Unplugged: a Gift to Myself.

Silent trees stand solemn, guarding the secrets of the ancients.

Ripples on the river, lazily chasing each other across a mirrored surface.
There is no urgency here.
Time stands still,
And I, with it.

A symphony of birds are my alarm clock,
My soul awakens gently
Stretching itself out towards the tendrils of sunshine
That creep below the tent canvas in a crescendo of dawn colour.

It’s hard to imagine myself now
Pushing through corporate streets of grey and black.
Miserable faces in a crowded prison.
Slave to email and time, confinements of our own creation.
Always connected to the Mothership
Instead of Mother Earth.
We poison ourselves, slowly, digitally.
We forget who we were
Before the world told us who we ought to be.

I remind myself to slow down, to heal.
To breathe in the crisp air deeply, Jasmine Star and wet grass
Exhaling the city smog and all of it’s responsibilities.
Refreshing my creative heart
Instead of browser windows.

I revel in myself; my thoughts and my dreams
And I am aware once again
That alone is not lonely.
My company is a treasured gift
That I give happily to others
Yet not to myself.
Today is different.
Today I am my own bestfriend.

Here, among the patriotic colours of the forest,
Shimmering golds and greens sing of the true heart of this country.
There are no meetings to schedule,
No places to be.
Just me and my yoga mat
Beneath a cloudless cobalt sky.

First published on elephant journal here.

The Crush

 

I was in love, I think

With the possibility of you.

With the romantic afternoons I dreamed we would spend
Lost in each other.
Lounging in bed, watching movies
Snuggled under warm blankets,
Flushed skin tingling with anticipation.

We would get up only
To make hot, strong tea.
Playfully arguing over whose turn it was
To brave the cold kitchen floor with bare warrior toes.
You would return triumphant with your scalding hot victory,
Kissing my forehead as I pulled you back into my warmth.

I thought about
The love we would make, over and over.
Passionate kisses and tender embraces.
Burning with lust, begging to be touched. Adoration.
I loved the fiery images that you conjured in my head.
The way our demons sighed together in peaceful unison
And no one else could reach us on our secret island of bliss.

I was in love with
The way your eyes watched me move
Across a candlelit bar
Drinking in the swing of my hips
And the curve of my ass.
You looked like you longed only for me
And it felt delicious.
Magic crackled expectantly over secret gazes
And I knew that you felt it too.

I imagined us
Sinking into the steaming bubbles of a claw foot bath,
Me nestled back against your warm chest.
We would talk awhile,
Drink wine; an opulent ruby red dancing on our tongues.
Perhaps we would read our books
As the water cooled around us,
Roaming free in worlds of our own,
yet never truly alone.

I was infatuated
by the trips we would take,
The valleys we would explore.
The way we would escape, carefree out into the world,
Holding hands, looking out over glittering cities.
Swinging in playgrounds, flying and laughing against a darkening sky.
Caresses under waterfalls.
Kisses stolen under a blanket of stars.
We were children of the earth, seeking our next adventure.

We saw each other’s soul laid bare, all of it.
A brave vulnerability.
We loved, I thought, with a love quite different to others.
One I had not known, for every love is unique.
Worshipping the very essence of each other’s being.

There are times when I was undone by you.
Your voice, your eyes, your imagination.
I would have done anything for you.
We burned too bright for our time
Scorching our fingers that ached to be closer entwined
As our fantasies crumbled to ash.

 And all that remains is this:
A memory.
A connection.
A dream that lives on through time.
A lazy smile playing gently with the thought of your name.
Hope.

Tomorrow is another day. Who knows what it will bring?
Perhaps it will bring you.

~

Photo: taylor.f11/flickr

Originally published at elephant journal here.

Why I Choose Peace over Happiness.

 

During the darkest depths of last year, I sat alone on a leafy sidewalk in West Sydney Suburbia.

