Searching for my Voice ~

I’ve made my coffee, it’s steeping in a simple glass and steel plunger, polka dot cup by its side, with honey and oat milk, awaiting the pour.

But thats just a ritual really, maybe more important than the drink itself.

I adore the simple rituals of life, the small things.

I’ve lost my voice and I’m trying to find it amongst all the noise of this world. So I’m writing for myself on these blank pages.

I’m savage.

I’m passionately enraged in a very very quiet way. A gentle way. And a very dangerous way.

My voice, my expressions, lost in a world of ‘big’ and ‘more’.

I’m seen as a fool, and that hurts me deeper than I can say.

And I played the fool playing the fool. All too well it seems.

I feel damned at present. Completely damned.

I feel damned in the kindof way that the things closest to my heart and soul have been raped by misunderstandings. over and over.

My brand of prayer has been sullied and my temple made pornographic, dumbed down.

And worst of all, I did it to myself. Unwittingly the victim of a time and age I can barely comprehend.

I pause here, learning to feel the stillness and the silence.

I am alone.

This is my private space where I pray I can find my own language again.

My own rythym.

Shut the world away, cloister me, let me talk to my ‘angels’. Let me talk to my ‘demons’. Give me space to breathe the world I know.

It’s going to take some time, some clumsiness, before I find and heal my voice and my spirit again.

This is my last attempt.

There is no saviour. Only me.