Journey of the Heart

The whole world is whispering - whispering long-lost truths and the mysteries of connection… At least, this is what I’m coming to believe. Myths and legends repeat the same themes and these are echoes of what we see in nature and the circle of life… And the really exciting thing, it seems to me, is that I’m a part of it: we are a part of it.   I’m part of the whispering and singing and dancing and being and sometimes, I can almost touch it, before it spins off again. Wherever I am, I’m where the whispers meet, because they meet in me - and in you, and in every living thing. "Aria - Song of Everything" Painted by Ruth Calder Murphy Whispering - By Ruth Calder Murphy (Arciemme) The whole world is whispering; Listen - in the trees, in the tumbling, turning leaves, in the spiraling seasons and the ocean breeze. The whole world is whispering, susurrating, rustling, Listen - it's the whisper of the Winter freeze, the dancing of the Spring...

Sometimes, it’s all we can do to hold the pieces of ourselves together… And keep on going, and sometimes we need to do this— to be strong and show ourselves that we can. At other times, I think the greatest gift we can give ourselves is to let go: to let the pieces explode and scatter, to sit in the eye of our own storm, in the centre of the orb created by our atoms flying outwards, leaving us all at sea and not knowing which way is up or down—and there, to simply breathe. To breathe deeply—in the moments of not knowing, or fighting, or pushing, just to breathe and recognize that in all these pieces of me—the broken pieces, the polished pieces, the smashed up, bashed up pieces and the prized pieces—my soul shines and is precious. That even when all I can do is sit amongst the shards until I can, once again, build them into something new and wonderful. Even then, I am valid and whole. Even in pieces, I am enough. "Neurons" by Ruth Calder Murphy Pieces b...

Paradoxologies is a word I came up with when playing with ideas for the title of my blog… I’m not a blogger. I’ve always liked the idea of being a blogger - since before blogs existed, in fact, and we called them “diaries”: A record of things happening and my thoughts about them. I would love to be the sort of focused person who manages to write regular blog posts! I have various blogs, scattered about, all a bit ragged around the edges, but now, “Paradoxologies” is my writer’s page on Facebook and actually, yes; it is a blog. A poetry and art blog, where I post my work, news, events and so on … But I digress. The word “Paradoxologies” appealed to me massively, because the idea of Paradox - in life, death, faith, doubt, reason, instinct - in Me, myself - is one that fascinates me and one that in more recent years, I’ve begun to embrace fully as a valid, honest part of being human. I hold tension - or balance, I suppose - in my heart and soul and mind. The same ten...

(Editors note:    In honor of  National Suicide Prevention Week , t he poems we feature this week are meant to contribute to raising awareness toward this cause. All are welcome to participate) Will we stay in that dark, frightening place? Or will we rise? Sometimes, for those of us who struggle with mental health issues: depression, anxiety, eating disorders, addiction—or who are simply human, with all its ups and downs—it can be very discouraging, whenever (inevitably) we suffer a setback. We thought we'd come so far, so well, so beautifully: we thought we'd overcome, we thought we were better, or stronger, now, than we were... And then something happens and we feel as though all that progress has been washed away in one huge tsunami, leaving us as vulnerable and as bewildered as we were in the bad old days—the days we thought we'd left behind. It happens in little things, every day, and it happens in huge things that change the course of our lives… At ...

Awhile ago, I wrote a poem about  Certainty  -mainly other people’s certainty... I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being certain, or feeling certain. Sometimes, it’s what keeps us going. The certainty that we love and are loved, the certainty that there’s hope for the future, that we can “do this” - whatever “this” might be. I’ve come to realize, though, that certainty is only a good thing for us and everyone around us, if we’re prepared to adjust our certainties  honestly, according to our  experiences and to new evidence. To live lightly, as well as deeply. Not to grasp our precious certainties and cling to them, as though they are what define reality, and our place in it, but to hold them as we’d hold an exquisite jewel - observing them from all angles and recognising the places where we’ve understood them wrongly. I feel as though my journey has been a migration from a grasping, panicking certainty - a place where, if my certainties were proven...