Life

Once Upon A Lifetime Past

I couldn’t tell you how old I was. Seven or eight, maybe. However old I was, though, I was old enough to know what I believed. And what I absolutely did not believe was that my Mum had been killed by Jack the Ripper in a past life, like her meditation session had seemingly ‘revealed’. Ridiculous. Impossible. Absurd.

But I’ll get back to Jack a little later, shall I?

First: some background.

As I’ve mentioned in some of my earlier posts, I was a highly sensitive child. A soft little muffin, and a deep one at that. But what I also seemed to be was an ‘old soul’, and none of the adults in my life ever were quite able to explain how that part of me came about.

The ‘old soul-ness’ kept popping up all the way through my teenage years and manifested in all sorts of different ways. Perhaps one of the most profound came in the form of a monologue I performed in the year eleven drama class play. It was the science teacher who mentioned it. He said—in fact, his whole entire body said— it was surely impossible for a sixteen-year-old to really know the feeling of ‘glass grinding in my spirit.’

‘How did you know?’ he asked, his eyes far more serious now than they had been when he explained to me that a Bunsen burner works best when it’s actually switched on.

‘Umm. I’m not sure,’ I said, slightly alarmed by the intensity of his usually playful eyes. It was an odd thing, I agreed, and honestly, I didn’t know where the depth of my performance had come from. But after seeing those eyes of his change so drastically…part of me wondered.

And part of me has wondered ever since.

So let’s get back to Jack then, shall we, and how he very rudely slaughtered my Mother once upon a lifetime’s past. Because it sounds bloody ridiculous, doesn’t it? Sounds impossible and absolutely, entirely absurd.

Well…yes. It does.

But I have to tell you, I’m not so sure anymore. As a matter of fact, I have been very seriously rethinking the nature of just about everything in this old universe of ours. And I’m thinking, now, that maybe—just very slightly maybe—my Mum might have been right about Jack.

What if the unexplainable really could be explained by remembering further back in time? What if the uncanny childhood wisdom that so many young children seem to possess, actually does come from someplace they have actually been before? Like…another life, perhaps?

Now wouldn’t that be something else.

adult air art female
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Life

The Wind of Change

Every so often, the wind of change blows me a dream.

A spark.

A glimpse of the person I truly am inside.

Sigh.

Where do you blow, sweet wind?

And what do you wish this sleepy dreamer to be?

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Twelve Days of Christmas

Smile

On the eighth day of Christmas

I wondered how the steps I take

with my average girl feet

might change the world—

even in some small way.

I wondered for about a second

and then I stopped wondering

and just…smiled.

Because on the eighth day of Christmas

I remembered:

a smile is all it takes

to change the world.

Every day, I change the world.

And every day, I bet you do too.

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Inspiration, Life

My Authentic Self

For so many of my adult years, I wanted to know myself.

Growing up, I’d heard there was such thing as a person knowing themselves and, truthfully, I was envious of all those who did.

When I thought of what it meant for a woman to know herself, in my mind I saw strength. I saw opinion. I saw a woman in charge, a statue of clarity in a crumbling world.

I didn’t think I was any of those things.

I still don’t. If I know anything of myself, it’s that I’m just a big kid that loves music and movies and coffee. And laughter, of course, because what would this world be without a good cackle.

Well.

I have the best news to share.

I am no longer seeking to know myself.

I am no longer seeking to be the woman that I always thought I should be by now.

All I truly crave in this big old universe of ours is to be free to be my authentic self.

To live my truth.

To fly above the path I choose, rather than simply walk it (because flying is way more fun, don’t you think?)

I don’t suppose I will ever truly know myself because, in this life, I will be constantly moving and changing to suit all my new moments.

All my new places.

All my new people.

So.

If I can be satisfied with the simple act of loving myself for who I am in any given moment, then that sounds pretty bloody great to me.

Bring on the next time I doubt myself.

Bring on the next time I cry into my tacos about completely ridiculous things.

Because gosh I love that girl.

And I love that she really doesn’t care if she knows herself, or not. xx

I was four, here. I haven’t changed much. 😂❤️

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Poetry

Coming Home

Let this heart I wear

on my sleeve

draw all of its letters in the sand…

not just the ones I think

you

will like me for.

person wearing red socks walking on sand

And in that sand, let there be

scribbles of the past, the present,

and the future;

a million perfect letters

tumbling all about my day

teaching me,

quite slowly,

just who it is I am meant to be.

beach coast island landscape

I am no longer searching

for anything, or anyone.

Somehow

I just know.

I’ve found the thing

I never knew I needed to find.

A tiny home at the edge of my sleeve.

photo of person holding multicolored heart decor