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Many times I’ve doubted the strength I have to carry myself.

‘Am I enough or are broken pieces of me distributing weight unevenly?’

I wasn’t enough, or so I believed.

My knees ached as I dragged conflicting reasoning’s everywhere I travelled, not truly feeling safe anywhere. Mainly blaming environment or circumstance.

I’m claustrophobic because feeling confined within the dark space of my mind dampens my palms and revs up the heat, exhausting vitality. In the company of so many people I feel anonymous, I feel alone and my thoughts are deafeningly loud. Did I feel so unworthy that I never screamed, never vented any of my worries?

‘Fuck you life, Fuck you!’

I never did screamed, ever. I swallowed instead.

And anxiety grew, rooting deeply into my pelvic bone, unsettling every step I took.

The inhospitable me that I’d grown to accept, to misunderstand was the only reality I knew when I slept, when I roamed, when I sat to eat dinner at the kitchen table.

Safety in my shell, was this ever a possibility when attacks from within were so violently satisfying? Sharp blades of self-hatred pierced through my gut lining. I was a walking battlefield.

But not anymore…

I am fed up with fleeting doubts that poison my power.

So my shell is a little dented and scarred tissue decorates my flesh, so what?

I am unravelling restrictive bands from around my lungs, it is safe for me breathe as deeply as when I first arrived into this world.

Breathing life into the only home I’ll ever need to invest in

Investing in me

I am home.

I’ve No Earth in my Astro Chart…

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I rarely feel grounded and have spent 85% of my time staring, thinking, pondering, observing, mystified by everyday magic (with little grounding, everything possesses an ethereal quality). I have lived life with my ‘head in the clouds’, a phrase I’ve become familiar with growing up. I’d rarely hear the questions I was supposed to answer during the majority of my education and the worlds I’ve created in my head (and boy, there’s been plenty of those) have felt 100% real.

I’m generally floating and that remaining 15% of me not staring into space has been spent trying to cement myself to ‘reality’ but often not my reality, the reality of another wanting me to fit with their perceptions of life. I’ve mainly dated men with tons of Earth in their astro charts so you can imagine how each relationship ended, pretty much the same way… ‘You’re a dreamer’, ‘come back to reality’.

Reality? Who’s reality? I have no freaking clue and I’m floating on a cloud of I-can’t-give-two-craps right now. Often when I’m fretting to figure shit out I just park everything, whatever I’m doing I stop, I’m still. I used to wait but waiting is anticipating, waiting for something and believing we know what may (or may not) be coming is, most of the time, wrong, as we can never really know. Although saying that, I do believe that deep down we know what’s best for our wellbeing, we just don’t often listen. So maybe ignore this paragraph, or don’t… it gets complicated this trying to fathom our existence when you’re using language that’s been constructed and all constructions have their boundaries.

I’ve been hiding away, spending the past year in hibernation. Everything got way too much and I broke. I didn’t really fit, or feel comfortable anywhere so I guess breaking myself up and scattering small pieces down different avenues felt like the only thing to do. Of course that only lasted so long until there was nothing left to give and my feet were well and truly off this earth and venturing someplace alien. Basically, if I didn’t retrieve those pieces back my body and soul (not that they’re separate but for explanations sake, we’ll count the one as two) was gonna pack up. Spiritually I was zapped and physically I was sick. I had no choice but to retreat from the world and focus entirely on healing.

The more I listened to my own language – less words, more feelings – the more I realised I don’t need to be anything other than who I am. I can’t anyway, it’s impossible. I am who I am. I’m not always bad, I’m not always good, I’m me. This is no easy lesson, somedays I want so much to be anyone other than me yet I realise that on those days I need to love ALL of me the most.

I am a dreamer and I love stories and as my imagination continues to roll, these stories ain’t going anywhere. I may as well write them out, even if no-one reads them, the imagination is always gonna play and everything is better out than in.

I also know I have to consciously anchor myself, I have to bring more weight into my core by feeling everything that’s going on inside, (plenty is going on, 24-7 as I’m sure it is for all!) to recognise and acknowledge, not dismiss or fight as I’d previously done before. Finding a spiritual practice has vital for me, yoga has helped me understand my uniqueness and totality, that no part of me is separate from another. Buddhist teachings are resonating so strongly too, although my understandings are still basic, as I’m only a beginner on this epic journey.

So that’s where I’m at now, still foraging a path that suits me, although what I believe suits me often changes in ways beyond my control. Maybe that’s the next lesson, don’t try and build the path, just follow the sound of the birds.

Who knows… who really knows anything?

