The Calling

It was their cries

That first caught my attention

As I heard them approach the house

And I ran towards the garden

Then I saw them

A flock of wild geese

Getting in formation

Gathering to fly south

I watched them take off over the roofs

Listened to them calling their goodbyes

And found myself left there

With a heart full of longing

Distant (for Sunday Scribblings)

Like drawings on water

Thoughts come and disappear

Never changing its essence

The water’s always clear

But I choose to retrace them

Again and again

By analysing and dwelling

Never putting down the pen

Until these drawings

Become all I can see

And the water blurs into

A distant memory

Painting whispers (for Poetry Potluck)

Like an undercurrent

There’s a longing in me

A constant pull

A desire to break free

From this life and routine

Day in and day out

It’s like inside of me

Someone’s screaming out loud

While little fluffy clouds are passing by

Like whispers

Painted in the sky

A captivating point of view (Short story for Sunday Scribblings)

A captivating array of images and thoughts carried her away from the present moment. With her eyes closed now she felt her mind slipping deeper and deeper into a dream world, colours bursting into light, then darkness.

When she opened her eyes, dim sunlight was sneaking through the blinds and provided the spotlight for a show of dancing dust particles. Her throat and mouth were dry and she looked around for a drink but found her glass on the table empty. The cat had curled up at her feet and noticing the movement started stretching her lazy limbs in expectation of breakfast.

Suzy sat up on the sofa and patted the cat’s head: “You hungry, Fluffy? Well, so am I. Let’s go and have some breakfast.” She still felt a bit drowsy as she slowly dragged herself into the kitchen. Bright light hit her there and she had to squeeze her eyes tight, still sensitive to the light. After grabbing some fruit juice from the fridge and drinking it straight from the carton, she fed the cat and turned the coffee machine on. Then she turned to her laptop. It was Sunday, 17^th July, 11.23. No messages.

Suzy had been living on her own for a while now but every now and then weekends and especially Sundays could still get to her. Last night she had smoked herself into oblivion with some puff she had managed to get hold off when bumping into an old friend the other day, just to numb the feelings of despair and loneliness that had crept up on her in recent weeks. She had given up smoking cannabis regularly a long time ago but every now and then she came back to it and when she did, she knew, things weren’t going great.

She went to the bathroom to run a bath. Falling asleep on the sofa hadn’t done her back any favours and she hoped a good hot soak in the bath would soothe her body and renew her spirits. She wasn’t willing to surrender another day to the black clouds that had invaded her mind. While the bath was running she went back into the kitchen to grab some coffee and a slice of toast. She sat down at the table and looked out of the kitchen window onto the sunlit garden. The windows need cleaning, she thought.

Old friends (for Poetry Potluck)

We shared our last years in school

And the first years of adulthood

We explored our freedom

What we should or rather would

Our paths then parted

Each off on their own

Following their journey

Either coupled or alone

10 years on

We met last night

Sharing our pain

As well as our delight

Although on different paths

We all came to agree

It takes some hard lessons

To be able to see

What matters in life

And what can be left behind

True friends are certainly

Of the first kind

Little girls (and boys)

I visited a good old friend of mine yesterday and met her 3-year-old daughter for the first time since she was a baby. I was so pleased to see that she has grown into a confident, independent and fearless little girl with the explorative mind of an adventurer. When telling my mum about her later, she told me that I was exactly like that as a little girl: very independent and not scared of anything.

Maybe that’s why I was so fascinated by her, because it was like looking at a younger version of myself.

It made me wonder: What happens to the little girls (and boys) inside of us when we grow up?

Do we lock them up somewhere, force them into obedience, tell them to be a “good girl/boy” or abandon them somewhere on the road?

Or do we let them out to play every now and then, give them our undivided attention and let them lead?

I think that my best experiences in life happened whenever I let my little girl come out to play. It’s her who challenges me to face my fears, to throw myself into unknown territory and to learn new things. She’s the one closest to my heart’s desires, the "real me" and she is ultimately so much wiser and braver than my rational adult self.

