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.
My eye caught this beautiful scene of the sunlight through my front window this afternoon & I paused to take it in… the roses & green grass behind and, in the middle, this framed calligraphy of the beautiful, guiding poem Desiderata.
As I take time off following the end of a beautiful, hard job that stretched, broke (in bad & good ways), grew, shaped, blessed, fulfilled & thrived me…
As I take time off to think & feel & plan & be, before starting a new challenge & path ahead…
As I take time to enjoy art & reading & space & friendship,
this poem speaks to me anew & I am enjoying living it’s advice to (poem summary ahead):
Go placidly amidst the noise & haste & remember what peace there may be in silence.
Be on good terms with all persons.
Listen.
Don’t compare.
Enjoy plans & achievements alike.
Be at peace with God. See the beauty amidst the ugly drudgery it the world.
Be yourself.
Yes, be yourself.
Be yourself.
Through this hard year I have learnt the value of being more myself.
Of self-awareness, understanding & acceptance.
Acceptance which leads to better growth – of self & others.
And to the beautiful power & freedom of working, living, relating from a place of ever-more Me-ness as I continue to push on and let go.
As I continue to grow into the stunning living poem I am & write & draw my own story as I go.
Though the raging waves
spray salt in your face,
hurting the cuts which cover your lips
from biting your tongue to hold truths in.
As the winds whirl around you,
whipping hair into your eyes and
lashing your vulnerable skin,
drawing tears of blood to run down your cheeks.
While you shake and shiver as
coldness seeps deep into your being,
tensing your body and spirit.
Through stinging, lashing and shaking
remember:
The waves will still,
The wind will calm,
And the warmth will return to your
thoughts and bones.
And then you will realise this truth;
A truth born out in the molecules of the universe,
A truth which is true when feelings are not…
Salt purified you.
Tears released your pain.
And that cold,
that wearying, biting, cold,
That cold preserved you.
No one questions why someone is sitting,
Empty handed,
By themselves,
At the sea.
We know.
At the sea,
We understand
this act of
Being
with one’s thoughts.
But.
Bizarrely.
Doing that in a cafe in London makes
people will think you’re a weirdo.
Brighton Beach, 26.5.19
Thick,
fluffy,
white bread,
sliced by your soft old hands.
Toasted,
golden brown,
reminding me of crunchy autumn leaves.
Wearing a heavy coat of yellow butter like a duvet,
giving comfort,
and warmth,
and homeliness.
A satisfying crunch and warm butter flooding my mouth,
awakening my taste buds,
and stirring my heart
with warmth that transcends temperature…
This evening,
the weather is mild,
but my heart is cool.
And for the first time in near two decades,
I crave the comfort of your toast…
And you.
A short note musing on my walk to work a few weeks ago…go with it.
Walking,
hurriedly,
texting,
music listening,
walking,
work-thinking,
absentmindedly
putting my hands in my pocket and
Realising:
I wasn’t aware of what
coat I was wearing.
Sobered.
Needing to ground myself
I STOP.
Putting aside thoughts of what others
think of this woman stopping mid pavement,
just standing…
looking at a plant.
I look at the leaves,
appreciate the green,
the light on its leaves,
frayed browning edges
and vibrant green,
I still my thoughts
and body
and just LOOK
For a minute.
I pick a small leaf and walk on
Slowlyyyy.
Looking at the leaf,
feeling its grooves,
Grounding myself by focussing.
Feeling more steady.
More present.
More Me.
Leaf on my desk,
I glance at my talisman through the day…
My reminder to breathe.
And be.
My heart stilled and swelled
upon seeing blossom trees
and daffodils
in this secret garden.
Cherishing a few snatched
minutes of stillness,
in and with myself,
I picked a bent daffodil;
a keepsake of this Gift to me.
My face turned upwards,
to the bright,
clear,
white
sky
hanging over me like a banner.
My eyes closed;
My heart full
with
gratitude,
love,
and
the pain of longing for you Grandad,
who loved daffodils so.
My spirit open,
with hope of what will be painted
on the blank sky that is
the open canvas of my life
for this year ahead,
As my ears fill with the swell of birdsong.
