Living Breathing Work of Art

I look at all the people and I finally concede that I am not responsible for them.  I am not responsible for what they think, what they say, what they do.  But I am responsible for me.

I am my own creation.  Every day I am the artist that carves and paints this living breathing work that is me.

I am responsible for me.

I can be pink, when everyone else seems grey.

I can dance, when everyone else shuffles along with their heads down.

I can laugh, when everyone else seems serious.

I can listen, when everyone else wants to talk.

I can be silent, when everyone else is noisy.

I can be me amongst everyone.

I can stand in the flow of it all and stand firm.

For I am responsible for me.

And maybe by being pink, when everyone seems grey, maybe some will see that pink is not such a bad colour.  Maybe some will find their own colours.  Their own shades.  And learn to be their own me.

Yes, I am responsible for me.  I am energy.  I am life.  I am my own creation - every single day.

We all are.  Everyone is a living breathing work of art.

It was just a moment

It was just a moment.  A moment remembered.  Looking out through the eyes of a seven year old girl.  Seeing the world with the wisdom that only a seven year old could have.

They weren't happy.  No-one was very nice to each other.  Why?  Something wasn't right.  Something wasn't right with this planet.

It was just a decision.  Just a moment.  A tiny slice of time.  Yet that moment, that decision, would affect the entire course of her life. 

It was just a word - "No".  No, she would not be like that - ever, not if she could help it.  She would not forget kindness.  She would not forget laughter.  She would not forget fun.  She would not give up what she felt in the deepest part of her heart to be true, to be right.

It was just a moment.  A moment that happened so many years ago.  And yet she remembered it so well.  As if for the briefest of seconds, she was back there, standing in the park, watching all the adults, looking out through the eyes of a seven year old girl and wondering why.  Pale grey eyes, scanning the scene and knowing it didn't have to be this way.

Puppy

 

Once upon a time there was a puppy.  He just loved to play.  He was full of fun and happiness.  He found his bliss so easily.  A ball, or a walk in the park, or his favourite dinner... life was simple and life was sweet.  And he was full of love.  He loved to wag his tail and make friends.

Yet when a human follows 'his joy' and just does the simple things that make him happy.  Whether it be singing or dancing or painting or cracking jokes, sometimes others come along and say, "Stop that!  It's sinful."  Rules for this and rules for that.  Shoulds and shouldn'ts.  Obligations.  Judgements.  Restrictions.

It gets hard sometimes, to just be happy, to just be yourself.  Is a puppy sinful?

The man in the suit

So there he was, the man in the suit.  As ironed as ironed could be.  Neat, business like, ironed, straight, upright.  And then from across the road, came a man wearing crumpled clothes, messy hair, looking as if he needed a wash.  In his arms he carried a pile of "The Big Issue" magazines - sold by homeless people to make a few pence, a scheme started to give them power back in their lives, some dignity.  He walked up to the man in the suit and spoke a few words.  The man in the suit stopped walking, listened, hesitated a while and then shook his head and walked away.

The woman looked on.  I wonder what he said, she wondered.  As she looked at the man in the crumpled clothes, he caught her eye and began to make his way across to her.  Her heart felt nothing but compassion for him.  She would not judge him.  Underneath those clothes, the dirt on his face he was another human being just like her.

"Excuse miss, can I exchange a magazine for an egg and bacon sandwich please.  I'm so hungry."  The woman had no interest in the magazine but she felt his hunger.  She knew what it felt like to be hungry.  To walk around feeling weak with an empty stomach.  She had no choice but to say yes.  How could she walk away and leave this man hungry?  Even though she had precious little money herself, it felt right to buy him a sandwich.

The cafe was just there, right behind them and so they walked in and she ordered an egg and bacon sandwich for the man.  He looked so grateful.  "Thank you miss," he offered, "Have a good day."  She smiled, her heart warm with kindness for him.  "You too," she said, "Enjoy the sandwich," and she walked out of the cafe knowing that he would enjoy it, every single bite of it.  Hunger breeds appreciation.  She knew that.

And although she had little money, she felt rich.  Richer than the man in the suit who had more than enough money to spare.  Because she was living with her heart and the man in the suit, was living with money.  She doubted that he would enjoy his business lunch half as much as her friend in the crumpled clothes would enjoy his breakfast.

Beautiful Lady Fox

 

 One day, I sat down in the woods. Peaceful, quiet, no-one around - bliss!

And then ever so quietly, a female fox came to say hello. She checked me out, looked at me with such intelligence in her eyes. I felt humbled. We communicated but not a word was said. I think in my mind, I just said, "Hello" to her and trusted that she heard me. :)  Can we talk to animals?  Yes, I think so but not in words, in the 'energy' we give off to them.  They know who you are, without a single word being spoken.

After a while, of checking me out, she sat down. Not too close, just at arm's length as if she just knew how long my arms were. She sat facing me, still looking at me. I looked at her back.

And then she turned her back on me, and laid down, still in the same spot, an arm's length away and then I knew she trusted me. Animals never turn their back on people they don't trust. I was honoured.

She was beautiful and serene.  She was peaceful.  I know foxes get such a bad name but all they are doing is what they need to do, to live.  Nothing more.  She was beautiful and I'll never forget the time she spent with me.

Little White Butterfly

When I was a little girl, and I don't remember the exact details of how it happened to happen, but I looked after a "cocoon" in a match box.  I remember so clearly, opening the match box and checking on the cocoon that lay inside.

I was so fascinated.  It was alive in there but hidden.  And it seemed to take ages to do what looked like absolutely nothing.  I kept checking on it, opening the little match box and there it would be - cocooning.

Then one day it started to change, so that night I went to sleep and left the match box open, outside in the open.

In the morning I awoke and rushed to take a look and the matchbox was empty.  She was gone.

And then later that day, a beautiful pure white butterfly came to me and kept flying around me.  Never too close, but close enough and my Grandad said, "There she is.  She's come to say hello to you."

I was so touched.  I had a little friend that was a butterfly.  I never saw her again after that but I knew she'd come to say thank you to me, before she left to live her life as a butterfly.

It was beautiful.

What if?

What if I never wrote.  What if I never shared the things I've come to understand.  What if I never tried to communicate the way things have been for me and how I've tried to overcome them?

When I first started writing 'out loud' and sharing the world I'd kept hidden away for so long, the world inside me, I felt so vulnerable and naked.  What if I was wrong?  What if the things I said sounded stupid?  Oh boy, did I cringe when I first started 'opening up'.

But people were kind and encouraged me, and I grew in confidence.  Some even thanked me, and told me my words had helped them see another way.  So I carried on writing.

I don't feel scared to say how it is for me anymore.  I don't have all the answers.  Sometimes the things I write, I have to go back and 'update' as I change my perspective and understanding.  But that's okay.  Really, I only have my answers.  I don't have answers for anyone else.  I don't know what's true for anyone else.  I find it hard to know what's true for me!

I just think we all help each other along.  Sometimes I'll write something, and the feedback I get, opens my eyes to something I hadn't seen before.  Sometimes the things I write open someone else's eyes to the things they hadn't seen before.

There are no experts.  All I can ever do is share my experience.  I'm not an expert.  Nor an authority.  And my 'voice' is no more right and no more important than yours.

If something I mention, inspires someone else to spurt new leafs and grow a little more then that's good.  And I have had lots of other people do the same for me, even if they had no idea that the smallest sentence could awaken a new part of me.

We are all wise.  If we let ourselves be.  If we trust in ourselves and our own good judgement.