Moonlight mysteries


Moonlit mid summer nights evoke an offbeat hysteria, especially as summer tails to a close. It has an eery charm powerful that I am unable to resist. Its hypnotic spell channelling a calling of times long forgotten. Tonight, fatigue engulfs my aching bones battered. My fragile heart throbs as I drift between misty wakefulness and drunken sleep. I have been stuck for longer than I dare to admit. I have no conscious recognition of when my limbs last danced in agile merriment. Recollection lingers in the now, where nothing else is a tangible reality. My body only remembers pain, everlasting painful agony. I cannot recall how or why I became the Tin Warrior. Today is not the time to indulge in these precious thoughts.  Dying is a very exhausting experience. Unfamiliar stages taunting my wired sensibilities worn. Refusing to fight broody fatigue, I cave beneath her weight heavy. My jaded eyes submit to bored sleep, yawning in exasperation at my petty defiance. This midsummer night was a slave to the moonlight.


I watch intently as my consciousness hovers over my troubled physical body. Lying in a coffin of my own making. I shudder at this confrontational truth staring naked at my essence. Locked in a tug of war, I break away first. Leaving my shell behind, temporary respite for us both. I was in no mood for a battle, especially one I was not ready to lose. I am consciousness, I will not be defeated. Right now, I had a promise to keep. Dharma was beckoning with its kind offer of gentle peaceful serenity. I certainly was unwilling to kick this gift horse in the mouth. My attention turns to the moonlight, he glistens weeping amongst his backdrop noir. I somehow, always end up in the welcoming arms of mother nature. It calms the noise gurgling within. I fling back my arms, throwing myself in the breast of glittering long blades, their scent earthy. Greeted happily by warm eager lavender, excited by my presence. I miss this freedom. My current state of limbo excruciatingly long. I know, I am making progress yet my impatience at the pace feeding greedy dissatisfaction. I shut it down with the polite reminder that this was a process, which had its own course. All I had to do was to listen and the signs would appear themselves.

I exhale, filling my suffocated lungs with clean air fresh. I cannot remember when I last breathed with such ease. My senses immediately sharp and alert. The moon appearing closer than before. Our gazes grapple. Neither looking away. Transfixed in its luminous magic, I transcend into a new reality. My instinct curious. An illuminated path unfolds, hypnotised I pursue it without any question. A bird small, my trusted guide. He salutes, his head bouncing in a slow pronounced way. Ready for the mysteries that lay ahead, I await its signal. Ecstatic excitement exploding in my chest. Finally, we are closer to closure.


Purple misty fog whimper’s at my arrival but I am undeterred. My feet pleading to uncover more. The gateway of proud trees part instantly as we enter into a magnetic force field of energy electric, the no-nonsense bird abruptly pauses. He nods again, this time though in farewell. I understand, alone I must enter. Without any delay I stalk across the pathway. My journey ending at a turquoise glossy mirror of fluid waves. Moonlight ablaze across its delicious face. The wild energy storm catching fire around us. Unsure of what to do next, I dip a tentative toe in the water. Its heat rising in my body. Why am I here?  Twinkling stars randomly twirl in the cool night, unlocking a code secret. My gut begins to throb. I inhale, anticipation scratching its walls. Without any warning, I find myself falling deeper and deeper into the turquoise abyss. I thrash, swallowing mouthfuls of pearly silk. Moonlight extends a hand, wrapping itself against my trembling. It’s soft caress familiar. This is when I see myself. A self that had never surfaced before. Carelessly I danced in the streets, then in the ocean, and again in lush greenness. Laughter rejoicing in my presence, following my every step. My skin radiates a shimmering brightness gold. My heart at ease in peaceful content. The cosmic order reset. My purpose served. No more outstanding debts aggrieved. Home at last. Tingling fervour injecting bliss into my pounding blood stream.

