Recovered

I have been stolen away from my usual cyberspace ramblings and for two weeks, I've experienced life a little more!

The universe has showered me with wonderful Birthday gifts including the hope for a new home. I mentally colour and decorate non-existent rooms all the time; washing them over with character and charm...one day these rooms will exist and soon too. Finally the dream is not so far away.

Friendship and settlement have been the key themes this month: bonds have gotten stronger, laughter has become more frequent (the celebrations have brought more of my favourite faces together) and the journey resumes. But now my path branches off onto something new; I don't know what it is yet but the closer and closer I come to the end of study I know something exciting is waiting for me there...it'll finally bring me my much longed for sense of peace. I know it to be so because in my entire life, I've never felt so grounded.

In Bloom

Amongst the clearing and sorting, I am finally seeing a brighter path - or maybe just having more hope for one than before.

I truly believe that there aren't enough hours in a day to achieve what I'd like to. There isn't enough investment for all the things I wish to try in this lifetime, but I hold onto those wonders like jewels in the palm of my hand for I have the heart of an explorer.

The colours of flowers and bees making honey is surely adding to the optimism and I feel for the first time, that I finally may be close to complete personal breakthrough and so, I wait in excitement for the summer to deliver me the rewards of my release.

The worst in me:

Your absence.

The worst in you: hearing me.

A lot of thinking to do...

Just when I thought time had moved on
and growth had fastened links nicely onto the chain,
I am forced to turn around and address myself,
with issues of old, that today feel like new...
I must learn to intergrate and alter again.

More observation from others to acrue
and weave into the tired processes of my mind.
Infancy, you seem to choke me more as I age;
falling apart infront of analytical eyes.
So much of you still hiding behind
the curtains of the stage.

Busy Bee

As spring approaches like a new dawn, the planet rebirths herself into a phase of new beginnings and opportunities. I love this time of year because I've finally woken up from the dull cold slumber of winter and I bless the year with my renewed handfasting (a pagan marriage ceremony) and another birthday celebration. Perhaps because I was born a spring baby the universe is so kind to me when it comes. I am hopeful and this year is a special one because my degree comes to an end and my twin flame and I finally reunite for good, to look for a little nest for us to live and be in love in...

...and so I have a busy week ahead, and in my thoughts, a busy couple of months to come. This week I'm making an 'Earth Mother' candle for a dear friend for her mother - she asked for a springy-fresh, mumsy smell and that's what she'll get with the fragrance of Pine, Neroli and Rose with a crackling wooden wick to make it sound like a camp-fire...visit The Moonchild Garden for more of my creations :)

Aside from this, I've got a gig to go to, Alice in Wonderland to see, dinner at Frankie & Benny's to eat, the Tate Modern to peruse in and some freelance editing work to get done...bring it on spring, I'm enjoying myself already!

Echoes of your music

Down spiral corridors I soared; twisting and turning I flew to the corners of the Earth and back...then suddenly, I was propelled up and out into the universe and I glided over...my heart wanted to leap out from my chest, it all went so fast. But time paused when I came to an abyss, your gentle melodies slithered into my ears and I saw you then - your halo golden, your soul's windows a perfect blue and your fingers sweeping over steel strings with beauty and grace.

I tuned into you and now I am in your trance-like spells...remembering, waiting, wanting...only soothed by the echoes of your music...

I'm on hold again until my heart sings its own sweet harmony, the next time I see you.

Today is fit for a dreamer

Fae ID

Upon searching for potential character names for my new tale, I came across a website that generates your very own fairy name by typing in your real name!

Your fairy is called Feather Snowwand

She is a cleansing force and a peace-bringer.

She lives in high places where the clouds meet the earth.

She is only seen when the seer holds a four-leafed clover.

She wears pale blue like the sky. She has delicate pale blue wings like a cicada.

Get your free fairy name here!

Ahh...so sparkly. ♥

Child's play

Today I fell into a place where children's minds expand; they twist and turn through stories, their imaginations satisfied with adventures inked on fresh pages.