I shall let her out to play more often and when she rings at your door, I hope you’re going to let your little girl or boy out to play with her.

Sweet surrender

Maybe sometimes

When life comes crushing in

Flooding your shores

And overcoming your defence

It’s time to give up the struggle

And rather than drowning

In feelings of defeat

Resurface smiling

Because by finally

Being brought to your knees

And having lost all control

You are blessed with the opportunity

To experience real freedom

And the taste

Of sweet surrender

Opportunity (for Sunday Scribblings)

It is possible

There is a chance

It is an option

It’s fate making an advance

“Please...

Would you care to give me this dance?”

And are you going

To give your hand

Agree to dance

Towards an unknown end

Or turn it away

Because it wasn’t planned?

Threshold (for Writer's Island)

Standing

Looking

Bending forward a bit

Trying to sneak a peek around the corner

Hesitating

One foot in the air

Hang on

No

Shall I?

Shall I not?

Don’t try to step across it

Fly across it!

Dictator of my mind (for Poetry Potluck)

There’s a dictator living in my mind

Sometimes I wish he would go blind

Because if he couldn’t see my dreams

He couldn’t plan his nasty schemes

And sabotage my heart’s desire

Oh and he is such a liar

He whispers in my ear

His tales of dread and fear

And when I try to just let go

He really puts on a big show

The bastard hardly ever sleeps

He’s really giving me the creeps

But I am planning his demise

Slowly I’m unmasking all his spies

Worry and doubt are the biggest two

They won’t survive my thorough review

Of states of mind that keep him in post

He can fuck off and find another host!

The next step (for Sunday Scribblings)

I’ve travelled near and far

Tried following my star

I’ve searched in every place

It’s been a hectic chase

Every step has been towards a goal

Maybe now it’s time to take a stroll

With faith I’d like to place my feet

In mid-air

Confident that they will meet

A solid ground

To carry them forth

In any direction

East, south, west or north

Surrender (for Sunday Scribblings)

If only I could

Surrender

To whatever arises

But I am scared

Of losing control

So I cling on

To the illusion

Of having control

I keep struggling

Against the truth

Resisting the flow

Unable to relax

In natural great peace

Reality just as it is

The final battle

When you finally stop blaming everyone else

And your ego is exposed

As the only real enemy worth fighting

There remains no place to hide

The illusion of a world out there

Causing you to feel one way or another

Has been shattered to pieces

And pretending to be a victim of circumstance

Is not an option anymore

There’s no fight to be fought out there

Instead I am left with my Self

As the only burden to bear

Shine (for Sunday Scribblings)

When all the work is done

All the goals achieved

And everyone else satisfied

You hope that you

Will finally find some time

To do what you love

To be who you are

And let your true self shine out

Be wary

Because your time might run out

Before you get there

Life's dream

I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?

All the places where I have been

All the things that I have seen

Where are they now? They seemed so real!

I’m sure I was awake and not asleep.

Everything was felt so deep.

I fought and struggled, I tried so hard

When there was nothing to fight

And nothing to guard

Raw (for Sunday Scribblings)

Raw

Uncooked, unrefined

In their natural state

Our emotions

Are nothing more

Than energy moving

It is us

Who shape and define them

Attach a story

And then we complain

About what they

Do to us

This poem was inspired by a quote from Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche: “Fundamentally emotions don’t bother us, we bother them.”