“To be free, you must be awake but being awake isn’t enough. You must be brave and confront your unspoken fears. You cannot be unstuck, if you constantly repeat your previous experiences. We cannot expect change unless we are willing to be different. Awareness relies on your ability to navigate your journey. And the journey is co-dependent on learning and having the chance to take risks. Once, you reach here you must consolidate your lessons otherwise you will find yourself in another loop.”

The moonlight purrs in my ears. The words drowning beneath the laughter ringing in my head. I want to speak, however my words choke in my throat. I am beyond this now, hasn’t my soul suffered enough?

“Without the suffering, who knows what you would be. In the now, this is who you are. You are exactly where you are supposed to be. However, do you suffer needlessly? Yes, you do. It is a choice to suffer, nothing but yourself holds you in this cycle. You can choose to exit. Yet, I have watched you cling to your toxic baggage. You are beyond this, why else would you die?”

Tears roll down my face into the strong palm of the moonlight. He quivers at their touch.

“Guilt is also a choice. We have to live by the consequences of choice. There are many crossroads, we must decide to unburden ourselves from the projection of other’s choices. We are responsible for our own morality. Kindness, has boundaries, ones that are also kind to ourselves.”

I gulp, a new dawn surging. I am not helpless. Moonlight strokes my curls wet.

“You are far from helpless. You are life. Only you can be your own guide.”

Both of us silent. Our eyes fixed on the vision of a carefree, vibrant version of myself. Emotion cascading against my ribcage. The gentle fingers of moonlight teasing my skin. Swiftly, everything vanishes. I stand alone at the brink of life. The moon shining above my head.

“Thank you.” I whisper.

It is not as simple as just being consciously aware. Drama death cycles have an exit strategy if we are open to it. My destiny in my own hands. Burdens old have no place in the now or the future. This is the moment to embark on paths unknown. Tonight, I uncovered a truth stark. I do know who I want to become but I am blocking my own progress by repeating unhealthy patterns. It is important to have a destination, yet how we get there is a matter of choice. I have to give myself permission to choose paths untested no matter what others believe. My self belief is the only way to protect my essence.

“You are the warrior for a reason. Believe nothing else.”

The Moon declares boldly brazen. My reply swallowed up inside as my body pulls back its consciousness. For now, I work within the Tin Warrior, embedding as one until this mystery deciphers at its own pace.






Pick me up, please.


Unlike Hulk, tearing angrily through clothes to emerge as a new self isn’t as a simplistic as it appears. Unfortunately, I have learnt from previous experience that this is a process, which requires patience and persistence. So, I persist. My visits to the Guru are less frequent, this is progress. For one day very soon, I will dance like the Tin Man. My body isn’t fully able to function. It has patterns that require attention permanent. Soon I will be a well oiled machine, floating seamless across the breezy night. For now, I must pay attention to the secret musings of my soul. In the meantime, I will listen to the unveiling of inner voids, creeping upon my restless mind.

As I catch the last rays of sunlight, my semi stuck frame stands beneath a grand lime tree. The light fading behind the mask of a grey night. One by one, the limes thud to the ground, wet from a shower earlier. They fall erratically in a rhythm oddly reassuring. I am enveloped by a wall of limes, trapped as they gather in organised uniform. I shake my head in bewildered amazement. The limes holding me hostage. A thunderous roar, rumbles beneath my cool feet. I look up to notice the enormous lime tree, laughing heartily.

“My apologies. You should see your face right now.”

The tree squeaks, its voice tiny for such a giant. Buzzing giggles follow. The limes mocking. I shrug. I am the Tin Warrior. What’s there to be afraid off? A tree and a lime army, come on! I straighten shoulders tight as best as I can muster. Standing tall, I cock my head. Defiance creeping over my velvet smooth skin. They laugh harder at my attempts of grandeur. I sigh. I would have to fight my way out. I instruct my legs to move but instead they remain fixed to the ground.

“You are not going anywhere Tiny Warrior”.

The limes goad cheerily. Their buzzing irritating.

