeve, so it’s easy to see how I’ve fooled myself. But when I really think of the years gone by, I think of that bright, bubbly sunshine I used to be…and I see that her sunshine was a wall. Of protection. A wall to keep the depth of intensity in. Or out.

I still get a little scared. I still want to run. But every time I run, I lose a beautiful, beautiful moment of human connection that could have changed two human lives for the better. Every serious moment I cover with humour, I suppose, is way of rejecting myself and the truth of what is asking to be.

Perhaps I’m over thinking it. But to me this is more of a feel, a feel that is running very deeply through me on this cloudy morning.

This tenderness is so lovely, far too lovely to live without.

From now on, I choose to be brave.

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com
Categories
Fable

Perfect Mirrors

Sun and Moon sat beneath the willow tree, a picnic for two: a beautiful picture of one. Moon shining white on the river. Sun splaying gold on the rippling blue.

‘I miss you, Moon,’ said Sun, as he sipped tea and watched a fish flip into the glistening air above the river.

‘But I’m right here, Sun,’ smiled Moon, ‘And I’m always always in your heart.’

‘Well, why do I miss you, then? When you’re gone, why do I miss you so damn much?’

‘You don’t miss me, Sun. You miss you.’

‘Now you’re just being silly,’ said Sun as he tossed a rock into the river with a plump old splash.

‘It’s true,’ Moon smiled the glorious smile of all the world. ‘Have you not noticed, Sun, that when we laugh together you laugh just as much at yourself as you do me?’

‘Umm, I’ve not quite thought of it that way.’

‘And have you thought that maybe your love for me, is actually here to show you what your love for you looks like?

‘Moon?’

‘Yes, Sun?’

‘I love me an awful lot, don’t I?’

‘Yes Sun, you do,’ Sun and his sweet silence fell around her like the warmest hug.

Best friends, perfect mirrors.

There to help each other light the world.

Categories
Poetry

Moon Keeper

She sat upon the third star from the moon

and watched as the Moon Keeper

lit the brightest night light

of them all.

Categories
Life

Wildfire

I am a wildfire.

Where the flames fan wide

and the blue ripples split

the deep orange stream.

I cannot control what is wild and free.

I cannot control

a wildfire

like me.

Categories
Poetry

They Call Me Love

Here I am,

they call me love.

But how can a word hold

all of me?

This bliss that I am,

they try to name.

This sweetest dream,

this golden life.

This warm blue sea,

a human wave.

These always and forever days.

Here I am.

They call me love.