Flip flop shopping.

I missed you today.

First day of sunshine this year really beautiful weather

February who knew we are in Wales with no rain.

I think of you every day

But I hear your voice today

Loudly exclaiming SUNSHINE It’s flip flop weather!

I know you would be in the salon having your toe nails painted.

Then I’d reluctantly go flip flop shopping with you.

Lunch and coffee whilst you would ask “Do you like my nails?”

I’d roll my eyes and smile you were such a girlie girl.

I miss you Donna

Everything reminds me of you.

This week it’s flip flop.

So I’ll wear them for you.

See you soon my friend ♥️

What you don’t see.

Lost in a crowd

Like a small boat at sea.

Heard but not listened to

Inside a storm with no key.

Seen but invisible.

Like the astral plane

Silent screams behind convincing smiles

Tears fall like rain.

Sleepless eternal nights

Exhausted long days.

Hiding the sadness

Hoping for better days.

Wanting to fix things

But scared it can’t be.

For I am a wondering warrior

That no one can see.

Bare brick walls & cheese plants (child mental health)

This is a clip from a book I’m writing about a dysfunctional abusive family in the 1970s and child mental health services at that time.

Thankfully now it’s much better.

He sat at a huge oak desk
The wall behind him was bare brick
A modern clinic for 1975..
A cheese less cheese plant as wide as it was tall stood like a gangly guard in the corner
Leaves reaching out like huge ten fingered alien hands
A photograph of the man at the desk with a woman and two children my age smiling at the camera
But in the photograph he wasn’t wearing a suit like he wears when I see him sitting at the desk. He looks different in the photo. Perhaps it’s his twin brother?
I’m holding onto the sides of the blue plastic chair
Swinging my legs.
They don’t touch the ground.
The only sound is the papers he is holding as he reads silently reminding himself of my last appointment.
I count.
The leaves on the cheese plant guard.
Leaning to my left to check around the back.
Fourty two I whisper.
He looks at me over his gold glasses smiles.
“Forty two? It’s nice to hear you speak.” He says
I feel my face flush.
Nod my head
“Leaves I say on your plant”
Do you like counting?
I nod
‘Inside my head’
I count I sing sometimes I shout but I don’t tell him that.
So he says
“How’s things been at home this week.?”
I’m listening to the breathing behind me and the faint waft of cigarette smoke
I can’t see him but I know he’s there.
His presence is palpable.
He always sits in that chair by the door
Answer the doctor he says in his gruff voice ..
I look at the photograph. On the desk.
His eyes look kind
I look back at him holding his pen and I begin to count the bricks on the wall
Shit I think as I count
Things at home are shit always .
21, 22, 23.
Talk to the Dr the voice behind me says from the chair
Tell the truth .”
I swing my legs..
41,42,43..
She’s shy says the voice again.
Not ten mins before outside in the rain the voice had reminded me to keep my mouth shut.
Mimed turning a key and throwing it away.
“If you tell them ANYTHING the will put me in jail. You will go in a children’s home and you won’t see your mammy again. ”
I looked at the doctor smiled and carried on counting
77,78,79.
Until eventually it was time to go home to my Mam.

Talk to me about things that matter.

Talk to me about what matters to you.
What is your passion?
Who influenced you growing up?
What situation makes you want to be a better person.
Tell me what makes you laugh, the tell me what makes you sad?
Who are your tribe?
Where do you fit in the world.
If there was something major you could change what would it be?
Do you have regrets?.
Do you believe in a higher being?
A god or goddess.
The source that connects all beings
Talk to me about the universe.

Watch the sun rise, then set.
Let’s watch the stars and be amazed.
Feel the wind and rain the elements that make us whole.

Walk barefoot through a forest.

Feel the heat of a camp fire, look for pictures in it’s flames
Tell me when you feel most alive

Let me see who you really are.
The spark of life that is you.
The real you.

Belief

Everyone needs to believe in something, but I don’t think that belief is something that can be taught. I believe in the pureness of dog’s souls and the unspoken bond between sisters. I believe that you have to leave a place in order to discover how much you love it. I believe in the stillness of a Saturday and I believe you don’t need to understand life in order to live it fully. Confusion is half the beauty, confusion is half the journey. I believe there are countless soul mates for every living person and I believe they are around every corner. At any given moment, I believe there are things at which to marvel at – a never ending stream of chances to fall in Love with the world. Flowers bloom despite frost bitten stems and strangers smile despite the heartache in their lungs. I believe in dreams. I believe I am as free as I make my mind up to be. I believe there is no person or power that governs how I live.

I believe that a person can base an entire religion around falling in Love with being alive. The sun rises every morning and asks nothing of me in return; I could learn a lot from that single selfless gesture.

Love yourself, everything else will fall into place.

Women get more beautiful as they grow older.

Not less.
Female youth is only prized in modern culture because it doesn’t represent as much of a threat spiritually to anyone who is frightened of divine feminine power.
As women grow and mature, they call in stronger forces of sacred feminine wisdom. They vibrate with the creative power of their stories.
They are more of a force to be reckoned with.
They see more, know more, feel more. They put up with a lot less bullshit.
When women are trained into thinking there is something fundamentally wrong with getting older, and are coerced into spending money, energy and power investing in ‘slowing the signs of ageing’, an enormous vault of divine love is lost.
Just think what would happen if all the women in the world started loving themselves even more with every year that passed.

Perhaps a total revolution would occur.

Photo Art: Laurie Anne King