Life

The Walk

The walk was all the lovely things.

I bet you didn’t think you’d be coming with me.

Well.

Here we are.

Each of us in the bush.

Side by side, a million miles between us.

Happy weekend, friends.

All the love hearts.

xx Brooke

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Life

Regeneration

I’m avoiding doing the dishes. It’s not the first time I’ve written those words on here, and it won’t be the last because I often avoid doing the dishes if I can help it. Sometimes, I can turn the experience into something beautiful, and by that I mean I put on some wonderful music and disappear into the invisible place that only I know. That’s when doing the dishes suddenly becomes the most wonderful thing ever.

I have nothing to say, and yet I felt a strong pull to connect with you all: these days, for me, that usually means that I either have something to say that someone needs to hear, or…one of you has something to say that I need to hear. I wonder which one it will be? Perhaps both.

Isn’t it beautiful how life regenerates? I’m going through a transition phase at the moment (which I’ll share more about in the coming months) and where it frightens me so terribly to be in this place…I also feel a sense of excitement and new life breathing into my world. It makes me think of my trees. How often I’ve wandered along my walking track, gazing up at the hanging bark. This shedding always seems such a natural process and one that is entirely welcomed by the tree and its natural surroundings. What does this shedding mean for that particular tree, I always wonder. It means the shedding of the old. The beginning of a new life.

Unlike trees, humans seem to resist the shedding of our old bark, don’t we, usually because we’re afraid of something (sometimes because we’re afraid of everything.) I get that. I’ve been doing it my whole life. But how I long to be a tree and let the bark fall without question, fully trusting that the new bark will grow back stronger and better than ever. And that’s where that frightening word comes into it. Trust. Trusting in the unknown means relinquishing control, and that is not an easy thing for a human being to do, especially not this human being.

But If my trees can do it, then by golly gosh, my friends— so can I.

Bring on my new bark, I say.

close up photo of green leaves
Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Pexels.com
Life

The Birds

The birds are highly sensitive this morning, and so am I.

Often we sing at the same time, me and the birds— it’s so completely wondrous to observe. We’re the same, humans and nature, it’s just that humans are quite often too driven by ego to admit that we can learn from anything smaller than we are, especially if that something speaks a different language than we do. Like the birds.

Speaking of wondrous, and speaking of birds: I saw the most beautiful—and quite frankly, bizarre— thing, the other day. I was driving back from dropping my little boy at kinder, and upon entering our court I noticed a lady tossing bread onto the nature strip. That’s when I saw the Rosella. It was sitting on her shoulder, and it was-not-moving. Not an inch. As I drove away from the two of them, the thoughts began to circulate. I have never seen a human taking a bird for a walk. Is it her pet bird, or has she found a way to connect with wild birds? Oh my goodness me. Either way, it was one of the most fascinating things I’ve ever witnessed.

I believe we all have these abilities, to harness our sensitivity to the point of a deeper connection with ourselves and the world around us. I’m starting to wonder if the key is: exploring our sensitivity levels and learning how to master them so that we might use them in more confident and efficient ways.

In my case, it’s noticing when my energy fluctuates with every hormonal surge and learning to just roll with the wacky emotions that emerge, rather than acting upon, or judging myself for, the way they enter the world. It’s about noticing that when the birds are loud, my heart is too (and why might that be, I wonder) and how can I use this sensitivity to make the world as beautiful as the birds do?

Life is such a full thing, and yet too often we live on the surface of it, forgetting the multiple layers of magic that we really and truly are.

That’s why I’m searching for my keys and trying to make sure that this ‘sensitive’ superpower of mine works just so. Because life is way too short not to walk around with a bird on your shoulder. I mean, really. Guys. Surely you all agree with me on that one. 🙂

bird perched on person s hand
Photo by Nicolas Savignat on Pexels.com
Life

The Puzzle

I believe the world is a puzzle, and we are the pieces.

All of us.

The trees.

The rivers.

You.

Me.

These guys. (Awwwww. xxx)

close up photo of a hand holding three white kittens
Photo by Peng Louis on Pexels.com

 

But no, I mean really. That’s what I believe.

We’re a puzzle.

And though we don’t often tend to think of it…

we all have our own special reason,

our own unique connector points

to make the world exactly the way it’s meant to be.

person holding save our planet sign
Photo by Markus Spiske temporausch.com on Pexels.com

 

Maybe it’s time to be brave, and ask out loud:

What does my puzzle piece look like when it’s home?

What makes it bop, and zing, and burst with yes!

Most of us have at least some of the answers figured out.

Just maybe not all of them, quite yet.

