For as far back as I can remember, I rebelled, and not just for the fact that I didn’t like to be told what to do, but because I also didn’t like to be told what to like.
The popular music on the radio was strange and uninteresting to me, I would moan about the songs on the radio until I discovered Queen at around 6 years old, and the glorious moment at 8 when an older girl put a bass guitar in my hands and played me an Iron Maiden tape. …
Through the mists of consciousness
I greet golden dawn,
feet rooted deep in earth.
I hear the call of my ancestors,
thank them for their blood, sweat and toil,
For the lives they lived and the suffering they endured to bring me to this moment.
Through me their stories and love lives on,
If not through present memory
then through every single cell of my body;
their blood runs through my veins
familiar like wood smoke on autumn air;
their experience and wisdom teaches and leads me onward.
I hear them without words
I sense them without touch
I honour them with each and every rise and fall of my chest,
each beat of my heart
a battle drum, resonant,
each day, each deed a chance,
a gift to elevate all that will come to be. …
Take me to the forest
where my soul feels at home
and I can march off the residue
of passive-aggressive counter-posts.
I cannot see the stars in daylight
but their intent is felt,
and even if I could I would understand their meaning;
why they call me to this moment.
Where this blood and bone of mine
aligns with fir and oak
and my muse dances merrily over treetops,
into the unknown, where carelessly I follow.
Stepping off the path, wondering
to the place where no one goes
and evergreen stands amidst deciduous bedfellow;
waxy leaves pensive for changing weather.
A familiar charge bites the air,
silent but for the gentle rain of chestnut husks,
shrewd spikes, verdant…
Sweet birdsong, lift me up
and give me back my wings
so that I may leave this tragedy behind me.
Breathe deep the familiar scent of freshly dampened earth,
and here on mossy bed, I lay my dreams;
pray they are resurrected.
Reborn with delicate intention
from the fires of my own death,
as sweet solitude confides in me
and tree limbs tenderly cradle my soul, elevate.
Send them out softly,
like the kiss of a dandelion wish in June,
guarded by a kind of love
know only by mother wolves.
©Anna D. Invernizzi 2019, all rights reserved
This piece is an original work by Anna D. Invernizzi, for more please click the links below or visit https://writemyuniverse.co.uk or Facebook/Instagram @ writemyuniverse — thank you for reading. …
‘We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.’ — Anais Nin
Though been aware of this quote for a long time, never before has it held so much relevance to me or my life.
When dealing with our emotions and our capacity to self-reflect, empathize and adult in 21st Centruy chaos, our reactions truly do come down to the matter of personal experience. And the past few months have taught me that what we think will happen and what actually happens are two entirely different animals.
Or, rather, two wild beasts with which our subconscious mind will grapple, constantly looking to reason and understand, only to find our personal experience and perception skewing the view. Quite frankly, you can never hedge your bets on how you think people will behave. …
Even when you’re hurting.
We all experience times in our lives where we feel truly desolate.
Gut-wrenching, heart-aching, worn-down-to-nothing empty, and I know from experience just how easy it is for these moments to take over.
They warp our perspective, and before you know it that one unlucky incident becomes a bad day, compounded into the week from hell and year to be struck from memory; if we let it.
It’s just very easy to overlook mindset in the small matters.
In the big stuff, sure; business, careers, hopes, dreams and manifesting our ultimate reality — we all know that mindset it vital there, but what about when you’re facing your own personal relentless, daily uphill-battle? …
I’m pretty sure that lurking somewhere in every home that has ever housed children, is a gnarly, mixed-up box of lego…
Futilely, I spent years trying to keep all the individual sets separate in their boxes. Marshalling builds and overseeing the unpacking of tiny numbered packets to prevent any cross-contamination in the hope that whenever and whoever picked it up next would get a clean run at the build. I believed my noble efforts would spare me from the tantrums of the distant future. From the heartache and the sorrow of missing pieces and lost parts.
I celebrated the victory of tomorrow before the battle had begun — and boy, was I wrong. …
Or perhaps not.
Learning to unlock and unleash your own authentic creative genius can be fundamentally life-changing; from it we can view, experience and act within our lives in previously inconceivable ways.
Because creativity is just the literal manifestation of your imagination — if you want to get creative, you’ve got to let your imagination roam a little.
Creativity involves breaking out of established patterns in order to look at things in a different way.
Edward de Bono
As I promised in my previous blog post, Authentic Creativity or Creatively Authentic?, …