You give me fleeting hints that you’re looking after me.
You throw me toxic trails that you’re teasing me with glee.
You remind me of my sadness through scents from deep indoors.
You show me cheeky glimpses of the chance to feel restored.
I think you’re trying to prove that
I should relax and get the groove.
But I’m tussling with the tension:
is it far too late to mention
that I’ve kind of got you sussed?
In my soul I totally trust.
My thoughts are grey and hurried.
My heels click a pavement rhythm
that’s awfully fast and fed-up.
My true self easily gets buried
in the soil of daily hum.
I often forget to look up.
But why always so worried?
When I lift my eyes from my glum,
I see yellow and smiles erupt
with petals and hearts a flurry.
They’re the sun I yearn to become:
my game plan now feels upped.
Do what you love
and the money will come.
That’s what we hope
when we chuck it all in
for a new career and life
and fulfilment’s great charm.
The pursuit of money.
Is that really what life’s for?
Or realising a dream,
a do-it-or-damned score?
I know what I want
before I bid goodbye
to my breath.
That’s to publish and be whole.
To bring openness to heart
and hope to the soul.
I’m sure they’re teasing me
as they chase across green
always in twos, hoppity hop.
The silence for me has been non-stop.
The scampering brown bunnies
think it’s terribly funny
to let me think I can reach them.
The silence has yet to reveal its gems.
It’s my will against theirs,
and they’re faster then hares.
All I’ve seen so far is the fluff of their tails.
The silence resolutely maintains its veil.
I was told to shut up as soon as I could talk,
so finding my voice has been tough.
There was never space to have my own thoughts
Never mind express what I love.
Now I’ve chosen to close myself from the world
and turn much deeper within.
A few days in silence, what will unfurl?
At least a break from my daily din.
What will I find, when my ego’s been stripped,
when I read from my sacred scroll:
will I find scribble or beautiful script
in the cavern of my heart and soul?
Synchronicity’s a word I love
And a concept I adore.
I know I’m on the right path
when coincidences knock at my door.
My love of words and symbols
to heal and help renew
broken hearts and spirits crushed
is a calling of the few.
How to bring this to the world
my intuition now will drive.
But the power of storytelling
is what makes me feel alive.
Doubt is the opposite of faith
and often has double the strength.
It wheedles, it whines, it stretches my nerve
from width to depth to length.
Doubt is the enemy of hope
and stamps on my self-belief.
It taxes my time, my gut, my soul.
It’s nothing but an insidious thief.
Doubt is the victor at night
as an unfulfilled day draws dark.
But it’s no match for a shiny new morning,
full of light and love and spark.
NaPoWriMo sets the challenge today
to focus on ‘noir’.
How can I not obey?
A glamorous fringe, sweeping one eye
is hard to resist.
Like a bullet bye-bye.
What’s not to love about murders untraced
that whisper round corners,
waists unlaced.
But my kind of noir travels way within,
to the shadow of self
that’s my evil-ish twin.
Because dark in a mirror without conscience or soul
will haunt my life’s work
like irremovable kohl.
“Superstition and accident manifest the will of god.” C. G Jung
“The ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances.” Aristotle
My car got bumped today. To be specific, the other driver thought he had more space than was actually there and, in his impatience to get through the too-tight space, his car gouged the side of mine. Or at least, that’s what it felt like as his metal got intimate with mine. It sounded as though he’d put a huge gash in the side.
He admitted liability and ran off to get his insurance documents. I stood there in wobbly shock, mind blank with what to do next in this situation, while other drivers in various states of hurry swore at me to move out of the way. Not a pleasant or uplifting experience for eight o’clock in the morning.
OK, so the physical damage was minor. But emotionally the bump has ricocheted through my day. I certainly didn’t feel I was handling this accident with grace or dignity. I’ve never had to claim on my car insurance before, and I’m loathe to start now. But more than that, I always interpret symbolically the events major and minor that happen in life, believing that Jung says about there being no such thing as an accident. If that’s the case, then what could the bump on my car mean, and what have I learned from it? Is there a deeper meaning? What’s my soul trying to communicate with me.
As I always do, I turn to my laptop for inspiration and insight. Through my keyboard I make sense of what’s happened and seek some kind of clarity and release. So, intuitively, here are the different levels of my thinking:
Points 4 and 5 have the most resonance for me. Perhaps this tiny little knock on my car was a wake-up call, bringing me back to the moment. For other meanings, I’ll let them meander into my head next time I’m on a long drive (as ideas usually do when I’m nowhere near a pen to write them down).
I can already feel that the act of letting the ideas flow through my fingertips has restored me to some kind of dignity, and the bump no longer has its insidious grip on me. Perhaps it was no accident after all.
If you’re thinking of taking a pen
To explore your innermost thoughts
Then today’s the day to do it:
It’ll help unravel your knots.
The UN’s World Poetry Day
Is a chance to feel what’s real
In the deepest darkest depths
Of your starkest startling dreams.
Whether rage takes hold in angry red
Or the blues cry over the page
Trust what comes, let it all spill out:
Free your soul from its strangled cage.
inktuition 