Birdsong echoed amongst solemn trees and tears burned my eyes as they streamed into the swirling dust at my feet. There were no souls to witness my despair, and I was always grateful for that.

Face upturned to the sky, I sobbed my heart out to a God I was sure was not listening, or if he was, was punishing me for something. I was mad at him. Mad at everyone. I was angry that the sun could continue to shine so brightly in a universe that allowed someone I loved so deeply to be stolen away, just like that. That people could carry on with their lives, not knowing that my whole world had ended in a split second, a single phone call.

My worst nightmare had become reality and there was nothing I could do to escape it.

I didn’t recognise myself any more. Where was the girl made of light and sunshine? Who laughed and loved and revelled in the beauty of this world. Who was this monster that could give nothing to those she adored, this empty shell that cowered in rain and darkness, trapped in a misery that felt like death itself. I didn’t know her at all.

I could see no way out. I had nowhere to go, nothing to look forward to. The future that had been so certain once upon a time had fallen around me; broken pieces of a shattered dream. I believed that I would never be okay again. That I would always hurt this way. That the darkness would never leave me.

And I was so very afraid.

Hands grasped for me, arms held me closely. Voices soothed and loved me, but it wasn’t enough. I tried to outrun the fear, letting the wind and the sea soothe me, letting the burning in my calves remind me, that I was still here, still alive. I longed to banish the emotional anguish with my physical pain, but it never seemed quite enough.

My demons were held at bay when I walked side by side with people that cared about me. Yet, I could sense the ghoulish delight of my nightmares lurking in the gloom nearby, sharpening their claws, ready to tear me to shreds as soon as I was alone. In my exhaustion I fell to them time and time again. I was a drained, broken creature.

I finally understood why people choose to leave this world before their time.

How the spectres of depression and hopelessness claim them, offering them death in the guise of tranquillity. I had always thought that they were selfish souls, turning off their bright lights too soon, unthinking of the horror of their loved ones. And now I know that I was in no position to judge. That love isn’t always enough to overcome the terror that the agony you feel might torment you forever.

It’s true that time is a healer. Yet, the grief never leaves you, not completely. The wound simply changes. The raw angry chasm of vulnerable flesh, prodded over and over until you can’t take the torture anymore, begins to knit together. It still hurts, but it becomes a low dull throb; a constant aching companion to your day. It sits in the back of your conscious, and sometimes, when it thinks you are not paying it enough attention, it shoots a searing white-hot pain into your heart, sending tears tumbling once more.

But those days are gradually fewer, and further between. You realise that happiness is fleeting, and should be celebrated in all its glory, but that it cannot always be constant in this unpredictable life. Nor should it be, for without the darkness, can we ever truly love the stars?

I started to wonder about the pursuit of happiness. The way it has become commoditised in our society. The way that people seek more and more of it, thinking that if they could just get that guy, or that dress, or if they could only earn that much, then elusive happiness would be theirs. It made my heart ache, the way people paint their lives in public to show how picture perfect they have it. As though these external things could bring them lasting happiness. Boats and cars and expensive holidays. Fake smiles and false Facebook highlight reels hiding a much darker reality.

I gave it all up last year.

I let everyone see my misery in all its glory. It was difficult, it was uncomfortable, but mostly it was freeing. There was no pressure to be happy 24/7, and I let it all go. You learn that the people that really love you will continue to show you, no matter what. A beautiful lesson indeed.

I reframed my thoughts about the purpose of life. What if the goal is not always to be happy, as everyone tells us it is? What if “happy ever after” isn’t what we should be wishing for at all? What if, instead, it is about getting to a position where happiness and sadness do not define you or your place in the world anymore. If you could come to realise that there is something much more valuable that you can give to yourself in the face of any emotion.

What if you found peace instead?

