Taking the time for…

Soul Maintenance

Every so often, the hands of time revolve and return me to a set of circumstances, to a state of being that I know so well, and yet manage to ignore far too often. I find myself inexplicably feeling empty, even though my life is full and I am happy. It’s not because of some fault in the world around me, but rather because I am neglecting something that is a part of who I am, and without it I begin to feel incomplete.

No matter how incredible life is, no matter how many crazy things I’ve done in a day, how many rainbows I’ve seen or waterfalls I’ve swam under, I need to sit down and just for a little while, reconnect with my soul. Continue reading Taking the time for…

The Thinker

Part of my endless search to discover a character that fascinates me enough to dedicate an entire story to their antics.

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Her feet were always a little bit dirty, her hair a little out of place and she tended to project an air of general neglect. It wasn’t for lack of caring, upon occasion she would catch a glimpse of herself in a reflective surface, sigh in resignation and fix the misaligned buttons on her slightly oversized shirt. Her hand might make a motion towards the pin falling out of her hair, but then a thought would occur and replace the previous one with such overwhelming ease that she would immediately forget what she was about to do, her hand falling limply to her side, its task unfulfilled.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care; there were simply more important things to focus on.

Am I wrong, because you’re right?

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Your world is defined by that which you accept as truth. Whether it is the things you were taught in school, or by your parents; information gleaned through experiences or as is often the case, formed by the religions, belief systems and societies we grow up in.

Do you know your box? Do you know what it is made from? Do you know why you believe what you believe… and who you believe? How do you choose who and what is true? Continue reading Am I wrong, because you’re right?

April 1, 2014

acorn-56360_640Life is this nutty, crazy thing. I’m not sure it ever really starts to make more sense. Maybe it’s just me that is as confused as ever, and life is plodding on in its regular predictability wondering when I’m going to come to my senses!

Either way, the only thing I’m sure of is that I’m currently sitting cross-legged on my bed, staring out at an expanse of beautiful green. Or at least I think I am. So long as the reality I perceive is actually real and I’m not in some version of the Matrix, lying in a pod filled with goo and powering the mechanical bodies of an artificially intelligent life form with my bio-electrical energy.

Jeese man. How did I get so weird?

Maybe it’s because of my parents. Maybe I was born this way. Maybe I’ve always been like this and it has just taken 25 years of this particular reincarnation of myself to figure it out.

Figure what out? That I’m a nut? …

I couldn’t tell you what kind of nut. Maybe knowing everything would take half the pleasure out of life.

Anyone want to be nutty with me? Cause goodness knows, if you’re not, and you hang out with me long enough, or sit closely to me for any length of time… or read too much of my writing… you’ll probably catch what I’ve got. Nothing is more contagious than nuttiness.

I hope it’s sunny tomorrow. Roasted nuts always have the most flavour…

Magic

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magic (ˈmædʒɪk)
1. an extraordinary power or influence seemingly from a supernatural source

Magic, for me, has always been those moments that seem too perfect to fit in with the mundanity of what we expect day to day life to contain. Fireflies dancing among the tree branches in the still of the night, a butterfly landing on your shoulder, the sunlight illuminating a meadow with such finesse that the blades of grass appear to glow and the shadows cast by the lone tree at its center whisper of secrets and mystery.

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2. unaccountably enchanting

When I really stopped to think about it, I realized that the most regularly occurring magic in my life has been linked to nature, not to the workings of man and our control over the natural elements. It flows from the natural beauty of the world around me and only reveals itself when I am ready to appreciate it; when I am at peace.

Magic, like beauty, is in the eye and the heart of the beholder. And if in your soul you are not willing to see it, it will simply not exist for you. Whether your life is filled with magic, or completely devoid of it, is entirely up to you.

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What is your magic?

Is it the figment of one writer’s imagination, is it spells and power from within, is it nothing more than a manifestation of our desires… or something else entirely?

3. having the power to make impossible things happen
— But isn’t impossible just a product of our point of view?

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The White of Innocence

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A tiny droplet of blood glimmered on the sharp point of one of the many protrusions that fiercely guarded the stems. In the pale light of the cloud obscured moon, the world did not easily give up its secrets, but the pale flower buds collected the faint moonlight and cast it back out. From afar the countless buds gleamed like so many stars; an entrancing beacon that had drawn the four men across the valley.

Like sleepwalkers they had stumbled until they stood before the expansive bush, and Wren, the fool that he was, reached out to pluck himself a flower. At his yelp the other three leaned in to inspect the defences of the unusual plant. As they did so, one of the many lights winked out and a sweet floral scent began to fill the air. Wren squinted, sucking on his injured finger. The bud that he had tried to pick was no longer there; he reached out bravely, and his fingers met the soft silk of petals. Petals of a flower fully bloomed, with such deep color that they blended in with the night itself.

The men stared, uncertainty overriding their sense of wonder.
“What is it?” Aoin muttered beneath his breath, the scrawniest and youngest of the three he tended to be the one sacrificed as the scapegoat whenever one of their enterprises went awry, and he had the sinking feeling that this was one of those moments that would landslide into catastrophe. His wife would kill him if he came home with any more bumps and bruises from this trek.

