Soul Sista

When it’s dark. When it’s hopeless. I’m watching you through a paned glass. Flying paper planes of hope, floating messages in a bottle. But nothing is getting through.

I see your broken self.

I see your loss and pain.

I see your fear.

I see you.

But you don’t see me.

It’s difficult to touch that space within me that you are now standing in. That space where I too was broken, alone and lost.

That place where days of tears flooded my bed spread. And butterflies in the tummy turned into aches of hunger. Where sleepless nights had me looking like death,  a single text could have me huddled on the floor. People scared me. Sunlight scared me. Life scared me.

What scares me now. Is only that place. That hopelessness. The loneliness.

What I wanted so badly.

Was it to stop. The pain. The chest tightness. The breathlessness. The physicality of my uncoiled emotions; of my untangled thoughts.

I can’t be your saviour right now – and I’m not sure I want to.

I need for the sun to break on you. I need you to be in this growth knowing this will pass. Have faith. Trust in me.

My complications arise when I witness your pain. Wanting to protect your brokenness and hold your hurt but the witnessing of your transformation would be denied.

Break your armour.

Lose your mind.

Crumble your heart.

Once you are nothing but a shattered mess of existence scattered on life’s floor – that is where peace enters.

Where self is discovered.

That… is where life begins.

My dear friend. That is where you pick up the pieces, the people and the places that hold significance.

This is where you stare at the same girl you’ve seen for the last 31 years and find a sense of home. A sense of contentment and beyond what you can imagine right now a sense of love. For her, for the sunshine you once feared and for this life you once resented.

That is when it fades. The doubt. The hurt and the hopelessness.

Let me love you through your transformation. And be brave enough to endure the pain. You are not sinking solo on this journey my love, just learning to fly freely to wherever you need to be.

 

From your soul sister thats been souless.

 

thenewmisso

I found sadness in happiness.

I found sadness in happiness. I’d been so solid in the mindset within my contentment. The fullfilment and the current status quo.

And then I escaped.

With little expectation and even smaller finances I escaped for a breath. To a location that I should have known would hold more significance than I figured. Too lands so empty that the vacancy of my heart appeared full.

I escaped the busyness.

From the buildings. To the masses of people. The convenience of take away stores and after hours shops. From normality as I knew it. Escaping the 100s of people that walk past me on a sidewalk any given moment to walking solo on broken dirt roads.

I escaped for a short while. However, I wish I had of hidden a little longer. Routine was abolished. Prediction was unknown. I was nothing but jumbled collection of thoughts and physicality in the middle of a dry Red Sea.

A curious mind absorbing facts and sentiments of a land running through my blood. I found excitement in hikes, held back tears of appreciation for views I had never imagined and felt the essence of sacred canyons I would never have known.

But the sadness came on my return.

Not the flight home or the longest bus journey one hangover could possibly endure but the hours and days in the following tick of the clock, of routine returning and normality knocking.

Surrounded by the people that are busy living their lives. Travelling to and from work rather than traveling the world.

Conversing with folks about daily agendas rather than animal conservation, super powers or future life endeavours.

I frequented the same train to the same monotonous location, with the same unsatisfied mindset.

The self doubt entered.

The questions arose.

My heart became heavy.

And my mind stale.

Then there it was…

Maybe one of the only feelings I can hold tangible connection to over these last few months.

And I felt stuck.

Lost.

Abondon within myself.

Maybe it’s just the post holiday blues. Maybe I’m tired.                                        Maybe I’m just sad – and that’s ok too.

And then that’s where I grew. That’s where I learnt. I listened to music that made me connect. Searched photos that reflected my happiness. Talked with souls that made me believe again.

And I grew.

Reinventing myself. Without feeling sadness on return I would never had reflected the happiness I found on my journey. I need people that don’t see me on sidewalks to appreciate the souls in states of vulnerability. I need it. Not because what I have, where I am or what I am doing is not enough but because it shows me there is more to learn.

There is reason to believe in people once more.

That somethings need to be seen to be believed.

That life is to be lived.

And love is to be felt.

And time is of the essence.

But most importantly that there is more for me to do. That I haven’t reached my potential yet. I can’t even see it. But I am uneasy within my location. Within myself and I can feel a change in the mind.