There’s a certain magic in realising that your foundations are deep and unshakeable, even in the storming winds of this world. Life happens. Things will hurt you. You will get mad. Tears will blind you. Your past might haunt you. You will have bad days at work. The rain will ruin your perfectly styled hair and you will want to scream as you miss your bus by a millisecond. You will lose people and find people and fight with people. You just will. It’s life. It’s messy and complicated and it’s wonderful. Let it all happen. You can’t control it anyway.

These days I give myself permission to rise and fall with these moments, centred on the knowledge that I am content in myself regardless of them. The seasons will change and this too shall pass. I release suffering when it no longer serves me. I grow from it when it does. I make space for happiness when I can, but I don’t beat myself up when I am not. I have faith that I will smile again. I always do.

I don’t always get it right of course, but I am trying. I meditate to find my peace. I seek to follow the practises of the bodhisattva-warriors, as I gradually send that calm out into the world beyond myself and my circle of loved ones. I’m still learning, but the intention soothes me, and that’s where I try to turn when chaos descends.

When people ask me now what I want from life, I no longer answer “To be happy.” (Though of course I welcome happiness with open arms). My wish these days is for the stillness that whispers peace into my heart. I finally understand that there is nothing more beautiful in this world than a contented soul, and that is what I choose.

Photo: Michael Knapek/Flickr

Originally published at elephant journal here.

Wearables and the IOT: Some thoughts from me.

If you are interested in technology, here are some of my more recent musings that have been published on Inside Retail, Internet Retailer and Retail Touchpoints. There’s also an interview with the Australian Financial review. Enjoy 🙂

http://www.afr.com/technology/gadgets/wearable-technology/wearable-tech-goes-from-geek-to-chic-20140924-jg1p3

https://www.internetretailer.com/commentary/2015/05/04/wearable-fashion-hot-or-not?p=1

https://www.tumblr.com/retailtouchpoints/123455208943/iot-defined-and-explained

Saudade: The Love that Remains

“I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand & the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that.“ ~ Brian Andreas

Love transcends language. And yet we mere mortals long to give it expression, pouring torrents of beautiful words from our overflowing hearts out into the world, to try to help another understand just how much they impact our lives.

Emotions are like that. We need to know that someone sees us, feels us, understands us. We want them to share the full extent of our exhilaration, our adoration, our hurt; to know that it resonates in the depths of their bones the way it does for us. We form the deepest connections in this life with those souls who can show us that we are not alone, drifting in this chaotic sea of feeling.

“Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another: “What! You too? I thought I was the only one …” ~ C.S. Lewis

There have been times in my life when I have been moved so immensely by a person, or nature, or an event that the intensity scares me. I feel something stir deep in the core of my being, a roaring that cannot be quietened. I know that there are no words that can express it aloud. My pen flies over the page but it will never give true justice to the deepest echoing of my heart.

The terrifying thought pops unbidden into my mind: what if I am the only person ever to have felt this way? Dramatic, I know. But how do I really know that my own idea of love is comparable to your idea of love, that the sadness that threatens to drown me is the same dark despair as yours, that when laughter bubbles up inside you, it tickles you the same way it does me.

I guess I can never truly know, living as I do, only in my own head. But I can get an idea; if not through language, then through the way your fingers gently graze my shoulders as you pass me by, the way your smile makes your eyes light up, or the way your music sends my soul soaring into the clouds with each crescendo.

When my wonderful Brazilian friend was attempting to teach me Portuguese, I discovered one of the most stunning words I have ever encountered: Saudade. It was enchanting, an idea I had never conceived of, an undiscovered island, waiting for my footprints to dance across it’s pristine sands. It was romantic in the exotic way it rolled off my tongue, but even more wonderful was the way that it captured the very essence of one of those indescribable feelings that has haunted me. The fact that there is no literal English equivalent makes it all the more perfect.

The definition is a longing, or a melancholic nostalgia, missing something or someone that you love, that is lost, and may never return. It is a mixture of happiness and sadness. Memories mingled with the knowledge that this can never be again, or perhaps never even was. Portuguese writer Manuel de Melo offers this definition: “a pleasure you suffer, an ailment you enjoy.”

