Heritage Day

Today is my last day


I manage to crawl off the bed that ceased to be coupled almost a decade ago

then land in my still relatively tiny bathroom, though my own physique seems to be shrinking by the second now

I look up at my reflection and I realise the purpose of mirrors

There is a headline,

my face

wrinkled and grey beneath its letters seems to unfold like an over ripe flower without ever having been touched

it says;

Heritage Day

I shuffle along until I trip over the now almost dry white board marker and I begin the list:

One: I inherited the dark lines of deceit off my mother’s core

Two: I learned how to live with being a liar

Three: I came as a foreign being full of love

Four: I was denied love but I’m still leaving filled with only those four letters

Five: Life was beautiful though the darkness is always the beginning of a new story

Six: I inherited the art

Seven: I will never forget


I rinse myself off and decide that it would be better to leave full of hope

After all

3 months before they expected me I was ready

13 years before I was

they weren’t

my family


The wardrobe whispered the call of majesty

I obeyed my longing eyes

past the dioors and my goodbye suit

I found the two letter phrase barely in disguise and I remembered why

Heritage day:

One: I learned how to judge myself better than anyone had ever judged me

Two: It wasn’t always sunny

Three: How to fake the smile through heartache

Four: How to cause the same

Five: My clothes are cheap

Six: I am unworthychocolat_l

Seven: I knew this each time we made eye contact… after all; we are self proclaimed judges


So neat, tidy and fresh I walk towards the lonely seat and the non functional tv

and on the top right hand corner of the screen

A phrase in white paint screams out at me

Heritage Day:

One: My skin colour murdered my first love

Two: I inherited the skill of not caring much for those attributes

Three: My father Died of a broken heart

Four: You saved mine

Five: Our life was puzzled together by vibes and muted sentences

Six: In the end, my quirks were irrelevant and your were my indica

Seven: I fell eternally asleep with the very thoughts that days and nights before had always haunted me.


Palm on palm now

My eye lids find their space

No tears left in me

My heritage day is eternal

and I only grew to know that the moment I looked into you!






Experiencing The Storm

These past few weeks have been ludicrous and the rollercoaster seemed endless. I have been struggling with issues of self for many years and I guess those issues will never end… however the last while they have been more difficult to handle than before.

Only yesterday I was given a deadline to work through my past, and I knew that this step was crucial. I knew this as I sat down today and chose to begin reviewing a book instead of dealing with my own problem; the problem with soul ties is that; they are unbreakable and when another soul needs to convey information, not only will you SEE it, but it hits home… not the space where you feel uncomfortable, but that vulnerable place in your mind where YOU are the only one who knows what your truth really is.

Druidry and Prayer is the title of the book and the author is also the carrier of what I believe to be a soul tie with my own – Nimue Brown.  When I first discovered (not officially met yet) Nimue I was simply looking for guidance in a spiritual world where Druid was the most fascinating term to me and yet; there was hardly any other living human in this or any country (to my knowledge) whom I could turn to for questions or even simple guidance. I found her blog (www.druidlife.wordpress.com) by accident and thereafter I did a bit of email and Facebook persuasion, I regret no second of it.

So from the very first chapter of this book I felt the real me (half dead and dehydrated on the inside) claw for the fluidity of ideas and Spirit.

‘You could read this book as an inspirational true life account with a passably happy ending. You can take it as the intellectual exploration with self as case study I originally intended.’


The same self I had been beating on, hating and starving for the last few years… that self-  saw the glimmer of itself in this sentence and from there on… I realized that this book was going to throw me right into the midst of all of the things I was trying so damned hard not to face or even acknowledge.

This is not the review on Druidry and Prayer; this is my account of recalling to life a girl I thought was dead and gone.

