I am listening to Billie
drop her new album,
Curious to hear, indie,
pop or chill, vulnerable?
Or will it be just another
wannabe?
And as I ponder, my focus
wanders to the bird calls
outside my window,
they are spectacular,
unique and peppery,
shrill and squawky
and a soft melody.
How can humans compare?!

One step at a time, don’t run ahead or you’ll miss that step?
Contradictions, paradoxes,
we live in a world of being so exposed
But yet, we are all still so hidden,
To ourselves, and to each other.
Trying to predict the future is prized,
Yet, it’s such a cowardly act.
One step at a time is bravery undervalued:
It doesn’t win awards, but you win yourself.

East and West are not wide enough apart
To make me forget your love.

In a world of instants, waiting is foreign —
We’ve succeeded in drawing everyone together to our detriment,
That we’re never alone.
Loneliness is feared, rather than embraced,
Draw nearer to the One our heart is longing —

When we wait, we wonder and wander,
This is the place, our heart we discover.
Anxiously, we busy,
Rather than sit, reflect on the other.

We can transcend this moment in time,
Waiting seems like a block, something avoided, rather than embraced as mine.
In this space, we’re not gender or race,
But a being, alive and fine.

Quietly the unheard voice from within,
Speaks, giving you true meaning.
From here creativity is born;
New ways of seeing draws in.

Curiosity can play; dance, sing, build,
In this posture creativity is filled,
Down falls the scales from our eyes,
In this space anxiety is stilled.

When we wait we are dependent, and free,
Eyes are opened and they really see,
The cracks and flaws, the misgivings and discomfort,
But also the beauty and uniqueness; which is me.

Comparing is...
Having your eyes blinded to
The reality of who you are,
Really.
Reality is stark; it holds no glamour, but
A life well lived holds the tensions of
Reality.
Hand-in-hand the joy in the pain,
The reality that this is life,
This is what we’ve been called to live;
Loneliness in the ordinary,
Joy in the pain of the everyday.
This is life.

I always thought I had green eyes,
they are in fact blue.
Envy has discoloured them
and obscured my true view.
Having now matured;
trauma, aging, greying (audible gasp),
healing is happening
in ways not anticipated,
nor valued at first.
But now, I am embracing
my true blue eyes to see anew.

No need for shallow chest breath
I am safe
I can breathe through my belly
Deep, becoming regular
Soothing, smoothing, slowing

No need for organised thought
I am shielded
I can relax into this place
Calm, becoming gentle
Softening, swaying, sliding

No need for clock watching
Dali time only
I can exist, chrono-sheltered
Now, becoming ageless  
Melting, muting, morphing
Here…

A door with round window
Mellowing to Renoir-lens
Glossy, smudgy, charm
Hobbit-style architecture
Familiar, shire-y, amiable
Lit warm and soft

A brown carpet bag
Caressing the rich pile
Sturdy, salvaged, true
Tardis-like inner structure
Dependable holder, infinite
For weights and woe

Smooth, even, stone stairs
Descending in timeworn strength
Secure, bendless, cool
Delivering, guiding journey-way
To ease and mend

I tender-lift my bag
Zip open for a prize
On every step

Each stair a healing game
The bag a hungry friend
To hold my heavy goods
And bare them strong for me
As I descend

Step one is for fear
Two for screaming
Three for ache
    with blurred-out meaning
Four for panic
Five dark-dread
    that slither-twists through sleep in bed
If guilt is six
Then shame is seven
    long blame-soaked school without a lesson
Eight for pleading
Nine for weeping
Ten for wounds, and burns, and bleeding

The bag now zipped, trapped weights and woe,
is set down gently, as I go
All grateful heart, and kindess-eyed
Door opens as
I walk outside