This feeling has filled my heart on many occasions and I could never give it the celebration it deserves, not knowing exactly what it was or how to put it into words. This soulful encounter suddenly became accessible to me. I could give it a name, and understand that others too have shared my experience.

I have suffered loss. We all have. Death has been a close companion of mine of late. Friendships have changed, or ended, and I have moved across the length of the world, away from those that I adore. Even the evening sun leaves me blissfully empty as it burns down to a glowing ember against a midnight sky. These loves are gone, but their essence remains, their absence making their beauty even more poignant. I am grateful for ever having encountered them, even as I cry at their loss.

 The fact that this concept exists out there, in any tongue, gives me hope. Not just because it shows me that there is much left to discover and experience in this world of ours, but because it also tells me that no matter how I may feel, I am never alone.

Photo: Lua Ahmed/Flickr

First published on EJ here.

The Ghost

After I am gone from you
Does the fresh whispered scent of me
Linger gently on your clothes
In your hair
In your dreams?

Does it conjure me to life,
Transporting you to a world
Of tangled limbs and playful blue eyes.

Do you dream that I lay next to you
Head resting on your warm chest
As your hand soothes my cheek,
Listening as your heartbeat
Sighs my name in throbbing ecstasy.
Do your fingers burn along my skin
Remembering the firmness of my thighs
And how they made you cry out in the dark?

Do you see my face in bustling streets,
Passing you with a shy smile and lowered lashes?
Does every woman remind you
Of what is missing from you,
Sunlight dancing on bright glass bangles
As they move gracefully onwards
To a horizon you can never reach

Perhaps her dark eyes will help you forget my light ones
For a while.
A stranger’s smile may ease my image from your mind,
Until I rise unbidden
A ghostly reflection in a shop window
Gone when you turn to call out to me

Do you pretend to yourself
that the blazing comet of our love
Didn’t crumble to dust, neglected
Falling back to the bitter earth
At the first hurdle.
That you didn’t deny your soul’s true wanting
Suffocating its demands
That were too intense for you to bear
Suppressing your truth deep inside.

Do you replay our words over and over
Hear my laughter sparkle in your ears
Face luminous with childish wonder.
Do you seek a meaning in us
To carry through your ever churning years
To comfort your elderly hand as it clings tightly to one that isn’t mine.

Do you know that all the promises you made
And pretty things that you said
Were a summer breeze that drifted easily from your lips,
When it suited you?
They gave way to winter nights and barren truths,
Cold tears in darkness.

Words are a beautiful dream.
Were they real when you kissed them
Huskily into my lips?
Or a fairytale, even then,
A product of time and place,
Not souls colliding, as we once believed.
I would like honesty, when you are ready.

I was so sure of you, of your love,
Once upon a time.

If I tell you softly that I was in love with you,
And all that you were,
Will you know
Wherever you are,
That it is true?
Will you regret what has been and what will never be?

Will you know who your heart beats for in the silence?

Will I haunt you?

~

Photo: David Compton/flickr

First published on EJ here.

Finding a Message in a Bottle. {Poem}

 

The secrets of the universe sheathed in glass, shielded from prying eyes.

Her small fingers wrap longingly around the delicate bottle, cradling it gently to her chest.

She knows that once she lets the world inside, there can be no return to the ecstasy of her unconscious imaginings.

Only the rugged cork guards the tantalizing mystery, preserving the magic inside.

The possibilities are endless and she entertains them all.

 

Azure waters creeping softly onto snow-white sand banks,

Embracing the desolate shore with foam tipped fingers.

Perhaps it contains a tattered map; a trail to rubies and luminous pearls,

Hidden long ago by breathless visitors.

A forgotten island, where stars sparkle brighter than gemstones ever could.

