Poetry

Woman

Wade me in the waters of sensuality,

sweet ocean of mine.

Show me the girl that I am.

Call to me the woman that rises

within.

woman on holding her head while standing on body of water
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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.

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A Blog a Day in May

Everything I need

I close my eyes to the world

and then there is only me.

When there is only me

I can feel.

I can see.

I can know

everything I need to know.

And

when I need to know more—

I close my eyes.

And I come back

to me

again.

Back to the only one

who knows my answers.

woman holding glass ball
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A Blog a Day in May

May

It was May when it happened. The change in me, the one that planted little wing sprouts in my shoulders and dared me to fly into the sun. It was last May, do you remember it? The darling blog of May? A blog a day, in May.

I remember it all too clearly. Burying myself and the laptop in the bedroom, writing about the moments that whispered me into the darling of it all. I found myself, in that place. In that darling little town called May.

But.

When I found myself— when I rediscovered that deeper place within me—I stalled. And I’ve been stalling ever since, stalling among a sea of magic (and I’m not kidding about the magic; among other unexplainable things, I am somehow able to see the frequency waves that border my bathroom doorframe. No idea how or why— ALL the magical unicorn eyes, I suppose. Of course, one of my dearest friends has informed me it’s very likely a special form of epilepsy with my name on it, which, granted, could also be true.)

In the past year, I’ve both found and lost vast pieces of my life. I’ve discovered, and have been hovering over, the next steps of this very magical life of mine…but I have no idea where it’s all going to go from here.

So that’s why I’m doing it again.

A blog a day in May.

Another chance to set the wheel in motion and follow the breadcrumbs of life to someplace new, and guess what? You’re coming with me. You. My friends. My fellow joyfully broken humans. We’re all in this together, so I say let’s huddle and see what we can find in this little bloggy land of ours.

As always, with these funny little months of mine, I’ll do my best to come up with new ways to share my heart and make you all smile. But this time I’ll be doing things a little differently. I’ll be removing the pressure from myself entirely and saying: whatever will be, will be. Some days— as has quite often happened in the past— the tank very well may be running on empty. On those days, I’ll ask you to be patient and smile, and look forward to the next round of possibilities, if you’ll be so kind.

There’ll be no rules, this May.

No themes.

No set ideas.

Just me. You. And our humanity. The path of life and all the wishy-washy wonder that arises to share. I might share the day. I might share a deep insight. I might share a photo, a joke, a tear.

I might share just about anything. And It’ll all start on the first day of May.

Gosh, I hope you’ll meet me there.

All the love hearts,

Brooke. xxx

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Life

The Year of Us

When I write my words, when I set them free in this little bloggy land of mine— the one where you’ve come to meet me, now—I become a better version of me. I can feel it. I can feel the happy moving within me, making my outer edges soft, making my inner edges kind.

It’s what I want my words and my life to be.

Soft.

Kind.

And absolutely overflowing with fluffy and mushy and sweet.

That’s why I adore this very bloggy world we share.

It fills my life with chances. Chances to share what it is to be human. Chances to share joy, chances to share pain, chances to share as little or as much as I want, on any given day, about any given thing.

Gosh I’m grateful to have shared so many chances with you.

You might be wondering where all this gooey stuff has come from, and that’s okay, because I’m ready to tell you. It’s come from freedom, the freedom I’ve allowed myself within the walls of this life-filled place.

This heart of mine doesn’t need to do quiet, in this place.

It doesn’t need to do scared of being different, scared of being judged.

It just needs to do me in all of my mushy, fluffy everything.

Anyway.

It’s been one whole year of words from me—

a whole year of this little blog of everything.

And I can’t thank you enough for joining me on the ride.

xx Brooke

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