the pursuit of poetry

how beauty and romance pull us from the darkness, illustrated through the language of light

Poetry, Beauty, Romance, Love… These are what we stay alive for.

- Dead Poets Society (1989)

The Shadows

Deep Indigo Ocean

It begins with the deepest, indigo night. The colour that swallows you at the bottom of the ocean. Drowning in emptiness. Only three words echoing and bouncing off of nothingness; “Not beautiful enough.”

At the beginning of the summer that has just passed, I was going through the hardest heartbreak of my life. This time of darkness actually started much earlier than that. The past few years, I have been struggling with depression and difficult life experiences. My Saturn return, many have told me.

The details of this time are for a later day. Maybe once I have fully uncovered and integrated the wisdom that Saturn has been whispering.

In December however, was when all the pieces of myself I had been cradling in my arms, desperately trying to hold together, completely crumbled. My days consisted of tears and an empty stomach. Pain and darkness.

It’s incredibly terrifying to see a night sky without a single star. To fall through emptiness and not see anything to grasp on to.

Don’t worry, this is just act one.

Amongst the darkness may the moon be our anchor that will always stay with us.

Even when the sunsets, the moon is there to remind us that the sun has not disappeared. Light is just around the corner, approaching the horizon once again.

Sit with me in the darkness for a little while. I will hold your hand like the moon. To go on a journey of light, we must always begin here.

Begin in the shadows.

Anyone who has dabbled in painting knows that light and shadow are the two sisters of the visual world. Without light, there would be no shadows.

I’m scared of the shadows, of my own shadow, of the darkness and the withdrawal of dimension into flatness. The removal of all that I am.

I’m scared of not being enough, of being behind in life. I’m scared of love lost and wasted potential. Sometimes I’m scared to seen, to exist.

I’m trying to remember that shadows are the blockage of light, not the absence of it.

Perhaps we don’t need to be scared of the shadows, but rather notice what blocks out the light. Triggers, trauma, self-doubt, the illusion of separation, social conditioning, depression. Maybe these are what need to be healed to allow the light to shine freely in our lives.

Even shadows can be beautiful however. The silhouette of palm leaves on the bronze skin of an ocean floor. A father making puppets on a bedroom wall, making their child giggle as they struggle to fall asleep. The cooling relief under the shade of a tree on a sad, summer day.

Shadows become beautiful when we stop running from them. When instead we see them as all that exists on Earth, simply playing with the sun.

Recently my house had a complete power outage.

When the lights went out, the treadmill no longer worked but dancing by candlelight became enticing. I had the most beautiful sleep in the pitch black of the night. I woke up and instead of being hit by the noise of the internet, I got hit with how it smelled like a rainforest outside, after it had poured all night long.

Sometimes it can be romantic when the world goes dark.

That’s not to say that being in a place of darkness and grief is not scary. It is. I didn’t think I was going to make it out alive this summer and the shadows still linger in wisps.

When I was swimming in the deepest, indigo ocean of depression, I reached out to my dearest friend for help. She generously offered me the kindest words, and a list of options I could try to feel better. One of which was to write a list of things I find beautiful.

So heavy, heartbroken, hungry and helpless, I dragged my self outside to the backyard with a notebook and a pen. In the fresh air of dusk, I began to write.

A Glimmer

The Hidden Language of the Heart

What do I find beautiful?

That sweet and floral smell that will spontaneously arrive with the breeze in my backyard. I still, after so many months, have no idea what it is or where it comes from.

Sitting on a woven blanket in the gardens with my sister, laughing as we pretend we are the first humans on Earth, pointing and saying what we would name everything around us.

The way light dances through verdant leaves and on the surface of turquoise water. Golden honey, sparkling glitter and nurturing warmth.

I love soft pinks and shiny golds. Anyone with a gentle heart and shining strength.

Pink and gold. It reminds me of love and adornment. It reminds me of being a little girl, pink bedroom walls and gold sleeper earrings.

I love the way sunbeams shining through pink clouds can light up a room during sunset. Circling my spine on all fours by the golden flames of candlelight. A blush pink, fluffy blanket under my palms and my knees.

The scent of rose and geranium, sinking into my collarbones as the moon slowly rises.

Red is usually known as the colour of romance, but for me, nothing is more romantic than soft golden pink.

Romance and the hidden language of the heart. The feelings inside of our beings that cannot be captured by words. Those moments that all the romantic poets try to describe.

This is what the list of things I find most beautiful felt like to me. A momentary glimpse of immense beauty, felt deeply and not widely. A list of reasons to stay alive.

Around 2019, I was introduced to the word glimmer while I was beginning studies on rest and the nervous system. Reading Deb Dana’s book on Polyvagal theory was where I learned that a glimmer is the opposite of a trigger.