 

Maybe it is a letter from a stranger to his estranged lover.

Words that caress and soothe her troubled heart, that still beats for him.

Silken whispers of her radiant eyes and lustrous hair,

And how they enrapture him.

Promises of eternity, and a plea to meet, that never found her.

How long did he wait for her among the wildflowers?

 

Neither of these seem quite fitting to her.

A beloved recipe then?

A legacy from another lifetime, a window to a war-torn world of hardship.

Passed down from a silver haired grandmother with a knowing smile.

The gift that will be appreciated only after she has left this world behind;

A note scrawled in the margin that the secret ingredient

Is always a dash of love.

 

She can wait no longer.

She releases the genie from the bottle.

The soft note flutters in the ocean breeze, a sailboat on the wind of life

And the secret of the sea shows itself in all its beauty.

“Everything you can imagine is real.” 

 

She nods, serenely, eyes glistening with blissful tears.

She knows what to do.

She starts to wade into the furious ocean, and lets the waves crash over her

Trusting in the possibilities unknown,

that live in all of us.

~

Photos: Susanne Nilsson/flickr

First published on EJ here.

Love a Writer, Live Forever

She will explore you in the way that only a lover of words knows how.

Savouring each delicious syllable of your name as it rolls lightly across her tongue.

Testing a hundred different adjectives to describe the exact shade of your eyes as they glimmer in autumn sunshine.

She caresses your skin with inky fingertips, like the well-loved pages of her favourite novel, committing to memory the way that your lips curve crookedly into a mischievous smile so that she can write it into existence any time she chooses.

She revels in every piece of you, noting every detail, mapping the terrain of you in her mind. She will make you feel like a spotlight is shone only on you, as she celebrates your uniqueness in the most elegant of prose.

She’s a different breed of creature.

On the days where the world can’t live up to her imaginings, she simply invents her own. She understands that creating something that has never existed before is as close to magic as we will ever get. Her wand is her pen and her spells burn brightly on yellowing parchment, bewitching you with beautiful illusions.

She will take you on journeys to far off lands where jewels sparkle against hot desert sand, and the stormy ocean guards the darkest secrets of the gods. She will teach you to be homesick for cities that you have never stepped foot in and to fall in love with faces you have never seen.

The fantasy she weaves is all encompassing. Be warned when she invites you to join her, you may never return, and if you do, you will never be the same again.

Let her show you it all. Let her world devour you.

If she loves you, you will never die.

She will give you the gift of a thousand lives through her stories, for one could never be enough to experience all that she wishes for you. You will recognise yourself immortalised on her pages for the world to revere; the traits that she adores in you built lovingly into her most treasured heroes.

Sometimes you will wish that you hadn’t hurt her. That you had behaved better and guarded her heart more valiantly. You will recognise the pain that you caused her spilling out onto the page like scalding crimson blood. You will know that her tears fell like rain, smudging the words as she wrote them with trembling hands.

But not every tale can be a joyful one, and she accepts that too. She understands that a villain is simply a soul whose story is yet to be heard.

Words run fiercely through her veins, pounding against her pale skin where all the stories of her life are written, desperate to escape. You are there, on the bookshelf of her love. Perhaps you were there from the beginning, weaved into the very fabric of her. Maybe you feature in a single a chapter only, closed firmly when your time is done. She’ll revisit you fondly in years to come, indulging in dusty memories that make her smile.

To be a part of her happy-ever-after, you have to enthral her. The day you stop trying, is the day she seeks out broader horizons. She has no time for a secondary character to dominate her precious days. Though she will treasure what you have been to her, she’s not afraid for your part in her story to end.  She has new idols to create and new mysteries to explore out there.

Loving her won’t always be easy.

She will trail off mid-sentence as inspiration strikes her. If you are lucky, it will be something that you have told her, or shown her. Be her muse, and she will never forget you or the feelings that you inspire in her.

