Nothing about you is broken

 

"You are the most magical creature," he says.
My brows furrow thoughtfully
and I tilt my head to the left side
as I contemplate his words,
simultaneously strange and alluring.

Then the animal that dwells
invisibly beneath my skin
arches her back,
and stretches out her long limbs
as she wakes from her stunned slumber.

Slowly I begin to remember
that who I am is not this body
but this wild essence
that may be temporarily contained
but never tamed.

Never underestimate the power of being seen
for who you truly are and not what you appear.

Never underestimate the healing gift you offer
in seeing the true heart of another,
beyond the illusion of their words
and the masks of their hurts and graces.

This gift touches the untouchable.
This gift points to what is real
and helps the sleeping one awaken
from the false stories she has told,
been told
and believed all her life.

There is nothing about you that is broken
and everything about you is beautiful and enough. 

With love and courage,
Kym
xx

 

This wise nature that heals...

I came to the sea to just be.

To let the wild wind carry away all the stressful thoughts about not being able to get everything done, not knowing enough, my fear of failing and the invisible implications of not getting it right.

I roared with the wind.

I followed the dogs running excitedly along the wet sand and shook it all off.

I melted into the space of the sky and the depth of the sea.

I felt the sand beneath my feet.

I remembered through my body just how much I am supported in this life.

By the time I was ready to go home, I was already home...

back in the strength and depth of my being.

I felt clear and strong and knowing and grateful for this wise nature that heals.

Asking for inspiration and showing up

It’s 5.43am. Between the gap in curtains the slate grey pre-dusk light mingles with the dark amber glow of the fluorescent street light. A deep silence fills my bedroom, the house, the immediate world around me. But in the distance I can hear a stream of traffic on the freeway already.

I’m not an early riser but this morning, I can’t get back to sleep and my usual tactic of lying still and ignoring my state of sleeplessness until I fall asleep again is not working.

This morning I feel the pull the to get up and write, a pull I haven’t really felt for some months: my blog has remained frozen in time and my newsletters have fallen into silence.

My outer life has been busy in changing ways. My beloved was here with me then I was sick with bronchitis for a month. I am deep in the midst of my final year of studying for my diploma in holistic counseling. Work. Time with loved ones and supporting one through personal crisis then supporting myself through my own grief and sadness of witnessing his suffering. In the gaps in between all of this, there is my beloved silence that I sit in. A space where there is no words.

This sounds like a list of excuses for not writing. It is and it isn’t. I have not felt inspired to write but I haven’t asked for it either.

I remember when I was a little girl sitting at the dining table, desperately wanting another serving of Christmas dinner but not speaking a word. My Nana eventually noticed and said, “You have to ask for what you want.”

I remember the day I walked from Laon to Corbeny in France on the Via Francigena: walking past the woodlands hearing the occasional gunshot and praying that the animals were safe, I wondered why I had no inspiration to write. The response was instant: “Because you haven’t asked,” said the quiet little voice of wisdom within.

Yesterday afternoon I returned to my journal to dream into my work as a counselor and how my writing, my blog and my newsletter form part of this dreaming. I asked for guidance and inspiration. So here I am.

Asking for inspiration is only one part of the equation. Showing up and taking action even when you don’t know where it’s going is the rest, and maybe the most important part.

So here I am—trusting and unquestioning, and willing to see what unfolds.

With love and courage to turn up,

 

Not just one way

"Freedom is the oxygen of the soul" ~Moshe Dayan
 
 

Once again the silence and stillness wraps around.
No impulse to move or to speak,
only be here now amidst the rapture of breath.

Again I have broken the vow I made to myself
only now to ask:

who is the one that demands that I am consistent and why?

Repetition and consistency may be the way of an industrialised world
but my true essence is wild and free.

So why do I try and tame what wants to flow like a river?

There are countless ways to show up in the world each day.
Not just one.
Not just one.

The immediacy of now

If you abandon the present moment, you cannot live the moments of your daily life deeply"—Thich Nhat Hanh
IMG_5041.JPG
 

The immediacy of your life
demands that you pay attention now,
be present here and now,
and tend to the aches,
the tiredness,
the fear,
the sadness,
the anger,
the hopelessness,
the helplessness,
the confusion,
the shame
as and when it arises.

Your plans and to do lists are
interesting, and cute
but life operates far more intelligently
than you may understand.
Every feeling you have deferred,
and creative impulse denied
will call and pull at you
until you listen.

You may think you can use
your creative doing,
your service,
your spiritual offering
to bypass all the discomfort
that arises now,
but you can't.

You may think you know
a better way,
a quicker way,
have bigger and better ideas for your life
than the breath that holds us all.

Put down your pen,
your paint brush,
your healing hands, 
your hammer,
your cooking spoon,
your phone.

Look up and in.
Tend to your own discomfort
that you have ignored or denied.
Meld into your own aliveness
awaiting your experience and expression.

This is not a journey of destination and arrival
but of being wholly here,now.

Sweeping out my house

“I ask of life to shine meaning in everyone who is searching.” ~ Aurora Hernandez
 

I am sweeping out the rooms of my house.
As I work my way down towards the basement
I discover rooms I never knew existed.
Some rooms have been locked for years
and I’ve only just discovered the key.

I used to wonder when the house would be clean.
I sweep and scrub furiously,
pushing everything out
to get the job done.
But the dirt keeps showing up.

It is dark down here
and it’s taken a long time
for me to be able to see
what it is that I am really sweeping.

The dust is not dust but pure fine gold.
The cobwebs are pure silk.
Out of the mud that bubbles
grow brilliant pink lotuses.
The quicksand swallows me whole
only to hold me to my own nurture.

These rooms hold the stories of my ancestors
and stories of my life,
unfolded and unfolding,
onwards beyond a basement
that doesn’t really exist
and upwards towards an attic
that is always just out of reach.

The more I clean, the more I discover
that the rooms of my house never end
and that I am gifted with this dust,
these cobwebs,
this mud,
this quicksand,
this life,
to explore and love
as deeply as I can.

With love and courage,

Kym xx

The perfection of today

"Today is the greatest day I've ever known" — William Patrick Corgan
 

Today...
dark red juicy strawberries,
sweet sugary nougat,
fresh cut grass,
the polarized sun setting, splintering golden light through a naked tree;

Cheering on our Aussie Olympians in basketball and swimming in between bouts of work,
the peace of side streets hemmed by arterial roads,
imperfect pink flowers more beautiful with their flaws than perfection;

A flash of anger celebrated not shunned,
the end of work and beginning of holidays,
leaving work in the dying daylight not darkness,
a heart that is open and swells with growing joy.

And love,
always love.