Blessings and love is a collaborative poem written by five writers, all given the same question. The poem was written without seeing what the others had written. Constructed in the order of submissions. Reproduced in the way it was given. Five voices. One poem. A strange but beautiful way to create art.

Be life, rather than watching life. Rather than sitting next to it, feeling anxious as the fruits of life ripen and fall to your feet. Be life creating the fruit. Creating the opportunities. Be the tree. Your roots firmly in the ground, nourished by the soil around you. Soaking up the sunshine and the rain. Be the tree. Let the wind rustle your branches and leaves, breathe in what is around you and breathe out what you want around you. Be the tree. Fruit your creations. And let any which fall, nourish your soil, to feed your next season of fruit.

There is an old tale. About a man. Who loves a woman. Dearly. He hands her his heart. For her to hold. Forever. Vows are spoken. A veil lifted and their love sealed with a kiss. They live life for many years dreaming together. Until one day, she slips through his fingers. Stolen by an illness. Death and dust. And he mourns her. His heart a pile of ash sitting deep inside his chest. His private tears unending.

An old tale of love, teaching us the way of the universe.

an angel without wings/ she walks in the world/ barefoot and eager//
a fallen hero/ he kneels/ the grass prickles his knees/ as he stares blankly into space//
she walks along his horizon/ each day/ he does not see//

A poem from forty-nine and a half new moons ago.

So we are writing a novel. A graphic novel. We are writing the words on paper as we see the pictures in our imagination. The graphics will come later. After the words settle. And rather than hiding this novel away. Secretly writing it for as long it takes to one day reveal its final form. We have decided to share its magical journey along the way. We invite you to be our alchemical audience.

little tree/ in a miniature/ forest/ of tiny/ pots//
bonsai//
magnificent/ in your smallness//

A little poem for a little tree, requested by The Bonsai Guy

As I sat in the sun, on the deck of our humble shed this morning, reflecting on my meditation, I watched a young magpie poking around in the wet grass and dirt. His fluffy feathers made me smile. As did his little leg shorts. It looked like he was wearing a pair of feather knickerbockers. He was nice company in the morning sunlight. He reminded me of another bird, I knew once. Long ago. A bird who has a piece of my heart.

Sometimes in life something small and unseen will derail us, and in those times it is so important to have someone to carry us home. To not be too proud to take their care and their help. To allow our friends and family to know when we are hurting. By something small and unseen. To let them know we don’t know why walking in life is difficult right now, but that we accept their support. Their love. Their care. And allow them to hold us for a while. For as long as we need.

The tips of her toes leave the surface of the water. The last of her body to feel the air. As she submerges into the water. Diving into the darkness. Her feet gracefully slide from air to water with barely a splash. Her eyes close as she begins the descent. She automatically pushes her arms in front of her to carve through the body of water she has found herself in. To propel herself deeper.

I have a friend. We call her M. An affectionate, diminutive of her name. A shortened form of the name she was given when her lungs first took on air. And she let out her earliest cry into the world. Announcing her arrival. Claiming her existence. M really suits her. It is perfectly her. As most nicknames are.

There is a reason parents tell or read stories out loud to their children at night, before they go to sleep. It helps relax them. It makes them feel safe and secure. It helps with language as well as social and emotional development. It bonds them. It activates their brains in healthy ways. Which can last for days. It releases the cuddle and love hormones which turn up when we kiss and hug. I am so grateful that all these beautiful benefits of the traditions of oral storytelling have returned for adults to enjoy. It will foster human bonding, for a better world.

Dogs teach us how to be better humans. How to treat ourselves and others with respect and loyalty. And how to make the most of life. We have always taken on rescue dogs. And those, who have blessed our family, have come into our homes with open hearts, regardless of their past story. Ready to be loved and a willingness to love us unconditionally, forever. I am grateful for their cuddles, and to have them sit by my side. Grateful for their precious little souls.

Stringing memories together of my childhood, sometimes it feels like my childhood itself was a musical. There was so much singing in it. Music and song has filled my soul since I was a baby girl. It has always been a part of my life. I still love to belt a song out in the shower. Or the car, much to the amusement of those passing by.

I love an alliteration. Where the sounds of two words are meant to be together. They match. Starting with the same letter. Or the same sound. A repetition. A playful rendition. They have always captured my heart. Filled it with joy. Spilled into laughter. And delight. Wonderful words. Magical moments. Satisfying sounds. All amazing alliterations. I love them. They are the super heroes of language. Their super power: spreading joy to hearts young and old. And laughter, which sings from our souls as we stumble over them with carefree amusement.

At the very centre of the fruit is where you will find its seed. It is at the middle of a cross, where you will find its strength. The centre of a mandala is what draws the eye. And when a seesaw or set of scales matches their midpoint. You have perfect balance. I am in the marvellous middle. The sweet spot. The middle of life. And all it has to offer. Possibility. Strength. Focus. Balance. Everything you need for a wonderful launching pad. To dive into a sea of creativity. And what the world has on offer.

comfort is/ a loving kiss/ long bath/ spaghetti//
bare feet/ a warm embrace/ holding hands/ confetti//

comfort is/ smiling eyes/ and/ soft sunshine//
a good book/ cup of tea/ with/ friends of mine//

Our humble shed in the back yard has the same energy as all the bungalows I have known. Bungalows don’t need the size and grandeur of the main house. They escape the responsibilities the main dwelling has been designed for. And, therefore, they can always be something a little more fun. Bungalows are subtly attached to garages or tucked away behind trees in the back yard. They aren’t trying to stand out. To make a statement. Their presence is a whisper. A welcoming space. Inviting you inside.

i tore off a piece of me/ and held it up to the light/ examined it/ found fault in it/ cried//

i ripped off some more of me/ squeezed it between/ two panes of glass/ placed it under the microscope adjusted the focus/ and sighed//

A poem about picking myself apart.

