Wonder
I knew when I was a child, I was different. I looked at the world in colors and waves. I breathed life. I tasted joy. I felt bliss. I somehow knew I was larger than the tiny body I inhabited.
Things didn’t fall into categories – they just existed. They were me and I was them. I couldn’t put the sensations I breathed into words. I didn’t have words, just experiences. Beautiful energy rippled through me. And I didn’t have to do anything.
Just be.
I was the air, the floating particles shimmered within me as I breathed in myself.
The moon winked, highlighting the magnitude within me, as I drew from its magnificence.
The clouds whispered universal secrets in shapes and floating strands. A knowing that held me.
Trees were my friends. Always strong, sturdy, inspiring and open for me to love. As I loved myself.
Birds left me in total awe. The span of wings. The quick maneuvering. I could fly too. I was extraordinary.
The silent tap of a spider’s legs in contrast to the scratching of squirrels winding up a thick branch held my attention. Like them, I was worthy of being seen. Beauty witnessing itself.
I wasn’t watching the world unfold. It was unfolding within me. We were the same.
Lost
When did I stop blooming with the flowers? When did I turn into a tight bud? Pure potential hidden behind a wall. Was my inner truth blocked by my self-imposed barricade? Each hardened petal a label I had subsumed by family, adults, friends, foes, strangers, society.
Life happened.
Rules I was to follow.
Judgements I would hide from. So much so that “I” became the one judging myself inside the box I burrowed to conform.
THIS was the only way to stay safe.
Or so I thought.
Thinking
What a wonderous creation, the brain.
It tells me what to do, even how to move. It categorizes experiences into good or bad, pain or pleasure. An invisible labyrinth with a multitude of folders. Memories, ready to react at any moment. Only to have no idea where the reactions came from after they were altered and stored.
Always gearing up to protect.
Are the thoughts even mine, or were they implanted in me like some alien force? Labeling every action, even every thought, which seems totally contradictory to thought itself. Thoughts can be kind. Thoughts can be harsh. But they never seem to be indifferent.
I am not my thoughts. So why do they run me?
Voice
As children we use our voices. We yell our needs to no avail. Over time the voice questions, quiets, submits. When did I stop voicing me? When did I stop valuing me?
The loudspeaker. A bullhorn. Fists up, shouting to the sky with clear purpose and intent.
Intense passion blaring at full volume. Sweet music bursting my cells. Ready to be heard. So much to share. So much to be. So much to say!
The heart constricts.
The stomach aches for breath.
Vocal cords shake to release the vice.
Sputters of air. Muffled and silenced.
Confidence and courage blanketed by illusions of shame, doubt.
FEAR.
Shh! Don’t mess up. Don’t make the wrong choice. Don’t do it wrong. Life depends on it.
Who is the authority? Who holds MY voice?
Heart
A slight breeze of pain. A glance. A hand. The word “NO!”
When did I close? Was it the words, the gestures, or both?
In the depths of my soul, granted to me by the creator, I am guided.
A rainbow arches. Illuminating the colors of my truth. A path etched from lifetimes before and lifetimes to come.
How much kerosene does it take to put out my flame? To stop the pilot from igniting.
Open.
Receiving.
Forgiveness.
Grace.
LOVE.
I will never close again.
Control
It’s so hard to release. To detach. Then where will I be?
The unknown.
If I let go, what comes next?
Hold on tight.
The monsters that exist out there are too scary to face. What if they bite? Or worse.
I know the demons that lurk in the darkest corners of my psyche.
They claw.
Scratch.
Cut me to pieces.
But they are mine. If I let go of them, what is replaced?
If I stay in false comfort, at least I know I thought I had control of something.
Two Sands of Life
Heavy. Turbulent. Exhausted by the heat of a domineering sun.
Disturbed by the everchanging landscape.
Depressed by stomping feet. Debris wedged into clenched fists.
Tiny flecks tumbling around within an expanse of sameness.
Never knowing if it’s up or down, buried or on top.
Maybe somewhere in-between.
Always subject to the elements.
Free. Weightless. A brilliant crystalline under the sun’s rays.
A home for sea life.
A playhouse for children.
Unable to be contained. It drifts, falls, slips-through without notice.
Dancing in its perfection. Its unique oneness with all.
A tiny expression of the infinite.
Inner knowing. Trust.
The sun will return. The moon will magnify the night once again.
Holes constantly refilling. A barrier for Earth.
Always ready for the next adventure.
The Secret
Life wants to play.
It calls. Begs us to wake.
Can we hear it? Do we feel it?
Clear mind. The dropping of burdens.
Stop. Just stop.
Let go. Listen. Breath.
Make a date with life.
Full heart. A friendly presence.
The truth of everything lies within.
Now play!
Illusion
What is real? Who said?
If everything is energy, imperceivable by our senses.
Waves. The pixels of a screen. The vibration of sound.
Spinning in infinite blackness on a sphere.
Where is up? Where is down?
If we are constantly rotating without notice, can we ever really be anywhere?
Can we be both?
Everywhere and nowhere at once.
The sleight of hand.
Labels
What are labels? Who sewed them onto me? Can I rip them off?
The scratching of patches stitched onto cotton. Irritation, self-imposed.
They don’t own my value.
They don’t own my worth.
If I ripped off my labels, who would I be?
Would I still fit into a world that reinforces my significance?
Weaving them endlessly. Thick threads needled into the fabric of my being.
If we run from pain, why do I allow these labels to define me?
They only separate.
Place me into a category.
Trap me.
Is the iron cage more comfortable to the bird who doesn’t know freedom?
STAY TUNED FOR MORE The Girl Made of Stardust poetry and other musings by Taryn Browning. You can also check out my books on AMAZON. Available in print and digital formats. Find me at Mind Your Words Coaching - Virtual Writing Coach Services (written assignments, college application essays, writing assistance, editing, and more…), also on Facebook.