Something better is coming.

Not because I find sadness in happiness. But I find a happiness greater than I know.

 

thenewmisso

Falling in love with strangers.

I am a mess in every sense of the word right now. Physically hurting from the intoxication I endured just last night. I’ve been mentally hidden from the world these last few hours. With the sun on my skin as the long roads seem never ending I feel like I’ve been invited back into reality. With the facade of my hat and the disguise of my sunglasses I sit up to encounter the strangers around me. Barely able to meet myself this morning I was unable to greet them.

Fresh, excited and curious of what is ahead they are perched seperately on chairs with an unknowing of the experience to come. Clean of red dirt and lacking the passion for fellow travellers that burns within me they’re faced forwards watching as the broken white lines from the ashphalt taps the wheels on the bus and the barrenness of the land screams aloud.

This experience has been much needed. It’s refuelled my energy. Reinvented my faith in people – in genuine people. And it has watered my knowledge for our country and culture from which I extend. The freedom in me to be drawn to people is almost like breathing. My consciousness has kicked in and recognition for the strangers around me is heightened. I crave their journeys, their experiences and secetly their souls. My words encourage their souls to dance with mine on these extensive red stained surroundings. The music echoed through my head phones which I fail to deny because the comfort of the tunes increases my level of connection with the lyrics; the artist and with this moment.

Well dressed and speaking in a tongue which I am not accustomed, I strike gold with a stranger. His curiosity as I disable his alarms is undeniable. He revisits locations with me that has helped to shape the details of his life, he speaks of journeys that put a smile on his face and he divulges details of the creture he is. Our inability to understand a fluent conversation draws us closer together as we messily stumble through words and rephrase sentences. I watch in awe as he proudly describes his defining job role – none of which I could completely comprehend but all of which sounded like a childhood dream accomplished through determination. His intelligence oozed from his pores as his matched passion for travel flowed from his lips. So distant from any other person I have come into contact with he sinks back in the chair like his acceptance of self was reinforced by the intrigue I displayed.

I lay backwards to visit the land of day dream after pouring my minimal current funds of energy into finding connection with this stranger. Out of touch with reality. The sun fiercly breaking through the windows as the desert passes us by. I watch the man in the red shirt, who once was whispering silence of the unknown now painting the excitement of connection.

I pull a book from my bag that will help my ghost dance carelessly on the dunes to the echoes of my headphones but my eyes cannot convert the words on the page to processs the information. Dissapointed I put the book down and collapse further into my slump. As it happened the man in the red shirt shirt, clean, intelligent, well travelled and careered in space enginerring reached comfortably to my book. Like borrowing milk from a neighbour, this stranger who is now my neighbour smirks comfortably as he explores a world that makes me laugh, grow and appreciate. So far from what I would expect from him. He enjoyed being outside his square. I watched him as the cracks in my heart were healed a little more from the vulnerability we both displayed. From the connection we made. From the comfort our souls had found.

I love this.

I need this.

I live for this.

Bursting with love despite the hangover lingering, on a bus ride that seems to be driving us to eternity with strangers that have now become neighbours. I settle into my skin.

I am exactly where I need to be. With exacty the right people. At exatcly the right time.

And I am falling in love wth loving strangers.

 

thenewmisso

Saturday nights loving her dad.

Saturday night just gone I sat bamboozled with my 6 year old one on one as we created pictures and explored her beautiful heart.

Still thinking back I get uneasy in my skin and as I feel an unnatural frown in my brow while I try to wrap my head around the scenario at hand.

This is not what I planned despite what others may think.

I wanted the til to death do us part with the man of my dreams and I wanted both a mum and dad under one roof raising these facinating and life inhaling children that we planned for, dreamed of and brought into this world.

But things change, I changed.

I feel like as soon as I say that I need to follow it up with an apology; I changed.. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve spewed those words from my mouth the last 2 years. Truth is, I’m not sorry for changing.

I’m sorry you’re hurting.

I’m sorry things didn’t go to plan.

But I’m not sorry I changed anymore.

