Life

Living In The Now

I just found a letter from an ex-boyfriend, tucked away in a little box covered in cartoon reindeers dressed as christmas elves. My goodness. Isn’t it the most amazing thing— to find little pieces of the past that take you right back in time, and ask you to dive into certain memories and feel them all over again.

In the letter, my boyfriend of the time had mentioned that he’d just watched the movie When Harry Met Sally, and he marvelled at how similar my personality was to Meg Ryan’s character. How funny! Only recently I was told that very same thing by a friend who knows the now version of me. I mustn’t have changed all that much in fifteen or so years, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. We’ll just go with: it totally is, okay guys.

It’s interesting. Only yesterday, coming down the mountain, I mulled over the idea of living in the present moment; thinking of the benefits, but also thinking of the fact that this now moment also restricts the human experience in certain ways. The memories, for instance. Beautiful memories that play in the mind like a movie, and play in the heart like the sweetest song.

The past does not exist in the present moment. Nor does the future. And yet such colour can be found in the times and places that once lived a moment of their own, moments that now only exist if a person chooses to allow them to resurface as conscious thought.

There’s also the matter of daydreaming— every dreamer’s staple diet. To live in the present moment is surely to rob those that identify as ‘a dreamer’ of a major part of their core essence, meaning, I suppose, that ‘a dreamer’ really would no longer identify as ‘a dreamer’ at all (omg, say it isn’t soooo!)

I guess the question I’m asking is: is the elimination of ego and identity entirely necessary, in order to live a happy, enlightened-ish life. Is it? I don’t know, I’d be interested in hearing some of your perspectives on this because I’m still a little on the fence.

Anyway, I’ve waffled on a bit there, haven’t I. I just think it’s kind of a fascinating idea, living in the moment. There is no denying that there really is such power in living for the now. Every piece of a person’s soul is present and available to be used, whereas, living in the past or future kind of scatters a person’s soul, causing it to technically be somewhere else (back then, or, someday.)

Have I absolutely confused you with all the existential rambling? Probably, and I hope not. I just think it’s an area of spirituality and mindfulness that’s a little bit restrictive to the human experience, depending on which way you look at it. It’s an idea I’ve been pondering of late, so I thought I’d share it with you guys and see what you think.

To live in the moment, or not to live in the moment. That is the question.

My answer is: ‘Umm…I dunno.’

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Life

The B Tree and The Shooting Star

Have I told you about the B tree? The time my intuition asked me to take a seat among a forest full of trees, and there, etched into the tree I’d sat beside was the letter ‘B’?

B for Brooke. In a forest full of trees, have I told you that story?

Have I told you the story of how, about three weeks later, I found myself back in the forest? I’d forgotten all about the B tree. Well, at least I’d forgotten where exactly it was. In that forest full of trees. And yet, there I found myself, once again, sitting beside that very tree. The B tree. Quite a magical accident, wouldn’t you say?

A magical accident that happened twice.

A similar moment of magic happened tonight, and although I shouldn’t be surprised by the wonder the universe continues to gift me, I am. I really truly am. Because how can such magic be, and also be so constantly missed by too many of us, far too often? Because of all the busy things. Because of all the noise.

Tonight there was no noise as I walked. It was twilight. The stars were out and the sky was darkening, but not black. It had been a bit of a sad day for me, as you might imagine— an emotion processing day, and so it seemed a natural thing to get out with my trees and walk it away.

Twice I felt the urge to sit on the patch of grass beside me, and twice I rejected the idea as ridiculous given the darkness arriving on my side of the Earth. That’s when I remembered the B tree.

It had been a very subtle urge that had made me go and sit beside the B tree, a very subtle urge just like this one. Was this the universe calling again? Was this a gentle nudge from the Soft Girl, asking me to melt into the stars for a little while?

I didn’t need to wait for an answer. I just sat. And thank goodness I did: I’d have missed it had I kept walking.

The shooting star.

I’d have missed it racing towards the Earth in a burst so bright it could have been an asteroid or a falling planet. I couldn’t quite believe it (and what that looked like was me blubbering and smiling, looking around wondering if there was anyone there to see it.)

I don’t know how that kind of magic happens, but I seem to be on a journey that’ll take me a little closer to finding out. And if I never do find out where that kind of magic comes from… at least I kept my eyes open long enough to see it.

My goodness. It’s times like these where I think: what a life I will have lived by the end.

silhouette photo of trees during night time
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Life

It’s Time

It’s time to speak the words I too often hide.

Because, actually, silence can kill.

And words can change the world for the better.

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It’s time to love my life like I only have one.

Because I do only have one.

Well, that’s what some people think, anyway.

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It’s time to answer the questions that hide within the book of me.

I can’t erase them until I’ve answered them.

And I need more room in that book to write the rest of my life.

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It’s time for me to stop letting the big meanies win all the time.

Because big meanies think that doughnuts are only for eating.