She will leave you of course; she can’t help it. Let her go. She will leave her heart safely with you as she dives down the rabbit hole into new adventures. She will come back to you, when she’s ready.

Watch her watching people, in cafes, on park benches, walking down the street. See her get lost in them. They are strangers to you and I, but to her they are characters to meet, to know, and potentially to love. For everyone has a story worth telling, if you care to look deep enough. And care she does.

Stocks and shares and profit margins have no place in her bubble. She wants to ride dragons and wrestle pirates for a living and that’s exactly what she does. She won’t sell out her passion for money, so she will never be wealthy. Yet, she considers herself rich, for she loves her calling, and that is worth more than gold in her eyes.

She will forget to eat, or call you, or brush her hair. You may have to gently steer her from her desk into your waiting arms, distracting her with a new anecdote from your day to see those curious eyes shining back at you with interest once again.

She is one of the only people you know, who can dream whilst wide-awake. Don’t let her lose that when the realities of life press heavy upon her.  Sometimes her mind will be dark and horrors will pour from her. It might be hard for you to read those troubled thoughts that demand a voice. She will wake at 2am to capture the ideas that torment her and she won’t notice you pulling her gently back to bed, stroking her cheek and whispering to her in the shadows until she can sleep again.

Be patient if she talks about her characters like they are real. To her, they are. She loves them like her own family. She knows what they dream about, and the name of their childhood friends. If she cries because she just killed one of her darlings, hold her tightly. Kiss her tears away, and make her tea until her grief subsides.

She is an observer of the world, and you are the centre of hers. She cherishes every story you have ever told her. They have shaped her. She will scribe your name on the brightest part of her soul, a footnote to her existence. Long after you have both burned too intensely for this life, you will live on forever, through the power of her words.

She is your writer

And you are her story.

I Want to Know You.

I want to know what kind of man you are beneath the surface.

I want to understand what makes your heart beat faster and what you love. What makes you mad, and why it has that power over you.

I want to learn if your anger is hot and quick like mine, or a lingering coldness that freezes those who invoke your wrath. Do you forgive them when the red mist subsides, or do you hold a grudge through all of eternity?

I wish I could know how you see me through those quiet eyes of yours. I want you to tell me if you long to stroke my hair as we drift off to sleep, or if it’s my curves that your hands ache for. I wonder if you would message me goodnight before bed, so that I would never close my eyes without knowing that I was loved. Perhaps you would expect my heart to know that already, simply by the way your face lights up at the sight of mine.

What do you dream of when you close your eyes? Do you sleep peacefully until the light dapples your skin through the blinds, or do the tigers prowl around your head, leaving you shivering in fear in the darkness?

When you are lonely, do you ever think about my smile, or the way that I always know how to still the demons that scream inside you? I wonder if I am still vivid in your awareness, or a distant memory now; a spectre bathed in the gentle lustre of nostalgia.

Do you chase sunsets or sunrises? I love both. Does the promise of a shimmering new dawn appeal to you more than the glow of another day closing in a riot of colour? I wonder where peace finds you. Will you drink hot tea with me as the sun blazes through the horizon, reminding us of the fleeting nature of this life? I think I would like that.

I want to learn if you prefer the bright crackle of a burning log fire, snuggled up in blankets against the cold, or the way that the sun plays upon warm limbs, making them glow golden in the afternoon light. Is it summer that brings a smile to those lips I covet, or would you rather turn your face up to taste the snowflakes as they fall?

I watch to see if you curse the fact that you cannot get to work in the snow, or if you roll up your sleeves joyfully to build a snowman. And if you do, I notice whether you give him a stone mouth so that he might smile upon the children that wave as they pass him by.

Do you ever fantasise about losing yourself, out there, in the world? Do you seek the quiet solitude of a wooden log cabin on the edge of a lake, or do you prefer the lights and glamour of cocktail dresses in a fancy room full of raucous laughter?Where do you want to go? What do you want to see?