Under no haze of circumstances do I believe my evolution is the sole reasoning of our demise. Nor could I pin point a single fault in your stars that would indicate the blame to be laid on your shoulders. We went from being babies to raising babies and life grew us through so many challenges and hurdles. We had to adapt, to learn and to mould.

The childhood sweethearts were love struck, life young and mind lost. We had no clue.

The roads we walked were often more broken then they were solid and before long I could only hear echos of your footsteps on distancing journeys. As I’m sure my voice faded to a whisper for you as we continued trecking in opposite directions. I on one dirt track and you on the sands of times. There we were for years, just existing.

Fast forward to the now. My steamy saturday nights as a young, driven and life loving thirty year old is filled with outlining love hearts, bubble writing your name and filling our daughters head with the beauty of the man her daddy is.

My heart hurts too.

I know this was my choice. And I wouldn’t change the present for another day at 17. But just because I chose to end our marriage doesn’t mean I chose to end our committments as parents to these 2 incredible humans. It also doesn’t mean that your hurt doesn’t hurt me or your words said in anger about my character or qualities don’t dent my armour.

My endless apologies, my flood of tears or countless diaries to distinguish what went wrong and how to make it right will never bring it back.

I don’t know how this is meant to work. I don’t want to be another broken home with another torn child. I don’t want you to hurt or me to hurt but I also know that this is the life we have now and we need to live it. I refuse to apologise once more for my change and growth as I get close enough to now knowing me.

My saturday nights I once dreamed of filled with takeaway dinners, candlelight baths, drinks with friends and being drenched with desire and affection are now filled alone, colouring love hearts with our little girl that wants to love you until her heart explodes. So I welcome her love for you and I match it sharing stories about the man her daddy is.

You see this isn’t what I dreamt either. Expressing love for you while you remain focussed on hating me. I know that life is confusing and sometimes our hearts break; you tend to forget my insides contain just the ingredients as yours. We beat for the same two little hearts. I breathe deep as your words tear through me like bullets that a bandaid won’t mend.

But these babes deserve more. From me and from you.

As I colour the heart to the dedicated colour your princess commands, I sigh a sigh of the unknown. My heart hurts but I am confident I am where I am meant to be. And fulfilling her fairytales with stories of her dad merges both of our hearts together. I committ to loving them more than I can begin to imagine; and I will continue to love you for loving our living breathing dreams the way you do.

I hope your heart shines light enough to see that holding hate for me is breaking more than my heart. I hold hope that parenting these wonders will enable us to find love beyond that of husband and wife.

I’m sorry you’re hurting.

But I’m not sorry I changed.

 

thenewmisso

It’s only the beggining

And then there were four.

Less than 24 hours prior to this photo she was delicately dressed, exposing her pearly whites with hubby in toe as they anxiously anticipated this little girl.

I’ve been in almost a similar position to her maybe with a few less aches and pains but it never seemed to occur to me the strength and resiliance that us woman actually exude.

I look at her now as not just my best friend that holds memories of childhood antics, stows secrets of my past, exists in most of my photos, the one that stood beside me on my wedding day and the one thats presence gave me comfort when entering my son into the world ; but now I see so much more.

She’s a girl thats grown into a woman. A daughter that’s now a mother. A girlfriend that’s now a wife. She’s a stubborn soul that now is a compromiser. A friend that is now my family. But above all else – she is a mum. I watched her today as only hours after bringing this miracle into the world she composed herself. She healed her body physically and pushed through pain just as she has done emotionally for the past year and a half.

We take for granted the trauma our bodies are exposed to in bringing about these tiny creations. A mould of him and her – a symbol of the their hopes and dreams, their genetics and thier love is tangible amongst thier arms.

The energy is different now she is here. It’s hard not to be excited for her gift of life or overwhelmed by the abundance of love from their hearts. But something I may have glanced over before is the warrior of a woman she is.

Snapping pictures of this gem in a heated and densely filled room darkened by curtains and full of strangers as she attempts to whisper the events of this little ladies entry to the world. The fears she conqured, the determination she showed and the pride she has should be bellowed from mountain tops not dulled by the situation at hand.

However long it has been happening. With the copious woman before her; In which ever manner they’ve choose to deliver. This is NOT easy.