“Its Tin Warrior not Tiny”.

The limes shriek hysterically, juice spurting from their silken flesh.

“Enough!” orders the tree.

Everyone seizes. Nothing moves, not even the wind. I fix my gaze upon the lime tree, silently urging my feet to move. The limes united in an orderly fashion, await further instructions. My restless heart becoming impatient. I did not like this silence. For what felt like an age, no one made noise of any kind. I shifted consciously aware of being watched like a rat in an experimental lab. Then eventually someone coughed crudely.

“To be unstuck, you must uncarry your baggage.”

The tree stated blandly without emotion or affection. My heart fell into a strange beating pattern, something was not right warned my gut. With a vicious snarl, the tree outstretched its thin branches and shook me with a mighty force. Suddenly the limes formed a shape of a furious colossal warrior, with the swift thrust of his arm he threw me across the ground. Down, down, down I spiralled. The limes following me as wounded soldiers desperate to destroy anyone. Their juice burning my eyes. Uncarry what? Flustered, I rub my temples in the hope some semblance of sanity would follow. None came. As I continued to spin out of control, I notice a trail of loaded bags scattered behind me. I pick up a lime and toss it. Another smacks me hard in the chest. I scream in shock at the sudden attack.

“What am I missing?” I ask.

The lime freezes mid attack, in slight amusement, it flicks its loosely hanging leaf out of its way. My impatience grows at this impending defeat.

“You have to let go. It’s that simple. Stop resisting.”

It hisses.

“I am not fighting you!” I snap.

“Oh yes, yes, yes! you are! We’re not fighting you. You fight us. We only defend ourselves”, it spits back.

The brief truce over. It leaps on my forehead, snarling before it jumps into the crowd again. What was I missing? I was on new path, my mutual compromise with food was in motion. So what next? Baggage? As my fruit bashing continues, I sink into the ground. Resistance is futile, right? The moment, I relax so does the chaos. A sprinkle of rain gushes over my sticky face.

“This is about your state of ‘being’ not ‘having’.”

It was the rain, it spoke to me before lightning broke. My inner turmoil faltering at the precise moment. In order to live an authentic life, I would need to unload my baggage. This confrontation was a battle of my own making. I wanted a new beginning, yet unknowingly I was holding on to the baggage of my old self. It wasnt going to allow progress. The past didn’t know how too. I no longer wanted to “have”, I wanted to be. This was when the Zen Mistress, called me. Her breathless words, rattling against the wind.

“Declutter your life, your mind, your soul. Do not carry what you no longer need in your heart, in your home, in your life. Let it be.”

This was the point I was missing. I couldn’t actualise my new life when I was adamant in carrying baggage. My rebirth would continue to resist until I could remove the toxic baggage I wore. But how?

“Uncomplicate it. We need nothing in excess. We need less, we want more.”

Her melody snapping me from a subconscious coma, I hadn’t even realised I was drifting in. I had to minimise my life. I didn’t need things, I just hadnt fully comprehended my wants. I swallow, strangely nervous.

“Will you please pick me up?” I ask.


The tree extends a branch, roughly yanking me up.

“Thank you.” I mutter watching the limes suspiciously.

I step away, my palms in the air. My thoughts in a tizzy. It was time to declutter my life. I could leap naked into the unknown or savour some sentimental treasures but I had to make a start somewhere. I turn around one last time to find the limes grinning at me. I pray the Zen Mistress is close-by, round two in a fruit war wasnt appealing at all.

Sometimes truth evades us, other times we deliberately ignore it. However, we cannot grow if we do not face our own realities. It is not weak to give up things or people who no longer serve us. It will however, take time to be accustomed to our new ways. The pleasure is in the process. I had to find that before I could go anywhere.

I appreciate the Zen Mistress and her accidental wisdom. It charged my spirit with a direction that was least expected. I have always wanted a simple way of life. So now I can move beyond thought into the active building of a reality where I am unbound to consumption, collection, confusion. Happily my small feet can skip on to next stage in the optimism that the limes will be in a better mood next time. I wish.