Do you hear it when adventure calls out your name and more importantly, do you answer?

I want to know where you hide, when the world becomes too much to bear.

Where do you take your freedom?

Is there space for another in your haven, or can I follow you only so far, then settle patiently to await your return to me; the reunion all the sweeter for your absence.

See, I wanna know if you have hurt people. Did their tears rain on your heart, each drop a sharp stinging torment? I try to imagine if you wear a mask of hardness in the face of another’s pain, or if you are gentle as you ask for forgiveness. Do you bleed through another’s wounds? Can you?

Tell me how you have broken someone you loved, and whether you were able to fix them again. Did they love you still when the pieces were put back together? What horrors live in the bleakest corners of your soul? What do you think about when you go there?

I want to know the very worst of you.

Share with me the music that plays in your heart, and whether you dance to the beat of your own drum. Show me the colour of your love. If you could splash its brightness onto a waiting canvas, would it burn with passionate reds and oranges, or would it run still and strong in a cool turquoise calm?

Tell me if you kiss softly, your lips singing mine a gentle lullaby, or whether they would rage intently, scorching new pathways to my heart with a desire that refuses be stilled. I want to feel it either way.

Show me if you want a sweet girl, or a dirty one. Or a little of each. What makes you cry out in ecstasy? Is it a woman that makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, or one whose beauty takes your breath away with a single look? Do you look for the quirky ones, perhaps? The ones who are too easily overlooked, the hidden treasures?

Tell me, would you risk it all for love? Would you fight for what you truly want, or would you let it slip away into nothing, never knowing what might have been, because you never told her that your heart beat only for her? Did you ever realise she was waiting for you to fight for her? Will you watch someone else love her because you were too afraid to be vulnerable with her?

Will you settle for next best, the girl you could maybe grow to love someday, instead of the one that haunts your thoughts today? Is that enough for you? Maybe it is. Could you live with yourself knowing that she got away?

Tell me about a time that you cried until you couldn’t breathe anymore. Or where you lived through a day where you prayed for the sweet release of death. Did you make it through? I have been there. Has your heart been broken into a million tiny pieces and, if it has, has it made you hard? Or are you are still open to the beauty that the world holds for you?

Show me your pain and I will show you mine. I hope it does not scare you. It has helped me to grow.

I want to know if you talk to the glittering stars above us, and which one is special to you. What do you think happens when we die? Do we join their shining ranks in heaven or is there nothing left for us? Are you afraid of death? I am. Will you hold my hand if I leave you first? If you whisper to me that love knows no boundaries, not even death, will you mean it?

Tell me about your childhood. I want to know the way your mother’s hair smelled when you crawled exhausted into her lap, and the way your bedroom looked when you were 10. Did your father cry when you curled a tiny fist around his finger for the very first time? I bet he did. I want to know all the people that you have loved throughout your life, so that I might love them through you and with you.

Do you write? Do you draw? I want to know whether you ache to capture my face with your pencil, preserving the wonder that lingers softly there. Do you like to express yourself through words, or action best? Will your hands illustrate your story as you speak and will I know that you are lying from the way your lips tremble gently as the words tumble guiltily from them?

What is your favourite book? Explain to me why it enraptures you so. Please? It tells me a lot about you. I love the way people cry when their favourite character breaks their heart, as though they are an old friend to be adored. Who is yours? I will seek them out and befriend them to understand why they have moved you so much.

Lend me your secrets. I’ll keep them safe and I’ll return them when my picture of you is complete. Whisper into my ear so that only us two may share them. Do you believe in magic? I do, now that I have met you.

Tell me your story, for it might well become part of my story. Let me in. Let me see you. All of you.

I want to know you.

Originally published here on Elephant Journal

Up in Smoke.

My friend, you have smoked cigarettes for as long as I can remember.

And I have hated it for just as long.