The nausea that doesn’t resolve probably due to the never ending sleep deprivation. The unforgettable feeling of an afterbirth that needs to be delivered that EVERYONE forgets to mention. The pulling and prodding of a vagina with nothing that would resemble pleasure – did I mention the then ongoing ooze that will be present for weeks to come. The pain you can’t avoid when peeing for the next week…or month. The fear of the first number two. The smiling through pain as you try to reposition yourself or attempt to sit on a new surface. The confusion as your body adjusts to an overnight 5kg weight loss. The DD cup you always wanted and now have but are terrified to touch due to pain and lost milk. The contractions that haven’t stopped despite the fact the baby is now in your arms. The dizziness when you stand and the constant adjustment of hot and cold flushes. It doesn’t end when labour ends!

Growing and delivering a baby is so much more than 9 months of weight gain and a day in pain. It’s mentally draining and  physically demanding.

She lays with her baby she had curled inside of her yesterday, now stretched out on her chest. Inexcusably beaming while only small details are evident of the events that have occured. Needles taped to hands, identification strapped to wrists, covering swallen and leaking food sources without the mention of what has gone on amongst the entry point into the world. With hair pulled back, toes painted to perfection, her imperfectly perfect self is at peace.

Post blood loss, undescribable amounts of pain, hours of lost sleep and emotions that she may not have felt yet; she will within hours pack herself up. Again with husband in toe. They are learning about this creature they really don’t know and taming a toddler that really has no clue – they will re enter their home just 24 hours after leaving it yesterday. But nothing is the same, nor will it ever be – nor will they want it to be.

She is weary and bruised, fearful of the unknown and anticipating the next move. Adjusting to being a mother of two, recovering from the delivery, she will move with the speed of life. She will be bombarded with visitors, whilst expressing love to the toddler and juggling her newborns demands, all the while forgetting about the healing of her own pains or attending to her own needs. She won’t even recognise what she is missing or the determination she is holding.

The days will pass, similar to these first 24 hours. I will watch her in awe just I have done today with pride about the woman she is. As she shows strength to overcome the physical dents she has endured and as she stumbles through the emotions her heart delivers.

It’s beautiful to watch a warrior at work; to now understand from a different perspective and to show her all the love I can because I remember the pressures we face as new mums – no matter how many times we’ve done it.

This is only the beggining and she is already sky high. Welcome to the world baby girl; watch and learn from the warrior that is your mum.

 

thenewmisso

Do I miss it? No, not yet.

As I lay curled alone wraped in sheets and drenched by the winds knocking at the windows and howling through the trees it puts me almost at the point of missing it. Just as people assumed I should. The ‘it’ of anothers presence. I slide down further in the bed like I fear the breeze will somehow breakthrough the fort of my home and send chills down my spine. The emptiness in the bed as my uncovered body searches for what could possibly be a want of anothers limbs to entangle mine is left denied. I know that typically my heart may sink and my mind would wander at the prospect for another  to warm my body and put to bed the fears of the storms but not any more. The space in the bed, the room in my heart, the curiosity of my mind and even the desire for sexuality are filled so contently in their own way.

The missing of the sweet morning texts, the looks of desire in your eyes or the wedding vows that were promised but never kept were all fleeting yet empty attepmts to touch my heart. My heart searched for a love that would give honesty, a love that would stay present and a love that would fill my heart. It’s been emptied and broken in the fascade that another could possibly fulfil it’s honour in keeping it bulging and overflowing. The love that has healed it’s empitness and daily struggles to mend the breaks inflicted by others carelessness – comes from here. From within. From self love. I hold the appreciation; the kindness; the gentleness towards myself that I once required from others. I love me. I give myself the space and time to heal through pain and run wild with the freedom of my heart to enjoy the flirt of emotions it at times discovers. I don’t see that this heart is made for another right now – It’s made for me.