Safe place (inspired by We Write Poems)

In the midst of the chaos

The pain and the fear

There’s a safe place

Always near, always here

Between what was

And what will be

The present moment

Is waiting for me

To let go of my thoughts

To relax with what is

Apart from right now

Nothing exists

The beauty of imperfection

I am not perfect

I stopped trying to be

Neither are you

And now that’s okay with me

Lost

I have entered the depths

Without a guide

It’s full of life down here

Thriving and throbbing

The creatures are holding on to me

Trying to pull me in deeper

I pull back and run

Down one way and then another

I’ve lost my path

My heart where are you

I cannot hear you beat

I scream and cry

I need to find a way out

But I’ve lost my guide

My heart is silent

Safe (inspired by Sunday Scribblings)

Safe

In familiarity and routine

Procedures and regulations

We forget that no one has ever

Achieved anything great

By playing it

Safe

Dear Rinpoche

Your wisdom speech announces the truth

Your limitless compassion is shining proof

That enlightened energy manifests in you

From my heart I rejoice in all that you do

In times when I struggle to follow your advice

I just need to remember the love in your eyes

And feeling your trust and unwavering faith

I continue to follow the teachings you gave

I’m vowing to never abandon the path

That I’ll invest myself fully - not just half

Like you I won’t rest until all beings are free

And see the truth for themselves

With clarity

Bucket List (inspired by We Write Poems)

My list is endless I have to admit

Too many things that won’t possibly fit

In the time you can find in just one life

Deciding and choosing a constant strife

One thing has been on that list for a while

And merely the thought of it makes me smile

I feel happy and blissful imagining it

But it also scares me – just a little bit

With that joyful passion and a pinch of fear

It’s something I’ve been holding very dear

And close to my heart since being a child:

Oh how I wish to spend time in the wild!

Surrounded by jungles lush and green

Exploring places where no one has been

Hearing the sound of strange creatures at night

The beauty of nature the only sight

I’d like to live with an indigenous tribe

And learn to tune into their natural vibe

By living a life very simple and real

All my civilised dis-ease

Might be able to heal

To be a woman

I’ve always struggled with this

Felt there’s something wrong

With being reduced to your gender

Being told where you belong

Neither emancipated feminist

Nor obedient little thing

I detest both extremes

And I don’t want to cling

To the body I’m born with

In order to decide

Who I am and who I can be

I don’t want to hide

Behind conventions and rules

Restrictions and pressure

I want to live my life

At my own leisure

In the journey of life

Our body’s just the car

Our mind is the driver

And determines who we are

Conversation with my inner wisdom being (inspired by We Write Poems)

“We write poems” have asked us this week to write a conversational poem. When I started contemplating this prompt, it made me think of an exercise I used a lot when working as a Learning Mentor with primary school children. I asked them to close their eyes and visualise themselves going on a journey to find a wisdom being that lives in a cave. The wisdom being would then give them a present. I’d let them describe their journey, the cave, what the wisdom being looked like and what present they got and then draw a picture of it to keep. I told them that anytime they needed advice, they could go back to that place in their mind and ask the wisdom being for help and guidance. That way I hoped to enable them to access their own inner wisdom.

Today, I felt a bit down and found myself wondering what I could do to get rid of these negative feelings inside of me. I realised that everyone is doing this all the time: craving the good feelings and pushing away the bad ones. I then engaged into a conversation with my inner wisdom being about this and this is my attempt to present the resulting conversation in poetic form:

I don’t want bad feelings.

How can I only experience the good?

That’s a very good question

But how is it that you would

Even know what good feels like?

Don’t you need to know what’s bad?

I know good and bad, so I can compare

And I prefer feeling happy over feeling sad.

But how, without each other, could they even exist?

So is it foolish to wish for good ones?

You’ve left me in the mist.

With dualistic thinking

Your suffering won’t cease

Go beyond to the source

And you will find peace

From there watch it all

Arise and pass away

Don’t judge or hold on

That’s the only way.

