Happiness

Isn’t that what life is about, happiness, just being happy. Such a hard thing to prophesy to others and yet, such a simple thing to achieve, to have happy thoughts, to dwell on the happiness that we have all experienced in our lives.

I know there have been times of sorrow, despair, depression and despondency, but to give in is to lose ourselves.

I’m on a soapbox of “I have lost faith and trust in all that I thought was right and real and honest. It’s not. Not anymore

Now is the time to look to the simplicity and wonder that we held in childhood, when the world was, as Del Boy famously said, our lobster.

Smile, laugh and be happy, otherwise, it’s all over.

Making Choices

Sophia Said, go out to play. Follow your imagination and the day was filled with expectation

A Chosen Path

I walk / jog along soaked and muddied paths in Johnstown Castle Gardens. Moorhens dive and disappear in the lake, re-appearing further along as if by magic. It’s raining hard and even though my trainers are not waterproof, I walk right through the middle of flooded paths, like a child out to play. It’s only water after all. I can get dry later, so will my jeans, trainers, jacket. hat and gloves, all soaked, but I am alive, exhilarated and fully intent on making the best of what God has in store for me. Perhaps I will invest in a new pair of walking shoes / boots and waterproof coat, when to wear them would still be my choice to make.

After waling around two of the three lakes, I need coffee. The cafeteria is bright and warm, people sit at tables drinking and eating while I, bedraggled and gloriously wet, think of pushing boundaries of comfort zones. Happy new Year to you all.

Sky Boat

Sky Boat

Hold fast to the tiller, to Gods of wind and waves, through storms and dreams,

through heartbeat of wings that arc and swoop and cry for land. Now is the time for faith, strength and courage.

We are not what we once were. The rushing waves break open our hearts, revealing the lies we told ourselves.

Swim, little fish, swim now to the edge and rest where the sky meets the horizon and see, in-between.

Image from a copy of my original oil painting from ‘Cynefin’ collection, a selection of paintings and prose, exhibited in Waterford, Ireland 2017.

Prayer

A Prayer In The Gazebo

A prayer for the well-being and peace of my Mother, and her Mother, and her Mother, and her Mother, and all the Mothers we are descended from.

A prayer for my Daughter, and your daughter, and her daughter, and their daughters, for their peace and well-being, for the spirit and soul of the Feminine, without which we are lost.

A prayer for my Sons, and your sons, and their sons, and their sons, for their peace and well-being, for the spirit and soul of the Masculine, without which they are lost.

A prayer for our world, for everything in it, for the peace and well-being of all its peoples and all its animals,  birds, plants, trees,  rocks, mountains, rivers and seas and all the fish therein.

May we live in peace, love and harmony with gratitude to the Creator of our universe, and all its suns and moons, stars and planets

and for all those gone before us, all those with us and all those yet to come, may all be blessed in this prayer.

(‘Prayer’ by Teri Flynn)

Barefoot In The Sacred

Step outside the garden door,

fill your eyes with morning light,

your whole body with dawn fresh breath.

Sink your bare feet into the green cushion 

of dewy wet grass, 

your toes tingling with surprise.

In the heart of everything before you,

be still.

You are in the presence of The Sacred.

Castles In The Sky

When I was a child, I climbed walls, just to see what was on the other side, it didn’t matter how high, your friends always climbed with you. We could throw a ball against a wall, or mark it with chalk as the goal posts for a game. Sometimes we just sat on the wall and told each other jokes and stories about the mystery of secrets in the wind.

A wall was just a wall made of bricks. Brick coloured bricks. Brick shaped bricks. Bricks that smelled like bricks. Real bricks.

When I was grown, I built lots of walls. They were like jig-saw pieces with holes where the bits were missing. I made square pegs to fit into round holes in the wall but when I realised that none of them were real, that they only existed behind the walls of my mind and no matter how high I tried to climb, they were only made of paper.

So I built a smaller wall, to sit on while I dreamt about castles in the sky and secrets in the wind.

Pine Wood

 

Leaving the path

I walk into the woods.

Sit on a fallen branch 

within a circle of

pine trees, twigs, sticks, 

rotting wood, 

pine needles and 

fallen leaves,

layer upon layer,

composted.

A decay that 

nourishes these 

silent giants 

whose spongy 

trunks soar to

reach the light

high above.

There is shelter

from the wind,

but beneath 

the evergreen canopy,

the silence is total,

like death, yet 

it calls me

to listen,

to strive

for the

light.

 

Donegal

Folding mist,

blurred edge of land and sky.

Roads twisting, turning, falling, rising, 

each curve a poem.

Where are you leading me, I asked?

Just keep walking came the reply.

 

Wavelets bright as stars in a night sky

flashed around a large, grey rock,

grounded in shallow water.

What holds you so still I asked?

Contemplation, came the reply. 

 

The bright river flowed swift and sure, 

singing to low-lying fields swamped 

in quiet pools, to stones on the river-bed and

under the hump-back bridge in answer to

the distant call of the wild Atlantic Ocean, 

its song familiar somewhere in my heart.

A scattering of cottages dotted hillsides, 

wandering sheep grazed, their wool

snatched on brambles and littered on 

muddy ground like dirty snow.

Curiosity brought them running to the gate,

allowing my brief human touch before retreating,

like goats, scrambling over hillocks and in-between

thorny bushes to watch from a safe distance.

 

Where do you belong, they asked?

The answer came in a light-filled puddle ,

with my reflection, held, in water, rocks and stones,

mountains, fields, sheep and roads that bind and lead.