Because, actually, we’ll always be still learning, right?

light sunset people water
Photo by Negative Space on Pexels.com

 

We are all unique.

And if we really are a puzzle (which I truly think we are, by the way)

we need to be our uniqueness.

Otherwise, we won’t fit.

And if we don’t fit—

The puzzle will start to look a bit like…umm, yeah.

(Never mind. We’ve still got this, guys.)

red and three blue jigsaw puzzles
Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

 

We all have a yearning inside of us

that tells us, quite firmly, where and how we belong

in the puzzle of us.

And yet many of us deny we can hear it,

for fear of being judged by the people who deny the puzzle exists.

(Those people, I suspect, keep their eyes closed for a reason.)

active ash cloud ashes blaze
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

This is the start; I can feel it in all of my bones.

I don’t know where my connector points are.

I don’t know how to slot myself comfortably into place.

But I also know that doesn’t matter, for now.

The main thing is…I know about the puzzle.

And knowing about the puzzle has shown me

that we are all on our way to something good.

man building architect joy
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

 

 

Life

Change

I’ve decided to surrender.

The universe has given me quite the kick up the bottom in the past year and reminded me of just exactly who I am and then some (and when I say, ‘and then some’, I mean AND THEN SOME.)

For instance, I was just out with my friend, the moon. A full moon tonight, which previously wouldn’t have phased me except now it does for reasons only known to the universe (and maybe the moon, and maybe the angels, and even aliens if you believe). Because If the moon moves entire oceans…how did it take me so long to wonder what it does to me? And when it’s at its fullest, and its energy is at its most vibrant…what then? Have you noticed how a full moon changes you? If anything, it’s made me feel a little bit cheeky, tonight. (Uh, oh. The nutter girl will be writing this blog post, it seems. :P)

Earlier today I was standing at the kitchen sink, blissing out to music, gazing at a tree over the fence…and it occurred to me just how python-like the arms of it were: thick, muscular shaped things, twisted up and around and everywhere. Again I wondered. How did I miss that? Thirty-six years of looking at things made of plastic and glass and human, that’s how.

But the most shocking thing that I’ve missed—something that makes my heart cry just to think it—is the friendship that nature makes with itself. How did I miss the wonder of the trees and how they reach for each other over pathways, their leaves meeting only centimeters apart as if to touch fingers in the most delicate of ways?

How-did-I miss-it?

I was sleeping, that’s how. I was the bear that slept a thousand winters and woke up in a whole new wonderous world, and here I am now trying to make sense of it all, trying to figure out just where and how I fit in.

So I’m deciding. I won’t be going back to sleep again— from now on I’ll be wide awake to the beauty of it all, no matter how many people think that I’m crazy for randomly loving trees so much. I’ll be deciding to live with more of my heart than ever before. I’ll be deciding to love as much as naturally flows through me, and if that means loving the stars and the moon and the sun a little more…then it’s happening. It’s happening, guys, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

Surrendering to ‘the flow of me’ means a few new things will be happening in my life, one of which you will very likely notice. I’ll be posting here as often as I feel called to post, from now on— and if that means posting more than once a day (like this) I might just do that.

Because just as the moon shines on the sea, and just as the trees go hand in hand…I write. It’s just the natural way of things.

Right. Did I hear someone say ‘cup of tea and a bickie’?

Why, yes. I think I did. xx

person holding turkish style tea bag tie
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A Blog a Day in May

Autumn

I’m lounging in the sun chair, peering into the Autumn.

The window’s grown cold, just like everything else around here that once was warm. It’s like we’re in a corridor. At one end: summer. At this end: winter. Maybe we’ll build a fire today.

The leaves are tumbling and it’s the most beautiful thing, to stand among the twisting and falling: orange, yellow, red. I’ve always marveled at the beauty of autumn, but this year seems different.

This year I feel the falling.

It’s a sense of relief, as though maybe this is a new start for my lovely tree friends, a shedding of old skin, the beginning of a new life. Beautiful trees. You begin again with such grace, such beauty. Such confidence.

It really is quite lovely of you.

photography of child pushing the wagon
Photo by Jennifer Murray on Pexels.com

 

 

 

 

 

Nature

The Story Of a Soul

Sometimes

my soul hangs off me

in strips.

It makes me think of the bark

that peels from fat-trunked trees;

old layers tearing off in shards—

like maybe

the tree

might be crying.

So that’s what a sad soul looks like?

When I walk in nature

I wonder if it’s true.

Maybe a tree wears its soul

on the inside…

and the outside.

And maybe trees

need

to be hugged.

Just like we do.

adult couple dock fashion
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