Invisible (inspired by Sunday Scribblings)

It's easy to judge as lies

Anything invisible to our eyes

As if visibility is a credential

In order to be true or essential

True courage (inspired by Writer's Island)

When it comes to fear

I choose fight over flight

But to replace fear with anger

Somehow doesn’t feel right

This technique really sucks

And has little to do

With the spirit and heart

Of courage that is true

True courage is able

To stay with the fear

Looks at it closely

Even holds it dear

Watches it patiently

With awareness that is pure

That it will eventually dissolve

True courage knows for sure

Reflections (for Jingle Poetry Potluck "Languages, Signs and Symbols")

We assume we understand each other’s signs

We’re looking out, listening in

And try to read between the lines

But maybe we’re just projecting our thoughts

On a virgin white screen

And reflections of ourselves

Are all that can be seen

Spring Cleaning

Hidden in the back of the cupboard and

Covered in spider webs of die-hard habits

Sit musty old boxes, filled to the brim

With old fears and emotional memorabilia

They smell of where we don’t want to go

Of where we pretend we’ve never been

And still we are so reluctant to finally

Throw it all out and give ourselves

A thorough spring clean

Not a morning person

The sound of the alarm clock ripped through the reality of her dreams with the intensity of someone smacking her hard in the face. Irritated and annoyed she reached for the off button without opening her eyes. She just couldn’t find inside herself whatever was necessary to get up instead of turning the alarm off but she never really went back to sleep either. It was like someone had attached some sort of buoyancy equipment to her consciousness that pulled her up and out of the deeper layers of sleep as soon as she went under. By the time she finally dragged herself out of bed, she was even more tired, angry at herself for not just getting up and obviously late and under pressure to get ready for work.

Every morning started like this. She woke up grumpy, irritated and already on the back foot before the day had begun. She could never understand how some people joyfully jumped out of bed in the morning and in addition sang or whistled a jolly tune that accompanied them on their way to the bathroom. She envied them.

This morning, just to add insult to injury, the milk had gone off over night so she couldn’t even fit a coffee in. She left the house and walked to the station completely weighed down by the dark clouds on her mind and almost didn’t notice the new advertisement they put up opposite the station’s entrance. “Not a morning person?” it shouted at her in big letters and portrayed a woman not unlike herself first thing in the morning with wild hair, scrunched up eyes and a grim, almost desperate look on her face. It was like looking in the mirror with the difference that she had now changed from pyjama to work clothes, done her hair and put some make-up on. Weird, she thought and went closer to try and make out what it was actually about. It was an advert to encourage self-employment. “Choose your own working hours, be your own boss...” “Pfff...” she huffed to herself and the miserable mood, only momentarily interrupted by a moment of surprise, clouded back over her.

3 hours, 2 coffees and a seemingly never ending stream of mind numbing work tasks later she found her mind going back to that advert. Not a morning person. No, she thought, she wasn’t but neither had she planned on becoming self-employed. She looked around over the open plan office space in which she had her desk. The quiet atmosphere in this room full of people suddenly seemed eerie and unreal. As if along with the oxygen all life had been sucked out of it and replaced by the gassy discharges of human bodies, reeking of dissatisfaction. She grabbed her coat and decided to take her lunch early.

Outside it was raining and because she wasn’t really hungry yet she decided to stroll through the shopping centre and grab a sandwich on the way back. She walked towards the bookshop to browse some of the new books on offer when her eyes fixated on a book in the window. “Positively negative – how knowing who you are NOT can help you find out who you are!” it said in bold letters on the cover. She walked inside and asked to have a look at the book. It was one of those psycho crap books she naturally loathed, a workbook type with several exercises to follow in order to find one’s “true calling”. She didn’t know what had come over her that made her walk to the till and buy it but on the train home she started reading it and actually enjoyed where it was taking her.

When she passed the advertisement outside her station she winked at her mirror image with a smile.

Embark (inspired by Writer's Island)

It’s in the quiet hours of the night

When I already turned off the light

That my muse turns towards me in the dark

Whispers in my ear and asks me to embark

On this journey to a mysterious land

Where thoughts and feelings take my hand

Start dancing with me until I glow

And from my fingers words start to flow

Like travellers from a far-away land

Washed ashore

Writing in the sand