I hope you will believe me when I tell you that this is not intended as judgement. It’s not about preaching “right” from “wrong” to you. It’s your body and you have every right to do exactly with it as you wish, just as I do with mine.

As it happens, I have never smoked and so I will never truly know the way this particular addiction holds you in its unrelenting grasp. I can’t comprehend the blissful release it brings you with that first morning mouthful. I’ve seen it on your face though. Watched your stresses melt away and your hands stop shaking through a curling halo of white smoke.

Sometimes I even envy your sigh of ecstasy as you exhale all of your worries.

I have been addicted in other ways of course, mostly to people. Maybe it’s my own addiction to you that makes me value your health so intensely. It’s selfish of me really. I love you to the end of the earth and I want to keep you around for as long as I possibly can.

I’m afraid of losing you.

I’m not going to ask you to quit here, not unless you want to. You won’t stick with it unless the longing burns fiercely within you anyway. All of the pleading and nagging in the world is no substitute for your own desire for change.

As such, I can only tell you how I experience you as a smoker and ask that you reflect on what it means to those who adore you the next time you light up.

You remember that last puff you scrounged off a friend outside the bar?

You were huddled up against the cold, like naughty school kids united in mischief; a pair of comrades against the big bad world. That puff meant that as we ran together through tranquil woodland paths, you didn’t hear the satisfying crunch of crisp leaves beneath our feet as you wheezed by. Your jagged breathing and hacking cough replaced the serenade of blackbirds overhead, nature’s symphony drowned out by your protesting lungs.

You were doubled over, hands on hips, struggling to catch your breath in the bright morning light. You looked down at the ground, gasping and spluttering, instead of up into the glorious cobalt sky where the winter sun was waiting to kiss your face. You didn’t notice the way that the frost gently dusted the hedgerows, nor the shimmering brook that babbled on quietly nearby.

I was sad that the fresh country air failed to nourish and energize you as I hoped it would.

The cigarette you mashed into the ashtray just now?

That one meant that when I nuzzled my face into your hair when I hugged you, I couldn’t find the beautiful scent that you naturally radiate. Your incense that ignites a thousand memories in one glorious inhale. Instead, a stale festering impostor crept in and stole that comforting sense of you from my waiting nose.

I was choked by you; forced to turn my face away. I felt robbed of you.

That last packet you emptied, incredulous that twenty could be gone already?

It meant that when you stroked my face with your usual bright affection, you traced my skin with a yellow tar stained finger, a permanent reminder of the choice that you make again and again. I wonder if you can still feel my softness beneath that tacky layer and whether there will always be this barricade between our touching skin.

The cheap carton you brought at duty free?

You were so pleased with your bargain, grinning with delirious glee. Yet, It cost you so more than you ever realized; more than money.

It cost you your smile, your most beautiful feature, capable of transforming your face into a picture of heaven. Already your laughter is tainted by stained brown teeth and puckered wrinkles around once luscious lips. Did no one tell you that no matter how beautiful you are, receding gums and ashtray breath will never be sexy?

The price will always feel far too high for me.

I long to free you from the prison of smoking that holds you, the reliance you have on something to get you through your day. I know that It’s not my battle to fight. I see in your eyes, the constant planning of when you will next get to indulge your craving, rather than being present in the moment to focus on what you are doing or who you are with.

To be beholden to anything in this world makes me cagey in my own quest for freedom and I want more for you.

What saddens me the most is that smoking pretends to be about rebellion. Yet from where I stand, it looks an awful lot like desperation. Desperation to fit in. To be part of the “in crowd,” to fill an emptiness inside, to de-stress. A lot of my friends have told me that they started smoking young for these exact reasons and have regretted it ever since.

I wish I could have told them, and you, that the person who follows the crowd gets no further than where the crowd are going. You can follow your own path and make your own choices, even now.

That path might still involve a cigarette, but then again, it might not.