Find your own Zen Mistress, you can find mine below. May her gentle calmness sooth your buzzing nerves too.

No more lime wars for now.

Zen Mistresses world:


Ps. I must share the Tin Man dance, I can’t wait to be able to do my own. Enjoy my fellow warriors.

The Tin Warrior Tales

After my unusual encounter with the Guru, a foreboding sense of “something” clings to my aura. It stubbornly nags. Carving a hole into my heart nervous. With my recent death acting as the catalyst for this propelling force, reflection takes over. Awareness bubbles to the raw surface. Death presents with the opportunity to seize a whole new existence. I could become anything, anyone, in anyway I want. I could finally be free from old skins. The burning question: where to begin?

All alternatives point to my new found friend “food“, who recently reminded me to embrace life. In order to live abundantly I must nourish my heart, mind, soul and of course physical body. What could food offer that would aid my new existence? Healing. This is when my “aha” moment happened. The singing chime of bells creating havoc in my mind busy. To be anything, I had to find my power in food not give it the power to own me. This is how my loosely shaped shadow begins to rebuild its shell. And with the help of a special visitor crystal clarity burns my old flesh.

The Art Magician is the sole reason I “saw” it from another perception. My eyes, feasting on a hidden truth only uncovered today. He redefined my understanding of food. In awe I watched as he created inspiring beautiful masterpieces. One after the other, he designed boldly beautiful treasures. Transfixed in this vibrant cocktail of colours, it was as if I woke up from my trance. The old dream suddenly dead. The artists pallet brimming with enchanting enthusiasm.

“You doubt my purpose. But you have to see me first to understand me. Then you must define me in your own words.”

Stuttered the cauliflower from beneath her exotic skin. Her soft body trembling in the cool warmth of liquid red paint. Red and green peppers, nodding in unison. Their frowning creases intense. An unspoken culinary code of honour. “We have purpose.” The rather unimpressed cherry tomatoes roll their tender centres at me. Disdain clearly apparent. My tongue disabled against clenched teeth defiant. The Art Magician was delivering a message simple yet it seems to have evaded me. I could choose the purpose.

With a puff of aromatic smoked spices, the haze clouding my vision lifts. Paprika stinging my eyes. The truth had been staring me in the face, yet I had to die again to finally push past my own limits. I had purpose so why would the gift of nature not have her own. Duh. Then the unraveling unraveled. I was choosing my new skin, I was reborn without labels or attachments. So, how did I apply my purpose? The rice excitedly shakes in its bowl, tipping across the neatly laid out platter. The Art Magician will not be impressed.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! You’re almost getting the point. Almost.”

It was screaming eagerly but no one actually spoke. From nowhere stoic flat bread slaps me across my face. I jerk back. I had been living a life for others, however, not this time though. The ending concluded. I had dreams, aspirations, desires. A world in which kindness, love, humanity prevails where our uniqueness is embraced. My new world would dance amongst vivacious colour, creativity, consideration. Then, why could food not be this expression. After all, the Art Magician was a fine master of creation. He was building an uplifting universe with his unconditional love for Mother Nature. This is the missing jigsaw of my food puzzle. I cannot build a home without a foundation. Food is the crux to my service to humanity. I had to take its jovial, merry hand and together build my castle. I could begin my own revolution.

A chorus of harmonic relief rings from the wooden artistry. I realise at last, I am now on the right path. I am not one for labels so I am not going to brand this journey as vegan or other. All I know is that I must live my purpose in its actions. Actions that are humanely considerate. Ethically soulful, valuing everyone and everything. Yet, playful fun in their demeanour. Swirling in creative rainbows my relationship with food can be honestly expressive experiments. I need not find the right way. I could define my own.

It won’t be easy.”