A wry smile uncovers as I search through articles I used to once indulge.  When soul mates connect or How to know you’re in love –   the appeal is lost and my mind is not captured. My mind is an obscure gypsy that will wander streets and souls meeting strangers. It’s drawn to people with passion, people that show their hearts and magnetised to those crazy souls that always have that ignition for life just flickering away before the flame. The insanity of my hopes and dreams I once carefuly hid away are now screaming freely as I etch closer to their connection – and so peacefully there is no barriers; no interruptions and no interference. It’s just me. Losing myself in all that I am capable of and all that I want. Those inspirations crossing my path and erring me forwards, link in with my lust to aspire and too begin to disregard that which is said to be impossible. My love for the mind requires depth, courage, intelligence and dreams – and just the smallest flint of a flame.

The windows rattle like a reminder that the storms could threaten my existence. I welcome it. I embrace all that is set to menace the strength I have obtained through the challenges I have already survived. I prop myself up in bed as the sheets fall from my shoulders and the cool air tickles my skin. Glancing through the darkness a trifling amount of street light captures my reflection in the mirror – that’s it. Just there in that moment. My uncovered frame reflected back to me is the imperishable sense of home. Contentment and peace. There’s no fear to discover here or insecurity of what’s to come.

Smouldering down into the oversized bed I unfurl my bare limbs from one corner to the other – sniggling at the girl that once believed the heart, the mind and the bed needed to be filled with another. Reeling in the sheets alone had never felt so freeing, intoxicating and seductive. Not even the physicality of desires were requirements invited to another anymore. The voids have all been satisfied from within.

Am I missing another in my heart, my mind or my bed? No, not yet I’m not.

 

Am I doing this right?

 

I’ve searched hours for the instruction booklet. Scrolling pages upon pages. Questioning strangers and friends. I’ve made endless phonecalls and read 23 books (just this year) and to be honest I have no idea what I’m doing.

I’m winging it.

My fingers are crossed.

My eyes are open.

And I hold my breath.

I’m growing humans. Real ones. Ones that depend on me to teach them. To show them. To guide them and to love them. Am I doing it right?

Where’s the damn booklet. Where’s the directions on how to put them together. To get them to the age when the alarm goes off ‘ping’ – it’s done. Because daily I question if they’re cooking right.

You go into this exciting journey knowing you’ll endure endless sleepless nights due to crying babies but not really acknowledging the sleepless nights you’ll lay awake wondering if you have put them in the right school, if they’re doing enough sport, eating the right foods or playing well with other kids.

The endless tiring minutes and hours throughout the day of settling arguments, doing property management of toys, servicing of chaotically messy rooms, nursing ouchies and tendering growing hearts. We are then expected to do it with a smile. With confidence. With a knowing.

I know how to mend wounds – I did 3 years of schooling to do that. I spent the good part of my first decade of life bartering on belongings and mediating wars within a household. I had an enforced knowledge of ‘servicing’ taught to me in the younger years by my sweet yet expectant mother; but this raising children thing is all trial and error.

The teacher of mine is missing. She did her time before retiring to an uncontactable land. Who do I gage direction from or ask questions to?

I sit perched up against the door as tears flow as I try desperatley to compose myself. Somedays this parenting thing just seems like a job far beyond my qualifications. I read articles and speak to friends in hope that the more information makes me more prepared. Truth is, in moments just like this I’ve got nothing. I’m tired, I’m emotional, I miss my mum, I don’t know who to call or what to do so I’ve succumbed to giving up – just for a minute. How can we get so lost, so alone and so helpless in trying to do the best we can with what we have. Am I enough for them?

Each day brings a new set of challenges. I manage my hopes and dreams for them while trying to encourage the wildness of their hearts to shine and the enthusiasm of their spirits to collide with the normality that society intends. But am I alone in saying this is scary? That alot of the time I genuinely have no idea what I am doing. How to hold conversations with little girls about mini shorts or how little boys should NOT pee on objects for fun. That listening and following instructions isn’t a switch I can flick on and simply ingraining the value of empathy in this minature external heartbeat of mine is a lesson too valuable to price. I try to encourage the curiosity of their minds and water the growth they show. I see so much light shine from them and feel so much love pour from their hearts but how will I know if it’s enough. If I’m enough.

I guess I don’t.

I guess we are all scared, clueless, overwhelmed and hopeful that what we are giving, teaching and loving these real life humans will be whats required to be succesful in this chaotically charmed life.