When you listen to Eva Maria sing. It captures your imagination. Her voice is magical. She has a gift. When I first heard her sing, it took me somewhere beyond. I heard her soul. In her singing. And it touched my soul. It is easy to hear past the notes when Eva Maria sings.

I don’t know about you, but some days, I wake up out of balance. With a heaviness in my heart that spreads to my bones. Or with an unnamable anxiety buzzing in my muscles. The cause, a mystery. Or perhaps I wake up with both. It doesn’t have to be a lot. Just a pinch. And I am off-kilter. And my job for the rest of the day, alongside the general task of living, is to reclaim the balance. To not fall off the tightrope.

In two weeks it will be one year since my husband and I started eating only plant-based food. It was meant to be just two weeks of vegetarian cooking to balance a high meat diet (and accomodate the fact that no one wanted to go to the market to shop that week). The vegetarian meals turned into plant-based meals. Two weeks turned into a year. It’s been an interesting journey dramatically changing our diet, and not without its challenges. But I am really glad we did it.

Thinking about what it is to be alive. I started wondering. Perhaps, our souls are passed down from past lives to keep us warm. Gifted to us like pre-loved, hand-knitted jumpers. For us to wear. Care for. Fold. And unfold. As we need. A beautifully patterned jumper with a design unique to us. For us to add to, with the stitches of this life. And with holes for us to darn. Our job. To love this hand-knitted piece and to pass it on in the best shape possible, into the next life.

This is a tribute to all the bikes in my life. The wheeled creatures, which accompanied me on many an adventure around the back yard, on the gravel road circling the neighbourhood houses and along the bitumen leading down to the rickety bridge crossing the river. Those tyres ripped up the dusty, and sometimes very muddy, motorbike tracks running alongside the flow of the water. And my favourite feeling was flying down the big dipper. Fear in my throat. My feet forgetting the pedals.

There is something magical about early mornings. I love watching the contrast of daybreak soften into a technicolour scene out the window. To be a solo witness to the trees and humble shed in our back yard taking shape, painted into being alongside a peppering of clouds, with the rain’s passing. To hear the sounds shift as the call of the magpie announces the day.

We all carry within us, our own folklore. It has been with us from our first breath. And our personal story takes shape in the footprints of our lives. Once I realised this, I went searching for my own myth. I joyously discovered many beautiful Lithuanian tales and ancient stories, which spoke to me. One in particular, led me to realise I carry the tears of a mermaid in my soul. I have the curious spirit of a hummingbird. The instincts and visionary nature of a gentle fox. And the wild nurturing of a big cat. This is my personal symbology. And this is the key to unlocking me.

But first, let me tell you a story.

Trapped in the tears of a heartbroken mermaid is the spirt of a hummingbird, a fox and a big cat. Each held in a piece of amber. Washed up onto the shores of Lithuania, from the depths of the Baltic Sea. Collected by villagers. Sold to jewellers. Bought by a godmother. Handed to an orphaned soul.

Writing my own myth. A tiny story about spirit animals.

Tata Ona, my beautiful godmother, was very dear to me when she graced this earth. And she remains very dear to me, her spirit is always in my heart. She was my real life version of a fairy godmother. Her wings tucked neatly behind her smiling eyes. She saw me. She loved me. Without judgement. Without condition. After we gave Tata Ona, her last kisses, I have worn this amber ring every day since, a gift from her many moons ago. A beautiful ring made of butterscotch amber. I have always loved this amber ring. There is just something about it, I cannot describe what exactly, it just makes me feel alive and connected to something mysterious and larger than all of us.

One of my favourite ABBA songs when I was growing up, was Money Money Money. I loved it because it was one of the few songs where my favourite member of ABBA, Frida, was the lead singer. I would belt out those lyrics with her, every time, singing as loud as my little five-year-old lungs could manage. When prompted recently to think about my relationship with money, and where my attitudes and feelings toward money have come from, I realised this song had a lot to do with it.

Meditation is my little octopus. My teacher. Alongside showing me the power of the pause and the importance of being there for whoever shows up, meditation has taught me to be brave. To take a leap of faith. To trust. To listen to my calling. And this has led me, and those around me, into a beautiful underwater forest of possibilities. For that, I will be forever grateful.

You know someone has spoken the truth when your cheeks go hot. Perhaps you blush because it is a compliment and you haven’t yet learnt to take one of those gracefully. Or maybe, you feel a bit of heat in your cheeks because what is said rings true. So true, it has reached down deep inside you. Grabbed your soul. Given it a squeeze. And perhaps shaken it a little.

This happened to me recently.