Moving Mountains

FullSizeRender

It’s really bloody hard accepting who I am, not just the ‘nice’ bits or the tight and tidy parts but the whole loose and dirty shebang.

I have a sneaky suspicion, a hope that maybe when I do reach acceptance, total and absolute acceptance, thoughts of impossible won’t crowd me anymore.

Maybe distance won’t exist because I’m everywhere I want to be.

Maybe I’ll be a light so powerful I can strike to sculpt mountains and carve crystals.

My skin might become translucent and inside I’m so bright I’ll attract the flies and the bees and inquisitive birds.

Possibly, I’ll invite time to dance within my golden core, getting lost in my rhythm and retiring early to bathe in my 24ct waters.

My tears could fill depleting oceans and quench thirsty soils and I could raise disillusioned spirits who crave to be seen.

Or maybe, just maybe I won’t be any of the above. I’ll just be me and that will be all I’ll ever need to be.

And in the certainty of accepting all of who I AM, no words of others or spiteful actions or sharp pains could move me to places of panic or self-harm.

And maybe, in me, I could shift the stubborn and the lost and the control freak and the judgement.

I could shift the immovable by accepting everything, just by being.

Because reaching the point of being means there’s no-one else I’d rather be apart from the woman I AM, me.

 

Imagination

FullSizeRender

My imagination runs away, persistently.

She steps outside contained limitations to explore and discover plains of elsewhere and elsewhere is never as far away as you think.

She’s my feeler, sensing her way through clusters of unhindered realms, each one so very real, so very alive and vivid. Although not in my tactile surroundings yet, all comes… this She has proven time and time again.

I use the word She as she’s powerfully receptive but She can fight as fiercely as She cries. ‘She’ is only a distinction, a label to differentiate between her absorbent nature and the active opposite. Yet without one, the other is aimless and even aimless requires our aims acknowledged. So, She is all and in-between. She’s active in her receptivity, and in this unity the perfect circle is formed – Perfect for expansion.

And she expands beyond boundaries, beyond self-inflicted restrictions, to where creative nectar glistens. The very nectar that oozed through our veins before birth, the nectar that eased us into existence. The very nectar we waste on attempts to sweeten others, to glue their needs to our wants.

We’re addicted, all of us. It’s in our blood and bones, our cells suffocate without it. To imagine drives our reasons. Truly, it is imagination that answers our questions. It fills our pockets with scented flower heads, keeping our palms fresh as we rummage through the daily grind.

Imagination is as real as reality is not.

So I let her run, some days I pray she’ll lose herself and not find her way home but she always returns and with a gift. I’ve learnt to take all she offers, no matter the depth of discomfort her gift may bring. To turn your back, to sever the tongue that devours her essence will destroys her hunger and with no fire in her belly, she’ll die, in an instant.

 

Yes, I AM

FullSizeRender

Don’t worry about me

I’m here

Taking up space

Collecting back pennies of worth

I once handed out, so freely

Don’t bother thinking about what I’m doing

I’m doing swell

I’m doing big in thinking and believing

I’m doing more than I thought possible

Me, I’m enough to make shit happen

Not waiting anymore

Trusting, completely

I’m doing better than fine, thank you very much

And I AM the centre

You can tell me otherwise but I won’t listen

I’m taking centre stage and embracing the vastness of possibility

Such power in my universe

And I’m only just beginning to use it.

Choose Love

FullSizeRender

To choose love was back up plan A.

Because love always saves the day, plays the hero and coats the dress in diamonds and pearls.

What can be easier than choosing love?

When boxed days rotate and high winds dissipate frantically built lodgings, I’ll call on love to rebuild.

When thorns creep up flesh and bones to choke the vein that feeds me, I’ll swallow love. Juicy, revitalising love. I’ll be replenished in an instant.

It was supposed to be that easy.

Love is warm and fuzzy and pleasurable and light.

Choose Love they said and all is coming. So, I chose love and yes, certainly all did come

And indeed, the eyes of change sneered upon routine, mocking until she got her way.

But to really choose love, all-out-no-going-back-love was the fucking hardest thing I’ve done and I cursed, not the days I’ve loved but the lifetime I haven’t.

I cried to the moon, to the stars, to any God who’ll listen ‘please make it stop’, but my choice, my choosing, what can anybody do?

Because choosing love shatters. Memories splinter and slice up your eyes, sharp tears are going to sting like nothing you’ve ever felt.

Fill up your hands with soil and bile and the rotten eggs you tread on, smear your face with shame, perversions and spiteful words you’ve laden upon others. You have to see the dirt, to taste it, to smell it. You’re gonna bond with festering bacteria that lives in disrupted guts and shit.

Because choosing love churns shit and it’s messy. Don’t be precious because shit can stain.

Choosing love? Don’t be precious about anything.

Love rips up the pleasantries and vomits on obligation. Nice? Forget it

Because choosing love doesn’t carry you, or soften the strike with feathered blades, it dissects you; it burns from you tattooed ideals and dented understandings

Choose love and you choose transparency as love isn’t blind. Love doesn’t play the game. Love isolates you from disillusioned masses and fake branding.

Choosing love, unconditional and universe-creating love invites old habits and disgusting manners back to the table.

Bring it ALL to the table, says love. There’s room.

There’s room for the dirt and the tears and the mess and the pain. There’s room for mistakes and mishaps and misunderstandings and misery. There’s room for the shame and perversions, the wrongs and the rights.

