I have been Loved
and
therefore
I am Loved.
Whether the giver of Love
loves me still or
is here to love at all –
Having been Loved,
I am Loved.
Love, when Given,
becomes part of the
very fabric of the universe,
joining with every atom & particle
that have been & that will be.
Love, when Received,
becomes part of our
very fabric of Being,
knitting Love into every cell
that has been, that is & that will be…
I have been Loved –
So I am Love.
the sky is the palest grey
kissing a sea that is more the colour of water than of sea,
clear light-grey-blue-white
carrying ripples of peace to us landers,
gifting us with the secrets which the sky
whispers as they kiss.
people walk in dyads and triads, or with dogs or toddlers or larger family groups,
starting their new year with one another and the sea air
blowing freshness into their hopes for the three hundred and sixty six days to come –
if we see them all…
how many will surely pass us without recall.
Not I.
I claim every day
I breathe I feel I think I listen –
to waves to chatter to my breath to music to TfL announcements
I will live.
I will. be. here.
2019. the year of
anxiety & sunshine
& beauty & depression
of drinking good coffee
& soul-nourishing gallery visits
of leaning into therapy & pain
of hours & days lost as buried tears were found sitting on the kitchen floor while Saturn played
2019. the year of
feelings felt & found & held & felt
of grief faced & waves crashing
food uneaten, weight losing
chasms opening
heart cracking & life shaking
of questions asked
& answers found wanting
as festered rage & long-accepted values
were both…released
2019. the year of
pain & striving
for peace
of lost memories found & faced
of emotional breaking & life & self shaking of inner light dimming
& slow sparking match-light reviving
of healing through
the mind-soul-body medicines
of meditation & journalling
of 29minute whatsapp voicenote musings
of beauty & art
& poetry & space
of lush bath-bombs & masturbating
of beautiful smells & netflix binges
& m&s champagne sipped
by fairy light
of radically
abundant
self grace
& the gift of
space
taking
& making
& giving
space to me
to breathe & be
& feel & see
& wonder & wander
2019. the year of
taking-up
space
to cry & laugh & rage
the year of breaking
boundaries & beliefs
of (nearly) breaking apart
& being held in the breaking
2019. the year of
losing
& finding
& freeing
of shuddering beauty
& (beautifully) ugly crying
of breath quickening & catching
& deep exhaling
2019. the year of
frustrated containment in white spaces
of colour seeking & power claiming
of being unseen & seen
of being unanchored & held
in grace & love
2019. the year of feeling
& being
more
more
more….
of me
Watercolour blue sky-so pale.
Mother God played with
talcum powder & water,
swirling & playing & making
a bright paste of liquid light.
The talc-water smelled so good
She decided to wash the sky with it –
Knowing that the light would be
too pure, too clean, too bright
for human eyes-
risking blinding souls &
transfixing all of creation into
a skyward stupor.
She plucked the lightest bluebell
hanging from her hair
and used its
petals as her paintbrush.
Dancing her arm across the sky,
light-paste dripping off
her bluebell brush,
& down her charcoal hands.
Gifting us her playtime, watercolour creation as our autumn twilight canopy.
Douai Abbey, 20-9-19
Can I feel this
heart-swelling,
heart-filling,
breath-quickening
RAGE,
if I have not love?
Can just words,
lines & swirls
melded together on a page,
create this response, this
hand-shaking,
heart-thudding,
stomach-swirling,
pain-fuelled
FURY
if I have not love?
Heart,
breath,
hands –
the body doesn’t lie.
Here,
love lives inside.
Time together coming to an end,
as trains approach to take us to our separate destinations;
Hugging you again –
we do that a lot –
bending down to fit my arms
around your now slighter frame;
Kissing your soft cheek goodbye,
Holding your hand with deep love and connection,
Looking back at you as I walk away,
Your face bursts forth a splendid,
whole-soul smile
and clear as glass I think:
‘I am looking at my own, smiling face!’
…Mum
As I sat alone in a wine-cafe (yes, such a thing exists!), swirling & sipping a glass of something red & chewing chilli-seasoned olives while listening to Sleeping at Last I penned this oh so short poem:
Cherries swirling,
Hands held, smiles open,
Dancing around the glass;
Spinning together til
Dizzy with delight as they take turns
Sliding down steep sides with
Warmth and gentle power.