I re-read my girlfriends words about failed dinners, late school drop offs and violent 3 year old rages about how “wrong” we are. I smile through the tears knowing I’m not so alone afterwards. That doing the right thing even when it feels like the wrong thing is just how this job goes. And on other days being welcomed by sloppy kisses and innocent I love yous for the simplicity of my presence can be the glue that my heart needed.

I am qualified.

I am enough.

I am their mum, their worst enemy, their pet, their hairdresser, their nurse, their chef, the cleaner, their bestfriend and ultimately their world.

Loving them is easy. Even when their insomniac split personaility arises. Loving myself through the doubts that this journey can highlight at times is the challenge.

 

 

 

 

 

Happiness in words

I tend to write alot from pain. As I messily stumble through my thoughts and feelings. I document the discomfort as a means to lighten the load.

It’s impossible for me to meet you without vulnerably exploring all that make me smile, makes me laugh and essentially what makes my life worthwhile. The reason my sun shines each day and my reason to wake.

It’s what makes me happy.

The people, the places, the noises, the scents, this life.

It’s my photos. The way they not only capture a moment, hold vivid reminders of loved ones too far to hold but still feel close enough to touch. Photos allow me to carry emotions from time frames I could too easily forget but try so hard to remember.

Words connecting to others.

The way pieces of art showcase the soul of the artist.

It’s inking my skin with chapters of my life as a reminance of battles won.

The emotions evoked from lyrics written by unknown individuals that touch my heart.

Connection of souls through the eyes of a stranger.

The cheeky flirt that sets butterflies free in my tummy.

The hug from a family member I’d forgotten I’d missed.

Or the new baby smell of an infant.

It’s jumping from planes (with parachutes ofcourse).

It’s the feeling of home in your best friends presence.

Handstands and cartwheels – dancing alone.

It’s looking in the mirror and being comfortable with who is looking back.

It’s sleeping easy at night – guilt free. Conscience free.

Waking early for a job I love.

Riding motorbikes solo.

Crying for my broken heart – but still not having it mend.

Laughing at my highest highs.

Holding pride in the person I am and the life I am creating.

Missing my girlfriends who I connect with in such a productive way.

It’s growth.

Insight.

Singing in the shower, in the car and at karaoke.

It’s missing my mother to a point of physical pain but being so grateful to have had her at all.

It’s simply breathing.

Plane rides to unfamiliar locations.

Being drunk enough to forget the chaos of life….

Then allowing yourself to eat your way through the hangover.

Sunrises and sunsets in still locations.

Fear –

Having this moment – never being guaranteed of the next.

Being brave enough to write.

Having hope for the future.

Flowers.

Books.

Human touch.

Human connection.

Anticipatating the birth of a little girl that is so loved before she arrives.

The idea of love.

The thought of romance.

Be-friending strangers.

People watching.

A beautiful wild and free spirited child that resembles so much of myself.

It’s having support from friends when you don’t know how to ask.

It’s people loving your children in a genuinely beautiful way.

Long drives alone.

The beach.

The sun on my skin and raindrops on my face.

Somedays it’s jumping in puddles.

It’s milestones.

Honesty.

It’s the people that count.

Learning new things.

Failure – because the attempt is what matters.

Making the best out of the not so wonderful minutes, days or sometimes weeks.

Fresh air in my face.

It’s also the saddness.

The lows.

And the pain that makes the love, the happiness and the moments richer, deeper and fuller.

My life.

My perspective.

My happiness.

At times I am too taken by these wonders to document all of this, my happiness.

 

thenewmisso

 

 

 

 

Grieving the living

 

The past few years I’ve had to face this scenario. I’ve had to wake each day to a loved one that I was expecting to die either that day or maybe the next; and if not then the immediate future. We were sitting around, with their eyes opened and their mind switched on waiting for their death. In some ways it feels like the cruelest punishment anyone had been delivered yet also a blessing to be given enough time to tie up affairs, mend broken bridges and say goodbyes.

The final curtain call, the full stop at the back of a sentence or a sunset to finish a day – we all knew what was coming. We sit almost impatiently waiting for its appearance. Just waiting. Anticipating – listening to the tic toc of the clock is almost unbearable.