I had been reading aloud and recording each chapter on my phone for deeper contemplation when my sister returned home… I had to stop halfway through chapter 3. I proceeded to immediately listen to what I had just read and jotted down some points I’d later use for a review…

‘Prayer is, in essence, an attempt at starting a conversation with something. There are many possible answers to consider here. I don’t think any are more right than any other – different people at different times may need to come at this in different ways.

We may be talking to ourselves. That might be in the sense of our most literal, actual being, or some ‘higher self’. Prayer in this context is a form of meditation and inner conflict resolution.’

Soon after that the recording ended and I lay there in the darkness of the oncoming storm safely in my room and I began to mumble.

“I pray to the cosmic consciousness and the bits of me I know are tired but still listening, to my higher self and to all things alive. I would like to be reminded of who I am; I would like to be gentler and less afraid of honesty and hard work. I pray that I may find it in myself to forgive myself for whatever I have done thus far to make me so bitter at everything I think I stand for, because I know that is far from who I truly I am…”

I got lost in this way and eventually I stopped… I felt like one feels when one first begins to realize that they are in love and I got up off the bed and went in search of a book that I could read while waiting for the next moment where I could read out loud.

Honestly, I have never had faith in my sister’s choice of reading material. However, since my goal was to be more soft and real I decided to judge less and spend some time in front of her book shelf. The first while was grueling but then a little red book with the title ‘The Invitation’ by Oriah Mountain Dreamer screamed at me and I took it.

‘It doesn’t interest me

What you do for a living.

I want to know what you ache for

And if you dare to dream

Of meeting your heart’s longing.’

I laughed out loud, I saw that self…  waking up from a nightmare somewhere inside and literally saying to me, “ Well, you asked for it; I’m awake – now make it worth my while!”

Half skeptical I retreated back into my room and read, like a kid starving for words, learning to read well for the first time…

‘I want to spiral close, almost touching, to the place we can feel the heat in the air between us, an unhurried journey as we sift through new scents of each other, letting them linger in our nostrils, breathing them in deeply, allowing our bodies and hearts to taste the impulse to move toward each other before we move.

I want to be courted by the truth. Let the stories that are telling our lives spin out in multi colored threads.  Don’t tell me too much too soon. Don’t hide anything. Tell the tales of your heart, offer them like perfect pearls coming up from the depths of the sea to be strung together, each gently clicking against the other, luminous and iridescent as they roll out of the moistness.’

I closed my eyes again and when I opened them I did so knowing exactly what I ache for.

The sky was black with blotches of grey and little spirals of white in between… the visible signs of the coming of a thunderstorm.

My most favorite human texted me just before and I even turned her conversation down for a while as my heart was pounding almost in my throat with excitement.

“I will now go be in the storm because I really miss that part of myself!”

So I did.

I walked down and it was dangerous… I knew it… I was afraid no doubt, but I was also happy and alive. I was feeding the self what the self really needs to survive. There were moments of pink and purple in the previously black and grey sky, they made my heart race and I had to breathe and remind myself to keep calm and to trust… Passion, Spirit, the aching to be fully alive, to remember what the wind feels like, the rain, the lightning and the sound of thunder all at the same time. I didn’t need to cry; the clouds were doing it for me.

I realized that as little as I am, and as mortal as I am… and as easily as the lightning could wipe me out of the Earth’s surface in that instant, my ideas are immortal and I have an obligation to remind every soul alike mine that they too can sit through the storm in awe and fear, but also in confidence that who they really are is what matters most and it is the storm that feeds our true self best.

My worried neighbors soon started looking out their windows and one even headed towards where the care taker lives, which is when I decided to retreat and not be spiteful; because after all these people were trying to protect me although I had never uttered a word to them before.

I wish that I could show you what a storm feels like.

I wish I had the words to describe how amazing it is to feel alive again.

So here’s my next pledge; that this blog page will not go to waste and that your eyes will be food for that self that so desperately clung on to stay alive.

I hope that in some way I will be food for your soul, your ideas, your SELF.

But for now:

‘It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here.

I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.’