Warns the bitter bright lemon. It certainly won’t be. Firstly, I must accept that food is my saviour. Only, then can I translate that into a reality that will endeavour I reach my potential for the greater good of self and other. The principle easy. I am my own worth. Choices to nourish my body are reflections of my inner worth. It may seem complicated but anyone with experiences of disordered eating, trauma or malfunctioned childhoods fail at the basic hurdle of self care. Thus, it is a lesson, one where we parent ourselves to learn the simplest yet most rewarding experiences of life.

As the Tin Warrior, I have many obstacle courses to overcome. The very first to free my body from what it inherently holds in its default patterns. I trust with the help of the Guru, I will be many steps closer. And under the twinkling gaze of the Art Magician, I can celebrate the wonderful world of creativity to finally pay my respects to the earth for its abundance. Amongst all of this, manage my focus to change perceptive reality so I am able to positively influence my mindset. The process of rebirth evolving as I write this.

The discovery of a self awakening is only just coming to life. The chance to live within my grasp. My wings ready to take the plunge into sweet intoxication off delicately powerful joy.

Together in synchronicity, we shall function. Heart. Mind. Body. Soul. One true existence.

The giddy concoction of proud vegetables applaud at my awakening. I smile in happy comfort.

I would like to thank the Art Magician for his exceptionally amazing work. Credit to his commitment and true passion for his creativity. Please take a look at his pieces of stunning art below.

Polite note: photographs belong to the artist.

Thank you cauliflower curry and co for your kind support. Albeit, a little sarcastic at times.

Until the next creative explosion.

The Tin Warrior and the Guru

Sparkling angels dance with starry light, illuminating the already bright airy room. Her pearly whites, hurting my eyes. We weren’t used to such brightness. One of them sang in a language I somehow understood, although we didn’t speak the same language.

“The guru will be with you shortly. Be seated, please.”

My stuck hands stiff, without permission from my mind, lift into a rather awkward namaste salute. Don’t ask me why, even my hands don’t know. And I’m sure neither did the slightly bemused angels. Rattling, I hobbled to a row of seats.

The angels fading into the clean white walls as I begin to drift into my thoughts. Soft music rolls in my ears, unused to serene calmness. Feeling oddly out of place, I try to shift in my seat making unwelcome racket. Tin joints, groaning with my failed attempts. Sighing I close my eyes, weary. Weathering many storms for the last three years, I was unfamiliar with this light teasing. Actually, I was uncomfortable. I started craving for my dark haven, familiarity a lull warm. The pregnant cocoon of old ways, calling me home. I hadn’t left it in awhile, afraid to see the reality behind my darkened gloom.

Trembling, I clutch my tin fingers together. Pressing them against my heart beat erratic. There was something strange about this eerily awake room full of warm light. Suddenly, I was hot all over. Everything was so still even when it was all so alive at the same time. This was when the angel cooed again breaking my trance.

“Room 1, please.”

Her voice smoothly reassuring. It breaks my impending nervous breakdown. I nod. My slow attempt at standing a messy falter. I hesitate. I hear her thoughts and decline her unspoken offer of help. Spraying rain droplets everywhere, I put one metal foot in front of the other. And finally the motor begins to churn to some version of life. Of course, at no speedy race course. Eventually, I arrive at the elusive room 1. The door ajar, I again hesitate but some magical force wills me in.

Room 1 is dimly lit, casting curious shadows on the pale walls. It’s scent sweet, Room 1 is a garden floral of various delicacies. The window a high one, sheltered from the peek boo of adamant sun rays play fighting with the grey. It throbs with an unusual electric energy, yet peaceful all the same. It’s tune a slow hum of a drum beat rolling against waves. Tentatively I step forward. One step after another. My shuffling strangely loud for such an alive room. Unexpectedly, I smile at Room 1 and it winks back in a greeting jest.

“Hello, Tin Warrior.”