I’ve attempted to comfort friends and strangers who broached similar journeys. The pain in their eyes as they are holding their living breathing loved one that they are already missing. Not gone enough to be able to grieve but not present enough to drowned in their happiness. My heart breaks as the tears I shed fall on my cheek because I am so desperate to understand my confused heart.

I want to love him but I miss him.

I can’t miss him because he’s here but he’s promised a deadline that’s enforced him to check out.

How do I feel? How am I meant to juggle and manage the emotion of it? How do I teach my children to farewell for the final time a grandfather they expect to play with tomorrow. How can they possibly understand that this hug, this kiss and this I love you will be the final of its kind with him. Then that’s it. We farewell him onto his next journey and the heaviness of his loss is sunken into my core.

I sit in silence watching his chest rise and fall while I replay the memories of his life. I tune in the music of his soul and allow my heart to beat in time with the pipes and drums he so loved. I smile an everlasting grin at the man he is. The woman he moulded me to be and the lessons he taught us all in this life. And now with a beating heart and exhausted soul this lifeless hero lays begging for a chance to let go.

But the loss is not here yet but the heaviness has already made itself apparent. Im holding his hand and etching the lines of his face into my memory because in the next second it may be gone – he may be gone. But then he’s not. And I’m still waiting. He’s still waiting.

He’s so desperate from the exhaustion of his life and now he’s bravely anticipating his next journey. My mind can’t begin to understand the complexity of the details this moment brings and my heart is overwhelmed by the ache, the love and by the sadness this situation and many others like it brings.

Every minute away feels like a betrayal. To him. To myself. To the fight against time. Priority is his presence. Is pouring my heart out to his weak stature and soothing his soul as it prepares to fly. In the back of my mind and bottom of my heart I continue to struggle with this torment. There’s no understanding such difficulty.

There’s just now.

And for now he’s here, and so am I.

Until then, I hear the horrendous tic toc as each hour encroaches. The sun sets over the mountains and makes an appearance through the white timber window frame.

He inhales difficultly and the room pauses as we wait for him to exhale. Never knowing if it will be the last time.

 

thenewmisso

 

 

Hidden messages

 

Do you have those moments where words are exchanged and whilst it’s happening you nod and smile politely? While the words pour from another’s mouth and flood your ears and you can’t really get the gravity of what the situation is until it’s past? The moment itself can be re-lived several times over if you actually have the insight and give time to take these moments for what they are.

The scenarios can be different for all. The people may be strangers rather then friends. At the end of the day we are all strangers.

Most of us strangers to ourselves.

I am still holding onto one of those moments I had recently. Words engulfed me and have been pulsating my bloodstream and tickling my mind since the words echoed my world.

As daunting as reality is, it’s also incredibly powerful. Fearful. Exciting. Scary and confusing. I’m confused.

I’m confused about my emotions from the simplest of words that were spoken. No that’s a lie. They were written. And I’ve read them once or twice over I can tell you. The letters scrabbled together in a word and delivered in a phrase are now carrying forth a lesson.

A lesson on life. A lesson on people.

A lesson about me.

I’ve been given something from this. An opportunity.

From a stranger. A person I barely know. And that barely knows me. I appreciate that.

But as I re-read the words, almost like nails to a chalk board or flaking skin from a sun burn I grit my teeth as the reality of the words hit too close to home. The knowing that these words deliver are almost too much to face so I glance over them daily hoping that gravity eases with each peek.

It hasn’t. Or has it?

Im not terribly sure. I now contain the courage to address the heaviness I find within the topic so maybe the fear is dissipating.

Without an inkling of my past, nor an indication of where I’ve been. Or the demons I stowe in my closet. Placed in black and white, the reality of my choices, ones that plague my mind and define my being came sinking down.

Without knowing. I wasn’t growing and I was hopelessly lost to ever being more than I ever was.

The simplest of scents, the lyrics of a song, an art piece or a stranger. Everything has purpose. For now or forever. Be present enough to hold onto each lesson.

Because the smallest of messages can bring about the biggest of lessons.

From a stranger.

In a message.

My opportunity was given.

 

thenewmisso

 

“It’ll never stop as humans are self destructive due to their own boredom mostly”

– a message from a stranger 💙