For my Writing for Children class, I have to read a children's fictional novel...something I haven't done since I was a child. And yet all these years of writing and reading, struggling to develop and perfect my technique to reach adequate adult standards, I have missed something quite wonderful indeed. Normally I'd bypass the children's section in bookshops, mainly because I'd find noisy, rambling tykes causing a ruckus while their mothers peruse the shelves for something suitable. But I strolled into Foyles this afternoon and thoroughly enjoyed my browse! To my suprise there were more adults in there than children even though it's half-term! The covers were shiny and resplendent, mythical creatures and enchanting worlds splashed across the walls of that corner...I made my choices after a long gander and I haven't been that absorbed in a long time.

Halfway through the Rebel by J.R Andersen, and I'm still entertained. This isn't supposed to happen, aren't I meant to feel like a 'big kid' that needs to look at more prestigious texts in order to better my writing? Well I say that I look at tube carriages now and nearly a third of the passengers have their noses tucked deep in epic children's stories...a market I can get on with perhaps? And yet I almost forgot that most of my enthusiasm for wanting to be a writer occured when I was a child; writing until I was told to go to bed; storing novel after novel on my computer and even further back, tucking away the typewriter carefully after heavy-duty use. I lost that enthusiasm as I got older and more cynical. Adulthood makes you question everything for the negative outcomes, children question for the excitement of the positive.

And so, from now on, you'll find me drawing out my characters instead of meticulously bullet-pointing them out, writing from the pictures in my head instead of constructing a 'logical' sketch and reading books about fairies and wizards instead of those that present us with the failures and woes of the depressing old thing we call 'life'.

I want to get off

Today took me for a major ride, one I paid for but got short-changed on. Whilst on it, my emotions got tested hard and there was a grey cloud hanging over me that threatened to rain so I tried to shake it off and reasoned out my karma to allow a tantrum to occur in my head.

I was cold. I was tired and my love for the world was questioned. Pettiness played its part and caused me more silence than I would care to acknowledge. But I tried to raise some noise by listening to Staind (not a good idea, considering that album takes me back to bleaker times) but others were feeding off my fumes on a tooth-pullingly long bus journey after having battled to get my oyster card to swipe. It didn't. I had money on it, but had to pay more to a bus driver that felt like exercising his authority on me.

I craved the silence while I rode through the grotty stone-laced town that is Mitcham...and when I got home it bullied me. Anger diffused fairly soon after once I cut the cord with the general public, allowing them to take their energy back and return me mine but that grey cloud still hovers...

I know it very well and yet it still plays tricks on me. I'm onto its ways but it still wants to prove me a point, even though I'd love to ignore it. I never can though. There's some sort of attachment to it. It'll drift away for a little while and allow the sun to greet me, but not without getting what it wants: my hands up in complete submission, for it replenishes itself with my dignity.

Inspiration are you there?

Rifling, searching, digging deep...no stories wish to unfold today.

If only I had a fairytale of my own to fall into where the trees tell me which way to go and an elf recites me a poem. No bedroom walls and stagnation there; only a joyful dance through a forest that leads me to the Well of Answers. I lean in, reach down and pick a giant flower petal from the well and on it reads something of a revelation.

The Butterfly Queen blesses me with magic. And when I return, I'm full to the brim with creativity, inspiration and excitement; typing emphatically to record the wonders I've seen.

Cue reality:

Pft. I've stared at this screen long enough and it hasn't turned into a portal yet; only an empty word document with time running way ahead of me and I have emptied myself of motivation.

But still, the web is full of pretty pictures: this one is from we ♥ it.

Knitting, Procrastination and a General Sense of Vacancy

Yesterday I learnt how to knit. I've been longing to do it for some time now; thinking about all the possible things I could make for myself and avoid shopping for things that don't exist all together. Self-sufficiency is the key. Although I've only just started, I saw myself knitting in my sleep last night...a new addiction perhaps?

I should be working on what I've already learnt instead of finding new things to begin. I should be doing my uni coursework but I've seemed to fall into some kind of consuming loop of vacancy. I've been waking up late, my peak of alertness seems to come at midnight, and my work is on my mind for 60% of the day but my body is rejecting the idea of actually producing it. I've wandered around pretty aimlessly today, knowing that the hours are ticking away. Three deadlines to meet and I'm hanging in empty space, wondering how to pull myself together.

Wouldn't it be nice to just knit all day and allow the rhythmic pattern of weaving wool to take my cares away?