Search results for ‘mirror mirro’
Who Holds The Mirror .
Sometimes the reason we feel so bad is because we allow others to ‘hold the mirror’. To alter how we perceive ourselves. Influence and determine how we feel. One of the hardest tasks is to be able to see and hold onto a clear and positive view of ourselves because we’re being constantly bombarded with toxic messages. An overload of choice that can tie us up in an endless spin of decision making. Add to this, the noise and the race to be and get somewhere and the fatigue all of this causes.
Question …. amidst all of this, how do we recognise and keep a firm grip on the good in ourselves? How do we maintain the energy it takes to stand firm in our own place and resist negative influences and all that makes us feel less, pulls us off course, interrupts our progress? What happens when you hold yourself still, in your own space for long enough to see through the fog and smog. What do you see? What’s real? What’s a product of your experiences and circumstances – those around you? What’s worth keeping – and what’s way passed its use by date?
(See also ‘A Date With Use-By’. Image by Harley Manifold from book, In My Room.)
Sometimes I Wish I Wasn’t Me .
This little soldier finally realised that being the fairest isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and looking up to stars can be dangerous – especially when they fall. And that ‘way up high’, ‘over the rainbow’ and ‘climbing the ladder’ are sometimes dangerous places to try and reach. And too far away to possibly get there on time.
Footnote: It’s such a competitive world. There’s a strong current drawing us up, up and away from who we are – or are comfortable and content being. Acceptance, popularity, success and fitting in, can feel so out of reach. It can feel impossible to meet the expectations of others. Until the question arises – what and who determines our worth? It’s also wise to question the notion that a sense of belonging exists somewhere outside ourselves. And that bigger and the better and more determines if we are – ‘enough’. It’s potentially a hothouse for discontent. Home? Home can be a building, a place, but it can also be a secure feeling within yourself.
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Footnote: Boots arrived (during the pandemic isolation in March, 2020). In the early stage of the drawing, Boots was leaning against the globe, ground to a halt. But as the drawing progressed, the continents became stars. The biggest, falling right on top of Boot’s head. Stuck, she became in the – ‘in-between’.
But this was not to be the end – of the drawing. Of the world. Boots raised a hand, cautiously turning back a corner of the fallen star. And there, right alongside her, a faintly glowing object of mystery, rolled up, rolled up.
Was it a ball for juggling? Mirroring a juggled conscience? Dropped or forgotten? Left behind or gone astray? Or maybe it was that small thing that so easily gets lost or overlooked? Still there. Still waiting. Perhaps something new? A gift. Small and precious. A reminder that there are things that need much greater care that we ever imagine — and quite often forget. Until something rolls up, rolls up…
(‘Boots – The Clown, The World’s Greatest Act, Part I’, out of isolation March 2020)
Amelia Bloom understands how broken everything is, yet she remains invested in her dreaming, not only for herself, but for everyone else.
Amelia Bloom’s French flavoured imagination paints a beautiful picture of a world full of hope and peace. She gently reminds us of the magic of dreaming and its ability to create a better world – both real, and imagined.
Amelia Bloom dreamed every street corner had a worry bank so everyone felt safe.
Amelia Bloom dreamed flowers grew in clouds and their petals flew to all the dark corners of the world.
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Rose wasn’t cursed with good looks .
Rose is free from any expectation to be abnormally beautiful 24/7, which leaves her undefinable by looks alone – and alone she is. Consequently, Rose rarely receives invitations of the social kind but isn’t bothered by being omitted in this way. In fact, it affords her three good things. One, more time to herself. Two, being left alone to be herself. And three, to live within the containment of her own tangible world. With such a high level of self acceptance, Rose manages to by-pass all standard dress codes and cosmetic alterations of the conforming and horribly restricting kind – and mirrors.
Footnote: In a world of ‘likes’ and ‘followers’, this Rose is independently refreshing. Always good to question who and what determines our worth.
(Wisdoms of Rose and Clunk & Jam, 2019 books. Reposted from 2013).
The Good Man .
Where are all the good men, who see us. Hear us. Touch us with a gentle hand. Tie our bow. Kiss us dryly on the cheek. And love us in our strength.
Where are all the good men, who mind us in our fragile state. Cradle us as you would a broken bird. Not to satisfy a need within themselves. Nor to forever stroke our weakness. But to strengthen the flight they wish for us to take.
Where are all the good men, who can accept without threat, all we invite and excite over. Remain seated throughout the pleasure of each unbridled offering. And protect the innocence of the gift.
Where are all the good men, who safe keep precious pieces we discard. Hear our strange and distant song. Follow notes beyond the noise. And return knowingly without taking.
Where are all the good men, who keep light and air in windows high. Flowers on the stairs. Who hold a mirror quietly to the side, so we can recognise the newness and the goodness in ourselves. Comprehend the whole of who we are. And fear no more the stage.
Where are all the good men, who wait well outside our hiding place. Offer not hand but time. A refuge where within we tend neglected hurts. Slow to a halt from our exhaustive run. And bring to life our dreams.
Where is the good man, so sure and steady in stride, he invites us into our own. Where we unite in all our consciousness with the good man in ourselves.
Where we feel the fearlessness of taking our very first step. And release ourselves from an endless edge.
(Reposted from 2016. Written August, 2015. Pictured: Poem emerged from book read on Rottnest Island, 2015). )
(Clunk & Jam book 2019)
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