 

 

 

 

 

Foundations

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My roots grew confused

One half of me foraged to the left, seeking distance, finding refuge in the dark.

The other half stayed small, hoping the sunlight would find them but I was quick to learn, sunlight doesn’t need to seek.

I grew detached, split in two and my weight never distributed evenly.

‘So be it’, thought I. ‘I’ll just continue to grow this way’.

And over the years I grew but my foundations were flaky, always conflicting and because of this I grew a little wonky.

It wasn’t so bad and I didn’t stand out too much, as those around me were a little wonky too.

When the storms blew I lost many pieces, rigid stems broke quickly as they refused to lean into the current.

As I was wonky, I lost more on one side and as I aged I found it harder to renew and as all my gusto seeped away, I stopped trying. Slowly I began to wilt.

I was tired and despondent yet restless and curious.

And then one day curiosity got the better of me as if I didn’t do something soon, I would surely rot.

I felt an intense need to shake.

To rip apart known structures and see what happens.

So I did exactly that.

I shook so vigorously that others looked at me with disfavour.

I wriggled and jiggled and rippled with such force that dormant life living in soils below woke up.

The earth began to move. Each organism scuttled, searching for new comforts.

And in those moments of complete disarray, I retrieved damp roots to dry them off and released all I was sheltering into the sunlight.

The whole of me swayed and for a second I thought I might fall, but I didn’t. My roots intertwined, warmly embracing the lost.

And my foundations spread out, they deepened. One root never far from another, I was supported by my very own community.

Water reached the tips of me.

Life crawled up my strengthening frame.

The further I reached, the more life I could welcome.

I felt integral, I still do. I feel necessary.

And now I am thriving

Now I am alive.

 

 

Choose Love

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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

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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.

Explore

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When people ask me

What have you been doing for the past few years?

I say

I’ve been exploring

They say

Oh how exciting, where have you been?

I say

I’ve been exploring the universe

They say

Wow, do you work for NASA?

I say

No!

They say

So how did you explore the universe?

I say

I slowed down enough to stop moving

They say

How can you explore the universe if you’re not in the universe?

I say

I don’t need to be in the universe, the universe is in me.

Texas Monologues – Part 1

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Sunday

You left on a Sunday

You walked out the door of the B&B on a Sunday morning heading back across the pond.

We’d been in Texas for over a week

The holiday wasn’t over for me and according to our plane tickets and the calendar on my iPhone, we had another week left.

I begged for you to stay

Not because I wanted you

At this point I don’t even think I liked you

I wanted to feel suffocated by your apologies, not premature goodbyes

Is anything ever premature?

It happens when it happens

When its time, its time

Anyway, that’s a whole separate mind fuck

“Get it together”

You said

“You always get what you want. I’m not pandering to your tears”

No shit Sherlock

And fuck you!

You were leaving me

In the middle of our holiday

And taking the car

In rural Texas

Great

And could you have left after I’d put some clothes on?

Au revoir naked I’ll-delete-your-number-later lady

Why do we feel most vulnerable when we’re naked?

Skin is our most permanent accessory.

You never shied away from telling me I had soft skin

And then you go and grate chucks from me with your corrugated intentions

Had I chosen to ignore this newly apparent drill sergeant you were so capable of imitating?

To answer my own question, yes I had.

It wasn’t newly apparent at all

You’d not changed since the day we met

See, you were a being that I’d never known the likes of before

My lust for you was driven by curiosity

Nothing more

What can I say?

I’m springtime heat

Forcing new buds to blossom

That’s me

And you played the game

You said I was medicine

Your bottle of pop carbonating flattened enthusiasms

Well I’ve got news Mr

I’m done being consumed

I’m no longer the syrup to coat your wounded memories

So

Me

On a Sunday

Naked

You leaving

A shaken bottle of fizzy gonna spray

Burst even

Was this intentional?

I have been blind to this malicious act

Blind!

Shit

Who am I kidding?

No I wasn’t

I knew

And you weren’t malicious, you were just afraid of a life already lived

And shit, what a life you’d led

My role as victim was convincing

And maybe I’d chosen the scariest looking ride

Because I collect thrilling stories to retell

Proof, of something

So

You leaving

Best damn decision ever made

Thank you, from the bottom of my explosive heart

It was because of you that I jumped out of my comfort pot and stayed, alone

And met new people

Tremendous people

And I was properly introduced to the woman I am

Yes, I am thrilling

Without the help of fairground rides

I’ve got more stories

But not to prove anything

So Thank you

 

This note ends here but my stories don’t

I’ll continue to tell them

Just not to you.