Chants a gentle voice from no where in particular. My nervous eyes quickly dart across the room since my stuck frame can’t. Behind us the door slams shut without any warning. I look up and to my amazement find a man floating, his long legs crossed, lean arms hanging loosely. His eyes twinkling with mischief. A halo of light clinging to his hair wild. His pale skin ghostly. My hair tingles, I don’t even know what hair tingling would feel like but it tingled, I swear.

I suppress my gasp, actually I swallow it. It would be rude not too.

“It has been long. I have waited for you. We have much to do, I see.”

I don’t know how he did it, he somehow flutters towards me. Just like that, he was standing next to me. I could hear the hum of his heart beat. His soft breathing in my shocked ears. He smiled wide. His whole being exploding into tiny fireworks. I shake my head, maybe I had tin cobwebs growing in it. I wished I hadn’t stayed in my hole for so long. It was then he laughed as if he heard my internal chat. And I laugh with him, it was warmly infectious but I think I was the object of his amusement.

“We have much to do. Come my friend for you are not meant to be stuck.”

With that he takes long fingers that are as if they had been dipped in yellow warm light and places them on my burning neck. Before, I know it, my neck shockingly cracks.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

“I am the Guru.” He whispers back.

Then in a flash of lightening he is gone. This was the moment, I became transformed. My stuck frame, free from centuries old pain. I could never forget this encounter, enchantingly odd. I’m sure neither did he.

I can’t explain this magic, I am no expert. All I know is that I had to see him again. He is the expert.

Be brave, embrace your bodies messages. They are signs that something is or is not in order. I hid for a long time before I admitted, something needed to change. Armed with that knowledge, I chose a new path. The Guru, a welcome surprise. If you are in the area, why not visit him at Only you can change your life.

Until we meet again, be safe, be happy, be bold. Why not find your own Guru?

Tin Warrior.

Food Confessions

Body: What do I need to function?


Body: What fuels me?


Body: What do you deny me the most?


Body: Feed me.

Food. Somehow, even the four letters making up this word, engineer a strangeness in my gut. I can’t blame anyone else but my own ignorance. My blind denial at my eating patterns. It’s no secret that trauma survivors have a history of dysfunctional patterns. Disordered eating being one of them. I am a disordered eater. Sometimes, my ignorance baffles me. How did I think I could survive chronic starvation?

You would think, others would notice and intercept. But not in my life. Come on, if I didn’t notice, then why would they? After all, I am the owner of this body, my soul uses it and if I don’t care, why would you? I guess starving myself into oblivion was the obvious answer. No longer would I be physically present, so finally there would be no more abuse. I take it, my emotions didn’t check in with logic. Before I became invisible, I would first have to get sick. Brownie points for me, whoop, whoop, I got sick. What? You doubted me? Stick that food.

And this is where I woke up. I wasn’t happy when I was a starved exercising demonic maniac. To make it worse I was utterly miserable with my new found status of disability. I watched with horror as I gained weight due to my self abuse. Food, was my new found saviour but I had no idea how to befriend her. I had always denied food because I felt unworthy, helplessly out of control. The reality was I knew no other way. The lack of food had once saved my spiralling child self by allowing her to gain some self respect over her physical body. You can’t hurt me because I am already hurting myself. But I was no longer her. I didn’t want to hurt myself anymore. Some part of my existence knew this. So, why was I leeching on to this poisonous mentality? No one else was disrespecting me. All I had to do was one small thing. I had to eat in order for food to fulfil her promise. She couldn’t help in any other way.

My slight problem was I couldn’t trust food. I didn’t know if she was my friend or an enemy wearing the face of a friend. It’s not as if I had many friends to begin with. But I hated this shell of human I had become. With that also came the awareness that food wasn’t the enemy. I was. You see, I knew the abuse had stopped. However, I hadn’t given myself the permission to stop punishing my own body for what perception told me was my own fault. I was the reason the abuse continued. Today, in my adult body, I am the perpetrator. I am not proud of it but I am also not ashamed to admit I did it. Denial helps no one really.