Choose love and you can’t deny hate

Choose love and you won’t shun pain

Choose love and you see there’s no distinction between the two.

 

 

Hazy

FullSizeRender

My reality changed the day I decided it was one I’d manufactured myself.

Reality, I decided, is no longer seen truths or spoken absolutes.

See, the colours I notice are dependent on how bright the light and the brightness of light is dependent on far how I step into the dark. What a revelation! To know that depth of feeling is mirrored, no matter the direction. Walk away from your reflection and your reflection walks the precise distance away from you.

This is good news, right? In that case I have such joy and immeasurable pleasures awaiting me just after I prise my face off the hard concrete following a monumentally shit meltdown. I’m certainly familiar with meltdowns.

The hard task for me, where the problem resides is the hazy light that festers in-between, as that is where I seem to have aligned most of my deliberations.

The expectation of hazy smog has become routine, hazy light is safe, like the light you would allow into a room full of antiques, knowing little would threaten the ageing wood. A room where I can see the dust settle and although I know it’s there, I’ve become accustom to the feeling of ignorance towards the unseen. What is beyond my vision is beyond importance.

So I feel secure as I sit in this half lit room where blurred lines of polarities skim worn cushions and tacky ornaments that remind me of times gone by.

‘Oh how I wish those days were now’

Musty layers coat memories and I take comfort in the undisturbed and the scent of stagnant aromas, which are familiar to me. To invest only on the flip side of understanding, this kind of sheltered existence beckons all efforts and focus. Hazy understandings, I have dwelt over and over in places I know too well.

But then I get bored of hazy days. My throat begins to swell and words and beliefs that held such weight and conviction lose their importance. They cause obstructions as they wedge between coarse, tired vocal chords, fed up with the bullshit I’ve expelled over the years.

But it’s not bullshit, I remind myself as I can only match the light that I see.

Then I notice the air thicken and my persistent cough. I’d missed how sick I felt as the hazy light masked toxic pieces of hopes and wants and maybes. I blow the dust from my belongings and the debris stings my eyes. The room smells worse than it did before I meddled but I can’t stop now as I’ve stirred clear the murky glaze and Im fascinated.

Then I think about how hazy rays of dawn and dusk settle discoveries unearthed by the light of the moon and midday heat. And I want to be a part of that cycle and I want to discover more. I want to feel the afternoon heat and hear the call to hibernate as the sun goes down.

So that was the day I changed my reality and adjusted the light. I decided it was time to dissipate my fear of discolouring all that already exists. I opened the curtains and within a second, hazy turned to bright and crisp lines defined the darkness. It all became that little bit clearer, just a little bit that was enough, for now.

Blind Faith

FullSizeRender

Blind faith got me this far

I’ve no house to call mine

I’ve no children and I’m not struck by certainty when I think about wanting them

I’ve no partner to cradle, I’ve no arms of comfort and reassurance when I crave human, because we all crave human

I’ve absolutely no idea where I’m headed and where I’ve been is rather baffling too

Mostly, I feel like my 20’s were spent repairing the patchwork blanket I unravelled as a child, stitched by the incessant hands of others

Frightened moments feel like I’m sat in a pitch black room but fear is not of the dark, feeling more than feels comfortable and sensing without seeing, this is where true fear lives

Recently this fear seems to be subsiding as my awareness of this slippery existence grows so massive, so beyond the known. I’ve never felt so powerful as I do in this void, I have no choice but to surrender. There’s no prop, they were destroyed by the downpour of salt waters, and there have been plenty of downpours

All I feel is that which guides me

Graffiti obstructs once recognised signs

Not my art

Not my way anymore

When so much falls away so quickly, I’m raw to the elements. I’ve no shell, well not one I’m familiar with and this has scared the crap out of me

Still does

I look in the mirror and question ‘Who the hell are you, really?’

It’s my only job to find out, what other responsibility do I have

Rebuilding, it can feel so overwhelmingly impossible but when I say that word, Impossible, when those 4 syllables bounce from my tongue over and over, I loose all understanding of its meaning

A word, like yes and no and high and low, their meaning is nothing more than a belief, taught truths

Scripts once worshipped and meanings I now question, such misunderstandings leave me deserted. All I can do now is unapologetically feel, to sense and trust this new language I’ve still to learn.

I listen

My place is no longer to dictate who I am and where I’m headed. See, I believed to have that figured out years ago and now, I couldn’t be more detatched from imagined expectations

So I’m in the dark, listening

And keeping those blind faiths that brought me here, writing this

Faith is all I have

 

 

Fuse back

FullSizeRender

There are broken days

When I don’t work so well

Nothing around me lights up

The moon is only a sphere behind polluted clouds

And the stars

Well they’ve buggered off to light up some bright young things universe

I look at my feet and I curse the miles they’ve travelled

‘You didn’t take me far enough!’

And my cuticles are bitten red raw

But hey, healed skin would give me nothing to pick or complain about

Then there are days when I make the decision to fuse myself back

Because it is a decision I have to make

When I pray to lost entries, extinct chapters, or so I had wished when I tore them from me

Come home, I plea

Because without you I forget what it means to love

I ripped from me pleasure when I feared the pain

Come back to me, please

I can’t be great without you

I want all the tears and frustration and angry spells

Sounds crazy, I know

But only then do I have the power to light up again

+

_

And my feet are happy as my strides are less hesitant

And my cuticles are happy because they’re not bleeding

And I love

On those days when I fuse back

I love so much it hurts