Not everyone gets to walk the inner tracks.
The ones lined with wild things and deep knowing.
Some come heavy-footed,
uninvited but familiar,
saying they love you
while quietly building fences around your light.
Let them go.
Even if their words are soft.
Even if their history is tangled with yours.
This ground is sacred.
It took you years to clear it.
Years to believe you could even belong here.
There’s a reason the little one says
“I do it myself”
with defiance in their jaw
and fire in their eyes.
It’s not stubbornness.
It’s the first flare of self-trust.
Let them.
Let you.
Grow wild.
Grow loud in your own quiet way.
You’re truth is frightening
Even when whispered it stirs hairs
Hackles
Why?
Is not your question to ask
You hold answers
Write them on the page
Notes in neat margins
Things
I
Could
Not
Say
But fully intended
My business computer had to be taken to the workshop and repaired and so I got some breathing by space this week – that’s all we need as writers and thinkers – time.
This year did not go according to plan at all – instead it has felt like an intense lesson in all sorts of things that I am still unravelling.
But creatively it has also been a year of making the best with what I have.
I worked on some writing on my website, on Substack and now here.
Substacks post was about the creative cringe and listening to a different imaginary voice instead – that of our 80 year old self.
On my website, at Ground Water Publishing I’ve created a daily writing practice.
When I returned after a few months away, I realised I’d quietly gathered new followers… and felt terrible that I’d left nothing fresh for them to land on. It reminded me that small, steady presence matters. That showing up — even lightly — is sometimes the work.
It’s difficult to prioritise the creative work when there’s so much important “other” work, but I’ve learned that creativity is both my engine and my fuel. Without it, I slowly lose all sense of where I’m going and become drained.
These last few days of creating — making little movies, returning to words — have oxygenated something in me that forgets how to breathe when I’m submerged in spreadsheets and accounting. I need to keep making that space, because it is holy ground, and only we can tend the sacred places inside us..