This is the hardest part. Recovery is by no means easy. However, it is a long standing commitment of love and honour with no one but myself. It is hard if I make it hard. The moment I start to believe I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve respect. I have no value. I am not worthy. I do not belong with others. It is the old pattern hunting me down so it can live whilst I don’t. I once was abused, I am no longer abused. Repeat it with me, I am not defined by my past, I am my present. With this present, I may not fully comprehend the power of food but I will not deny myself in the desperate hope to vanish.

Everyday, food is on my mind. I refuse to give into old ways, I slip a lot. Yet, I remind myself that each day break is a new beginning so I can wipe the plate clean and start over again. My biggest ally, intention. It focuses my mind, centring on all the possibility, love, life, joy I have to experience. Food, is my guest of honour on this mischief. I know to a certain extent our histories shape us but please don’t let it fix your shape, especially not in a web of negativity. We are not prisoners of our old selves. At some point, we have to be accountable for how we live our lives. There’s no shame in making mistakes, the power is growing from them and making small changes along the way.

Heal. Nourish. Flourish. Always, love yourself, love food, love life and love possibility. Even when it feels hard, find something to love, like, care about. It will ground you in your moment. I will continue working on my friendship with food, promise to join us? We can help each other embrace the pleasures that evaded us for so long.

Eat my darlings, for our souls cannot live in empty homes.

Until the next meal.

Whose laughing now, starvation?

Blood thirsty

“He tore out my heart, you stood by and just watched!”

The lines between reality and fantasy blurred as my intense obsession with the Originals gained momentum. At first, I couldn’t understand my sudden attraction to the relationship between Marcel and Klaus. Blood thirst just hung in the air as night and day became one. Then one night, I walked the streets of New Orleans.

It wasn’t Marcel, Klaus and Elijah, on that deadly bridge. It was my sisters and I. Viciously, without a consideration they tore out my heart in one blood thirsty claw and in a mighty fling tossed me into the ocean whilst my mother watched coldly. Her lies clinging to her like a skin. I watched myself die to rise as the beast I was overwhelmed with guilty rage.

I was secretly harbouring, this subdued nightmare. It all ended quickly because my arrogant subconscious never misses an opportunity to mock gleefully. Secrets? Oh it wasn’t having none of that.

Like Marcel, I am breeding a silent, painful hurt. It’s not festering into hate or neither am I on a success binge to prove my worth. Instead, I am somewhere inside holding on to my pain. Pain that decided to find Marcel’s face. Pain that understood and felt his agony at his relationship with his vampire daddy. My pain though is eating away at my wellbeing. It is making me physically ill. This ocean of negativity trying to carve a home in my heart. In my resistance, I forgot to actually feel. Instead I clung onto sickness for survival. My worth a worthless reflection of my poor state of health. It was then I realised that I had never really spoken my truth. I hadn’t honestly ever owned how I felt about the way my mother had always treated me. I couldn’t take responsibility for my emotional self.

Finally, I had the chance. Unexpectedly, before his final departure Klaus accepted his failings as a father. Marcel, remained still. His silence strong. As I stood in their place, with my mother’s arrival, I surprised her. She never accepted her wrongdoings. Instead of her letting her walk away, I took her hand in mine. Brown eyes locked in intent. Then for the first time in my lifetime, my heart whispered.

“Mother, I have always loved you unconditionally. A devoted child, teenager, adult. All I ever wanted was to belong, to be accepted as your own biological child not for the fact that you gave me life but because I am who I am. I wanted you to love my soul. I cannot say I understand your actions. Perhaps, I no longer need too. I do not hate you for any of it. But for so long, I hurt inside because I felt abandoned, alienated, isolated and violated. You never looked, listened or cared about your actions and their implications. Not once, did you say I love you my child. And yes, you stood back, watching my heart being torn out so you could protect the lies you told. I do not hold this against you. I only hoped you would have known that I would have always protected you, if only you had asked. Thank you mother for I finally forgive and free us from this burden that I nurse in my heart.”