Our nervous system is always looking out for signs of safety and danger.

Our vagus nerve, the longest cranial nerve in our body, runs through our face and neck, down into our chest and our abdomen. It is always looking at faces, listening to voices and detecting any cues in our environment of safety or danger.

Just as we have the ability of perception, we have the skill of neuroception wired into the softness of our bodies.

When we have been through trauma, or distress it can dis-regulate our nervous systems. We can be triggered into shut down (dorsal vagal) or hypervigilance (sympathetic).

When we look for glimmers however, look for glimpses of beauty, safety and ventral vagal energy, it helps soothe our nervous system back to a safe and social state.

Even though I knew about glimmers, I didn’t realise that my friends suggestion was really just making a list of glimmers and savouring them.

Not only can glimmers be little stars that light our path, and pull us from the darkness, they can be stretched and multiplied and expanded to become a glow. Which is the journey we are currently taking.

We just need to collect some glimmers and savour them deeply until we begin to shimmer.

Shimmering

Shining with a Soft, Wavering Light

Quiet the mind, open the heart.

The words from Ram Dass play over and over like a melody in my mind.

Quiet the mind, open the heart.

How do you quiet the mind? You meditate. How do you open the heart? You love.

This is what Ram Dass teaches. Meditate to quiet the mind. Love to open the heart.

Can quietude and heartfulness be collected like stars?

When I was a little girl I loved to collect things.

Little statuettes of ballerinas, fairies and mermaids gracefully stood on shelves in my room.

I had a wooden box painted lavender, with fairy stickers adorning the outside and a little metal latch. Inside were all the seashells I had collected from the beaches, resting inside like treasure.

Every trip to Bunnings, I would spend the entire time in the aisle that has the paint colour sample cards. I would take one of each colour I thought was pretty.

In recent times, I have created a folder in my notes app on my phone called ‘Love Notes’. I started to collect and store any beautiful and kind words people have shared with me. Each a little glimmering trinket of love.

One treasure..

A best friend’s text message reminding me that dealing with thoughts on our bodies and weight as women, in a society that pushes an unrealistic beauty standard, is really hard. That I am so much more than that, I am my poetic golden heart. I am all the beautiful things about humankind.

Another..

A love letter from an imperfect lover, saying he loves me to the moon and back times infinity. That he is in love with my personality of flowers, sea shells, yoga and feminine energy.

Oh my goodness, even more..

A new online friend who shared that there is a gentle, shimmering beauty to my poetry and that the way I see the world is a true balm for the soul.

When you take the time to really notice, you realise that kindness is abundantly around you. This collection has awakened me to the beauty in my life. It has become my little treasure trove of love. A place I can return to when I feel heartbroken or my inner sky has gone dark.

When I read through these notes it quiets the thoughts in my mind.

No one wants to be my friend is hushed with “You are one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

I’m not worthy of being called a writer is silenced by the all caps message from a teacher saying, “YOU ARE A POET.”

The volume of the spiralling and debilitating bad body thoughts that play on repeat is lowered by, “You are beautiful just as you are. What was in your heart and what you leave behind in the world is what matters.”

I’m so grateful for the generous and kind people in my life.

Collecting glimmers and not allowing the love given to me to slip through my fingers makes me feel like I am shining with a soft wavering light. It feels like realising why the trees love to sway. Feeling grounded but then soothingly moving with the wind. It feels like I understand why the sun finds joy in quivering through the leaves.

Light feels nice when it moves, when it shivers, when it dances with the world.

These dancing lights is what it feels like when glimmers and glimpses of beauty start to accumulate in my heart. Like millions of tiny little stars have gathered and are now a blanket of sparkles, gleaming across the ocean.

Like suddenly the love cannot be contained but rather flows, like a waterfall of light down my spine. Glitter bursting over my bones, leaving a soft, sparkling sheen of iridescence.

Suddenly it feels easier to move, easier to breathe. Everything gets softer. It feels less intense to stay with the breath, the sensation, the emotion. The darkness doesn’t feel as heavy anymore and the spinning thoughts begin to get quiet. My body turns into soil in the forest after it rains. Soft, hydrated and alive. Ready to spring upwards with new, verdant life.

When Ram Dass said that meditation quiets the mind and love opens the heart he was right. I’ve realised that love can also quiet the mind and opening the heart can feel like meditation.

The Light

The Body is a Sun Catcher

Sometimes I think about how the sun has so many embodiments.

It reflects on the surface of the moon, and becomes the silvery light in the night sky.

It swims through raindrops until rainbows arc and swirl.  Our souls are like the sun, shining through our bodies like a sun catcher and radiating rainbows out onto the world.

