Do all the if-only-I-could things
all of the pointless, wonderful things
To be able to swallow the broken
we must feast on what is still whole—
Let go the hand of the known,
and of not-knowing.
There is no sense of time lost
or of a life wasted
when you finally know who you are.
The kingfisher chooses a perch from which to call and be heard. I choose this perch when I need to listen.
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I took lots of videos while at the Royal Albatross Centre at Taiaroa Head. This photo was an accidental capture.
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We miss so much beauty when fixated on the weeds, seeing only what we wish was not there.
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When it comes to the garden, I want to be folded in, to fade in, to become part of it. I long to be—for a moment—place, not person.
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I fell back in love and became more attached to the labyrinth than ever, right at the point of letting go.
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When gifted an early morning,
when something wakes you, holds you
in its pre-dawn hand and will not let you go…
Come, meet your power.
Ask—what do I want instead?
Maybe this is a fairytale with a happy, only slightly macabre, ending.
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We wake into a day
already alive and waiting,
wake into a life already pregnant
with the thought of us…
It is in our nature to read things, we are born to read and find our meaning, I think again. I pause mid-step. On the path at my feet is a nest.
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Sometimes we have to go back to go forward.
Sometimes the answers to what lie ahead
are behind us.
Sometimes we come loose
from the fabric of our life,
our fingers too sore,
our eyes too tired
to find the way back in.
The in-between can be terrifying. Or it can be a quite marvellous space.
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The place you call home has been holding and supporting life for all time. Today, it holds you.
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No matter the treasure bestowed on you
in the night, when you wake,
keep something for yourself.