I mean, really. Whoever would think a sensible thing like that?

woman wearing sweater covering her eyes with doughnuts
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Life

Wild Geese: Mary Oliver

A friend gifted me a beautiful copy.

The words were swirly, and letterpressed onto white rippled cardboard, and when I read it—Wild Geese, a poem by Mary Oliver—I just knew there was no one in the world that needed it more than I did.

Fast forward to today: a few months after I met this lovely poem, and it met me. I’d planned another blog post entirely— I’d even written it and was ready to post. But the soft girl said, ‘No.’

The soft girl said, ‘share the poem.’

So, here I am.

Sharing the poem. Why?

Because the soft girl said so.

And if you feel it in your heart the way that I felt it when it first found me…then you’ll know the soft girl meant it for you. xx

***

Wild Geese, By Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

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Life

Alone

Sometimes, I feel alone.

Even when I’m surrounded by people…

I’m not really.

I’m alone, drifting in a rose coloured world of wonder.

I’m not sad about it— feeling alone, that is.

It’s a beautiful place, this world I live in.

I’m just saying:

The world of a dreamy, wide-open soul is sometimes lonely.

Wonderous.

But lonely.

In this world, I sometimes feel like a teeny tiny sailboat trying to float in an ocean of mud and I wonder: ‘Where are the other boats like me?’

Maybe one day I’ll find them.

Maybe one day there’ll be more boats like me.

Maybe.

One day.

photo of people on rowboat during sunset
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Life, Poetry

The Girl in The Frame on the Wall

There she is—

the girl in the frame on the wall.

A picture of a girl;

the softest smile

full of mischief and grace.

Love and kindness.

Hope and fear.

Joy. Sadness.

Dreams.

All of life

rolled into a girl…

who just happens to live in a frame on a wall.

Every day she fills her frame with a new dream;

a frame is the keeper of dreams

and she knows that as long as she stays within the frame

her dreams will never be broken.

But as she sits in the long grass, peering at the world outside

she wonders.

‘What if I venture beyond the frame?

What if I wish these dreams into the world,

and follow them as they go?’

She wonders, then she slowly rises.

And she takes a step.

Just one step

but already she knows she can’t go back;

It’s a knowing that tickles her bones.

Something has changed within her.

Suddenly she feels the sun on her skin,

 feels a heart beating inside of her that wasn’t there before.

Suddenly she has wings

and her frame is empty,

hanging on a lonely wall

on the dark side of the rainbow.

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Life

The Dreamer in Me

It’s a world for thinkers, isn’t it, this one we live in?

A world where everything has a name. A world where everything and everyone has a reason to be. In this thinking dominated world, it’s all about the boxes, isn’t it? You know the ones—you’re hovering over one right this very minute, trying to decide if and how these words will fit into your life. By the end of reading this, you should know which box this little blog post of mine belongs in. And for the real dreamers among you…you knew from the very first sentence. Didn’t you?

I should probably explain this idea of ‘boxes’ from my place in the world as a creative person—a musician, an actor, a writer, a dreamer—because I’m betting there are flocks of my kind out there, who glide along on the surface of life, happy enough to go with the flow, but feeling, somehow, that they are a bit of an imposter in this big old world of thinking and doing.

When I was in my late teens, I looked at the world and I just knew my wide-eyed dreams didn’t quite belong. Every face I passed on the street seemed to live under a blanket of grey, dead eyes going about life like it was just something that must be done, without question, without…colour.  Was this what I had to look forward to? Dreams all wrapped up, locked away behind the curtain of responsibility? Right then and there, in my sparkling seventeen-year old wonderland, I closed my eyes tight and I swore to myself. This will never happen to me.

I’ve thought about that moment so many times over the past fifteen years or so. Because guess what? That promise I made to myself, the one that gifted me a life of floating in the breeze, of spreading my wings wide and flying into the setting sun—I smashed it to pieces. This thinking world smashed it to pieces. Sucked up the dreams. Spat me out on the other side all shiny and nice and ready to please everyone other than the person that mattered most in my life. Me. I know when it happened, too. It was around about the time I joined the work-life crowd when I bundled everything I was into neatly labeled boxes and became a responsible adult. And right before my very eyes—without me even knowing it was happening— my lovely little dream world was trampled flat.

For those of you who’ve come to know me via this blog, or my old one, you might be surprised to hear that my dream world ever went anywhere—since I very definitely have been plonking bits and pieces of it into these little bloggy worlds of mine, for a few years now. But yes. It did go somewhere for a time.

Well! Quite happily, and for no particular reason, it seems like I just might be back. All of me. Because after all these years of thinking that my ‘boxes’ needed to be packed in the same way as everyone else’s boxes…I’ve finally given myself permission to say this:

‘Dear world, I am a dreamer. I always have been, and I always will be. So, you can take your serious thoughts and angry eyes away from me, because giggling and sunshine is just what I do. And I will do my very best never to forget that again.’

creativity magic paper text