Noticing beauty, and collecting love did something to me. It made me want to ritualise the sharing of kindness to others whom I love and admire. It made me want to reflect the beauty I see in others so they could know. Because we deserve to know how beautiful we are.

It was like the shimmering, glimmers condensed into a beam of light that now was strong enough to provide some warmth for more than just me, but for others too.

Too often I have kept my thoughts to myself, been moved by another but never let them know.

How often do we think something beautiful about someone else but keep it to ourselves? When was there a time when someone unexpectedly reflected something beautiful about you and it completely uplifted you?

We don’t often see ourselves the way others do and it’s a tragedy. Because the mirrors that reflect us to ourselves are usually clouded and foggy with deeply held traumas, conditioning and illusions.

It made me think, have we ever seen ourselves in the illuminating glow of the setting sun? Have we ever been touched by the same unique love that we give to others?

I’ve been told that I’m not beautiful enough. Many times. It feels like the default reflection I have of myself.

Sometimes however, when I write a poem, I realise that I don’t need the world to see me as beautiful. I see beauty in everything and that’s the most gorgeous quality to have.

I know that you have that quality within you too, dear reader.

May we be the crystallised embodiment of a sun catcher, so that the light that those around us shine, can penetrate us.

May we hold it tenderly, and open our palms to reveal the rainbow coloured lights and show them. “Look at what you created. Look at what is within you.”

~ a poetic interlude ~

a prayer for the lovers, the romantics, the poets and the sensitives

Thank you.

For blessing me with this permeable heart. This tender skin.

Please guide me to make time for the words carried in the wind to brush against my face.

For the space to massage my tired hands.

To allow all the poetry in my fascia to melt from my eyes and drip beauty across my lips.

May I remember to sway to the rhythm of the butterfly wings tapping on my chest and sigh in relief when my thighs kiss the earth.

May I never lose all the waves of elegiac and evocative sensation that arise when I look up at the sky.

May I find rest in this constant yearning for deeper, deeper, deeper. May I see it as the most gorgeous, glowing, glorious trait of my highly sensitive soul.

May I continue to make love with the Earth and find an embrace in every body of water and mountain range.

May I worship all that is soft about me, and even though it can sometimes be painful, remember that nothing is ever a good enough reason to close my heart.

The Glow

Soft, Poetic Radiance 

Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.

- Mary Oliver

I have struggled to proudly declare myself a poet. It is disappointing that our world has made us believe that we need capitalistic validation to feel like artists.

Imagine a world full of poets, fully embracing themselves and transmuting the pain of the world into beauty. Almost like a tonglen meditation contained within the written word, weaved into the fabric of the atmosphere through language and light.

Through my collection of love notes, I have recently discovered evidence of more than ten people calling me poetic or a poet. I didn’t even know I knew ten people! It gave me a boost of confidence, but did I really need someone else to tell me?

Was it not enough that I turn to writing in times of pain and in times of beauty? That I long to savour every glimmer of light with a story, and to share it with the world so they too can feel how magnificent it felt.

Is it not enough that I can feel words in my tendons and that I must look at the sky, see the trees sway because otherwise I don’t feel okay anymore?

That I cried at three years old every time someone played ‘Autumn Goodbye’ by Britney Spears because her summer love was coming to an end and she had to let go.

That tears fell down my cheeks in savasana because I could swear the flute in the track the teacher was playing was the soul-broken cries of a mother who had lost her baby?

Is it not enough to feel, is it not enough to write? Must I make money to earn the title of being someone who feels and then tells about it?

I don’t believe we earn the title of ‘poet’ from publishing a poetry book or getting paid to write. ‘Poet’ is one of many embodiments that we feel into with each love letter we write and every allegorical thought we have as we watch the seasons change.

To be a poet is to simply be in awe of life and to tell about it in a way that touches your own heart, and if we are lucky, the heart of another.

I am a poet.

I want to meet all the poets. I want to be friends and sit under trees and talk about how the bark has fallen since we were last there, and how it feels as though we have gone through the same process of releasing a hard exterior shell. I want to exchange poems by the oceanside.

In a world that tells us that success is measured by numbers, money and growth, I rebel by writing poetry purely because it makes my everyday life a little more beautiful.

The journey from the shadows, from a little glimmer to a radiating glow is not the story of removing the darkness. It is the everyday pilgrimage of remembering that whenever we are in the shadows, that light is always still present.

Shadows cannot exist without light, we just need to look around a little bit and find the glimmer. One glimmer can be the one spark you need to feeling incandescent once again.

May we notice beauty, gather love, share romance and bask in the glow of soft, poetic radiance.

I would love to know what glimmers you have noticed in your life recently, big or small. Sometimes sharing the beauty can also light up another.