With that, in a mist of grey smoke, I disappear into midnight, trembling at my sad reality.

Goodnight vampires. May your blood thirst be sated.

Mirror Mirror

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?

I am no fair maiden. I never was. My magic faded almost four years ago. Staring back at me, is a stranger. I feel I once knew her. She was certainly no foe. But the years lost to an illness, hang limply to my memories burning fiercely in my chest. They only seek one answer; who am I? Do you know me?

I have no words that fully capture this feeling. The closest I can fathom is death. I feel in one single lifetime I have died a many times. I died when I was 8. Then again at 19. And again at 26. I completed the cycle at 34. The last time, I was amongst the living dead, comatose in my own flesh. Right in this moment I again die. Alongside the sadness, a beginning is surging amongst the tide of fear and freedom. A battle ferocious.

The fear of unknown possibilities.

The fear of discovering new flesh.

The fear of failure.

All of this uncertainty born from my drunken sleep. A pregnancy overdue. Forgotten overtime. I was not meant to be asleep for such a length. However, though I could not fight my cruel disease because in reality I am that disease. I died because I was the one poisoning myself with neglect. I was the one serving others at the cost of myself. It was, I who decided that the price of altruistic kindness was the entirety of my existence. Me. Me. Me. My selfish desire to serve the greater good, rested solely on my shoulders. Bitch slapped by reality, finally to call it to a halt.

Currently, as I die, my reality has found itself cracking beneath old perceptions. I always knew my purpose. Fulfilling it, is another story. I do not doubt that life isn’t a self indulging feat. My soul breathes only my purpose. My heart thuds to that tune alone. It has no other choice. But the how, forever haunting. I am not afraid to see with my new eyes of perception. I am afraid I won’t like what life has been trying to show me. For what so long now, I wished for appears to be foolish hope. I am no fool. Yet, I have died several times to return to the same truth.

My physical body lives on, whilst my essence continues to shift into new realms. This whole inner life- death loop incredibly tiresome. I am, I think emotionally tired because in the end the truth is unchanging. I cannot live a life bound to attachments and detach from others. This is the time to let attachments be. Not for the greater good but for my own good. With these attachments, I will never know my own truth. I will otherwise be a shell to what others want me to be.

It’s scary.

I am scared that I will not like who I see. Who am I without my attachments to family, belonging, humanity, kindness? I don’t fear being naked, I fear what I will become without my anchors. Is my innate self a good, moral soul? How will I know this without my old value system? My life at present, presents me with signs of moral disharmony. Watching them, allows me the mercy to be different. But am I just selfishly using them to keep myself in line?

You are the fairest of them all my queen.

Somewhere, in my heart, a lick of fire warms my heart. It serves as a poignant reminder. Noisy fear, is merely my ego, clinging desperately to my old self. It is, a wicked trickster, wantonly wanting to live on through my anxieties. It knows, it can win only if I give into it’s cruel intentions. And in its egoic victory, will the death loop continue. Sadly, my anchors on repeat play the same old patterns of negativity. Allowing for no other exits. You see though, this time, I had already decided to not hang myself at the mercy of the ego.

Dear Mirror,

You have always be kind to me but in truth I am not the fairest of them all. I am no fool though. Thank you for your humble service. However, you are now discharged.

Be free, my friend.

Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.

It feels like an elusive misconception chugging through the hard wired perception that no one is really free or trapped. It’s all a matter of perception. I have no idea if this is true or not. However, whilst I stare at my almost translucent reflection, I realise that one must live truthfully to know anything. So, then let’s together shed our skins, love our fear and take this tabla rosa to leap into the ocean of unknown adventure. Maybe we will never fully know who we are. At the very least, in trying to live we may uncover some versions of who we are. And does it even matter if we don’t know who we are?

Why not, let the magic of wonderful life be our guide. We are our own mirrors. Thank you for sharing this moment with me.

Love. Light. Hope.