You’re on a different path now, the world has shown you the way forward, what you need to do . . .
. . . You’re inspired, fulfilling, compassionate, eccentric, intrinsic, introverted but extroverted, both a reader and a writer
. . . They didn’t expect you to come so far but you did and for that young soul be grateful for that’s a blessing – you made it and you can teach others how to too
They’re the one’s whos souls are still coal black and their eyes so misty – their delusion was that you were the problem 💞
Clouds are just floating thoughts, soft marshmallows in a sky that reflects the colour of the sea.
Clouds move in synchronisation with the rotation of time; communicating with the sun and the moon.
Clouds are the weather system of our emotions; a visual perception from the inner eye’s gaze.
Clouds can turn dark and clash causing thunder, an argumentative occurrence in mid air.
But what are clouds?
Clouds are just that. Clouds. Their shades aren’t on a rainbow spectrum, just water frozen in time.
“The angel’s most beautiful voice is the harp. The brass stricken harp. The passionate soul that vibrates through the strings of a golden instrument is the symphony of the empath”.
Don’t doubt, believe – write to your heart’s content
This is his story.
He walked towards the mirror and knealt down on the night of a full moon, it’s reflection mirrored in the glass. He stopped. His inner evaluative speech triggered his thoughts to reconcile the attachment developments he experienced as a child as he remembered all he had courageously fought through; the mirror having no idea of his hot cognition and the thoughts scraping within his frontal lobe, illogical but overwhelming in deep thinking and solitude.
His eyes were an ombré hazel with a white grey lining, luminous with a dark purple centre. His hair an eerie black, full and fine, flowing discreetly past is pale crimson forehead. His nose, a burnt shade of red, pressed against the pane creating a smear of condensated matter.
He peered more deeply.
It wasn’t a mirror or a glass – it was an icy pool of cold moods, his tears icicles of winter snow, his body a sculpture of stillness. It wasn’t a shop window he was peering into – it was a frozen lake. The lake. The lake of death as they call it. The lake that takes the minds of many suffering so quietly, so elegantly, the lake that has created blessings, the lake a pool of a thousand diamonds. Diamonds that couldn’t speak up about their feelings. Diamonds that so swiftly declined and deteriorated due to the pressures of living within a tormented mind with a soft soul. His soul a powerful reminder of his pressured self-esteem – his body so bare.
Oh how someone would help him, but no one could be seen.
Do you ever wonder through life thinking why doesn’t anyone understand you? Why are emotions not valid in modern society anymore? Why throughout history we have experienced more wars than love? Why are people insensitive to another’s needs? Why do people push down those who try their best in life? Why is the world a sphere? Why are the planets all the same shape? Why are we the only planet with life? Is the world an eye? Does it even exist?
Have you ever experienced contradictions in your reality? What if everything you see exists only inside your brain. Think about it. When you close your eyes it’s blank like space. When you sleep you dream as if you are alive. When you change your mood different circumstances occur in your life. Repetitive words and patterns in the universe are all around us. Everything links to one powerful source – our inner soul. That’s a soul purpose. We have created our social norms, we have conditioned ourselves through evolution for centuries but we still have the same emotions, feelings and moods the question is how come?
Ernest Hemingway once said: “There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self”
What does this quote imply?
Ernest Hemingway struggled with depression at the time he wrote this quote. You can tell by his words. The first sentence shows he probably tried to explain how he was feeling but came across as insensitive and superior and couldn’t understand why no one else could understand the way he was feeling.
The second part of the sentence implies his own personal growth within his writing. He released his emotions into words, he created books that warmed the hearts of millions of people around the world – especially the book “The Old Man and the Sea.”
He remembered who he was before all the traumatic incidents happened to him except he knew something in his brain has changed. He knew because he became superior to himself. He may have come across as narcissistic but maybe society suppressed him too much, so was he? Maybe the experiences he entailed changed the way in which is brain functioned. Maybe he didn’t realise how much of himself he lost until the moment he could write. He wrote about what hurts. His imagination will always live on.
Today I joined a creative writing group at Mind which I throughly enjoyed. I chose the topic astronomy and wrote a short piece:
The alignment of the planets spiralled in the eyes of its creator. The infinite depths of darkness enlightened by only one sun, the sun we see from earth. Connected as we are, we see the universe as a hologram, a projection of visual observances.
The many rays of light, just black and white, but our irises see colour. Are our eyes the centre of the universe? Is our energy the soul, the values, the connector of the universe? Like a flower needs the seasons the universe needs an emotion. It rotates. Perhaps the planets are not round as we percept it to be. Perhaps the moon is the white spectrum of light that we look up to when the stars twinkle in the invisible atmosphere.
Mars is a ball of rock to remind us of the soil we need to remove from our souls. We are the creators of the universe, we don’t see things in the same way, we visualise, we create, we make except we are one.
One at how we see the planets, one at how we feel the same emotions, one with how we perceive the shadows, the shadows of our reflection, from the light within our souls. Fire and water are opposites but do they have a chemical bond? Air and Earth are opposites of each other too. A productive transformation, the gift of sight, to see such a spectacular occurrence.
Pluto is the furthest within our solar system – but it’s alone – it’s purpose unknown – it’s grey but noticeable – just like a person who has been suppressed by envy, suppressed by jealousy, suppressed by the world’s greed.
If only we knew how captivating the universe is but we can’t survive without gravity. We can’t survive without people – to love one another is to be accepting. Accepting of the facts, accepting ourselves for who we are. Our memories are atoms, our body is energy, our mind is the creator of the universe.
The heart weeped. It’s shattered. It’s bruised. It hoped.It looked. It found. It lost. It moped.
The tears fell. It’s endless. It’s dried. It’s condensated. It’s hell.
The body ached. It’s weak. It’s hurt. It’s painful. It’s bleak.
The memories split. It’s disorientated. It’s confused. It’s recalling. It’s used.
Your confidence drowned. It’s dissociative. It’s lonely. It’s invisible. It’s sound.
You found love. It’s scared. It’s unpromising. It’s repetitive. It’s shared.
You lost trust. It’s replaced. It’s moving. It’s glass. It’s lust.
Sometimes you make mistakes in life and have to realise the lack of respect you lose for yourself by conforming to the people of your past who have previously hurt you… mistakenly falling in love with the same person over and over again is silly right? In fact it’s more than silly; especially when they just either don’t you want to be with someone else or just want one thing and leave you. That’s it. Done. Dusted. Brushed under the carpet. Love doesn’t hurt, loving the wrong person hurts. We have to learn from our mistakes – being alone is far more better than around others who take advantage of you and your compassion and try to hide it because they don’t want to see you with anybody else. Sometimes it’s safer to be alone – doing what you enjoy. You have to protect the love you have in life – you will only ever have so much to give; use love wisely 🙌 🤔 💗✍🏻
My mother is an amazing artist and I’d like to share some of her work on my blog to inspire other artists. A goal of mine is to write about each piece of art my mum has created over the years, write about it in detail, with imagery, with personification, with creativity, to explain to my mother how beautiful her art is and the talents she has yet to blossom. My mother is 42, I’m 26. My mum is on her first steps of becoming the talented version of herself and I want to share her art with the world 🌍
A hollow shell, A silent wave
Frothy shores and empty caves
Pick up the shell and listen to the sea
Listen to its calling when it’s calling you to me
Grains of sand and shades of stone
Who knew it would be so peaceful to be so alone.