this full moon, december 6.

in the fullness of the moon tonight, i feel something more. there is no wind. there is no storm. yet everything in me stirs so violently.
so misshapen is my heart.
in tangles, my soul.
everything in me is tearing, afire with a great and honest desire to be everywhere, all at once, discovering something new and feeling something more than a longing for what has already passed me by, for what has already been, before.

bring me my future so muddied but so surely bright [seconds are second to this]. i breathe and collapse into the thinnest air – lightheaded, confused, curious and feeling my way through the darkness. and even though the big and silver moon sets alight this big and blackened sky, it has never felt as dark as now. but, there exists a flame that burns brighter than anything could tonight.

i wait on tippie toes, eyes closed, full of hope, and trusting in all the magic of all the mountains i’ve ever thought or tried to climb. she hasn’t failed me yet. she’s all i’ve got.

‘there is a voice that doesn’t use words. listen’ – rumi

travel stills the soul.
and perhaps the journey must break your heart
until it opens,
tenfold.

life, passed passes me by
so fast
and i find myself
on the balcony
of used-to-be
in a place, so far from all i knew this year.

it isn’t the end of the journey, oh no. it is only just the start.
i refuse to adjust, to fit back in, to be who i once was.
because there is no going back. there is only now and whatever lies ahead for me.
and i’ll make plans and take steps towards them all,
everyday in this life i knew and know.

i’m happy to be home.

you do realise i live a life out here?
away from all i learnt in all i was and all the places i found myself.
reflection leads to yearning.
it’s all the lessons in all the longing of when i was there. when i was that person. when i lived, day-to-day, in this in between, on-the-move, am-i-dreaming(?) surreality.

but i’m not looking back.

[a red balloon floats across a blue sky awash with white and wispy monet clouds.]

i’m here. it’s now. the wind still blows, i still ask questions and find answers in the movements of the universe as she showers me in confidence, that all i need to know i can find living deep within myself. not in the clouds of the skies but the storms and sunshine that brew and subside along the streams of my blood bursting through veins and clearing from smoke and mirrors emotion.

it has all become so clear, in asking and receiving.
in listening to morning birdsong, to the voice of that evening star.
in respecting the beautiful wishes of my still and beautiful heart.

nostalgia…

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now. more than ever. in the final days and hours. in the measured moments. now. i stay here, i stay here now.

skimming rocks

our lives are made of ripples.
someone drops a stone.
we watch the lines expand,
grow,
burn and flow,
until the edges
meet the shore
and back it goes
once more.

our lives are made of ripples.
the stories become longer
the details smear and smudge
but the feeling
[the effect]
stains the very edges
of the hearts
we try our
hardest
to protect.

our lives are made of ripples.
they move as far as the lake of our love allows
they change
when they ebb
against logs
and rocks
and lily pads
or when ducks go paddling by
or when dark clouds drop raindrops from this great humungous sky
and there reflected in us,
[the thing we never see]
we miss it, we wish.
and i wonder
maybe if i was in the sky
and instead the lake was looking
at me.

you remember it, that day
and those ripples that you made?
as the moon rose
and looked so long,
stretched, then not
and bobbing upon a mercury lagoon.
it was all so full of you
your wish to see it there
upon the glassy, rippling water
your wish to feel it there
and share
your very favourite thing
with me.

more than that

and for a second the cars stopped driving and the man stopped sweeping and the rain stopped falling and i stopped tap tap tapping on my keyboard writing frantically about you.

[yes, you].

and in that second, the stillness took me over as i daydreamed of something so far from right here and now. as i awoke back to reality, back to cars and sweeping and rain and typing and thinking about you [and if] and when the hell i should be saying that bittersweet goodbye to this life
to these days of everything
to what it’s so clearly beginning to mean.

it appears that all i’m really trying to do is stop time.

well,
shit.

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inspired, once more. i find myself in coffee shops, reading, dozing, eating, watching gold and red and brown leaves fall from trees, all around. i find myself allowing myself to feel, allowing it all to become a very permanent and very important piece of the puzzle of my very audacious life. i find myself kissing and thinking and writing and becoming lost in a world that feels like a dream and feels like real life and feels like everything else that falls in between.

there’s a movement and a shifting of emotion and of being. there’s a certain sense of living that i’ve never felt before. there’s a difference in the way i look and feel and ask questions. i’m curious, i want more. i want forever and a day bottled in glass jars for whenever i feel time slipping away. i want the density and intensity of this humble life to overcome my fears and pleasures and take its toll on the earth i tread so lightly and so surely across. i walk my path, i walk it with graciousness. with pride. with confidence. i walk my path, i run, i stop. regardless of the pace, it’s along this path i find the treasures of a life lived on the edge of the ultimate expression of all i find so painful and raw. of all i find so wonderful. of all i find.

life starts with good mornings like this morning’s. life starts with a heart, beating out of control, and rare feelings coursing up and down your spine. life begins, life ends, life grows and continues in particles of perplexing perfection. in moments that stand out, moments that change us, moments you recognise as deep and as true.

‘how strange it is to be anything at all’ – alice in wonderland

i am not my weight, i am not my age, i am not my height. nor am i the colour of my skin or eyes or hair. i am not woman not female, lady or girl. i am not the poor decisions i’ve made in the past, or the things i once chose to prioritise. i am not the little money i’ve had, or the money i’ve spent. i am not my drunken nights, not my excuses or my reasons, not the things i say, not the things i should have said.

i am not my mistakes.

i am not the same as you.

i am not,
and never will be,
what you expect me to be.

i am me.

i am flawed.

i am human.