“It’s magic.” said Alaarik. Ever the weaver of tall tales. Determined to see more in the world than it could ever hope to offer. Strong of body, but oh so delicate of heart.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Magic has been gone for so long that no one is sure it existed in the first place. It wouldn’t just materialize back into existence. And if it did, it certainly wouldn’t show up in a little wreck of a place like this.” The final member of the quad gestured at the rotting barn that stood nearby, the only structure on this side of the valley that hadn’t been completely consumed by neglect. His tone was imperious, certain. Lei, always the leader.

As his words fell into the silence, the moon banished the last of the wispy clouds that obscured its view of the events taking place so far below. The sudden light lit the landscape and the bloom, no longer cast in shadow, stood out among the white, a deep velvet red. The color of the droplet of blood that no longer stained the thorn.

Alaarik stumbled back, his feet tripping him up as he attempted to put some distance between himself and the bush.

“I know what these are.” his voice trembled, part in awe and part in stark raving terror, “That,” his finger pointed like a spear at the flower, “Is a rose.”

 

On top of the world – Ecuador

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Riding a quad up into the hills east of Olón this week turned out to be a bumpy adventure and though some small instances may have required minor trespassing, it was well worth it.

As the sun was beginning to set I found myself standing atop a world more beautiful than I had known existed.

Horses and cows were the only creatures inhabiting the immediate area, and for the first time I found myself envious of what a member of the animal kingdom possessed.

The ocean, in its blue tranquility, stretched along the horizon, caressed by a soft sandy beach that teased and invited each and every wave that broke upon its shore. The ocean seemed to be, if such a thing were possible, contained on the left by the cliff that cuts the beach off from Montanita and on the right by the lush green hills that led to the rainforest near Ayampe.

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The small pueblos of Olón, La Curia, San José and Las Núñez marked mankind’s habitation of the area, yet they did so with a finesse, a smooth blending that western culture has yet to master. Nature here possesses a strength that is not so easily cowed by man.

Rushing up from the coast, to my vantage point above the world, was a blanket of lush vibrant green. Life, rich and intense, covering every inch of earth.

I fell in love I think, in those moments, with a dream or with possibility. It was breathtaking, and I mean that without a single ounce of the creative exaggeration that us writers are liable to wantonly throw about. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, my mind empty of thoughts, the deep thrum of desire at the core of my being the only sensation that I could feel.

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You need to have felt it, I believe, to understand it. The pinpricks of goosebumps along flesh, the inexplicable welling of tears in awestruck eyes and the uncontrollable wanting that burns from the inside out.

I can see myself there, in the elusive future that I have never been able to imagine, in the still morning with a steaming mug of coffee in my hand, watching the world come to life before me. I can see the nights, the sun setting in a blaze of color, giving the world over to the stars, and on the clear nights, the milky way stretching out above me as fireflies dance through the darkness, performing for me alone.

Only one addition could improve this daydream; something this incredible is not meant to be experienced alone.

Another way to skin a cat….

home-158089_640It’s a commonly accepted fact that with maturity comes obligations and limitations. You grow up, you get a job so you can be tied to a mortgage, you settle down, get married, pay for a wedding you can’t afford and with every child you become a little more indebted until you are so entrenched you cannot escape. This is normal.

I’m told repeatedly, it’s a good thing you are having your adventures now… seeing the world while you can. The implication is always hovering that there is some kind of time limit after which my life will simply cease to exist. As if it is inevitable that at some point I will walk down that path, a willing sacrifice, and end it all. How abysmal.

No thanks. I mean really… It’s like saying that when you turn 23 and 7 months you’re never again allowed to eat chocolate. Utterly ludicrous. Though if it were a commonly accepted practice in society, people would simply stop eating chocolate at age 23 and 7 months. Insanity.

I’m not saying that I don’t want to have a family or fall in love, I just don’t want to do it the way it’s always done.

There is more than one way to skin a cat, and I intend to find one that leaves the cat alive and happy in the end. Or perhaps we’ll just avoid skinning the cat at all, I’ve always felt a little sorry for the poor thing. It deserves a new metaphor… :P

I want a life that doesn’t end in virtual slavery. We live in a world of boundless possibilities and just because something is ‘normal’, that doesn’t mean it is right.

Come on, I mean if that were the case we’d still be burning witches at the stake and bleeding out fevers.

So call me crazy if you like, I really don’t mind. But if I shouldn’t settle for just any man, why should I settle for just any ol’ life?

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A crack in reality – Ocean’s Edge

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As I walk down the dark beach, the roar of the ocean the only sound I hear, the faint shimmer on the white capped waves the only thing I see; there is nothing to distract me from the power that surrounds me. The earth, the air; it hums with it. You can feel it down in the depths of your bones. I cannot imagine that anyone could stand with me and not sense it. It isn’t the gentle ebb and flow of the tide, it isn’t the gentle lapping of waves upon the shore. It is more than that here. The waves crash and roll, leaping forward; more alive than anything I have felt before.

It is strength, and here in this deep darkness, the moon and stars hidden by the clouds, the fog shrinking the world into what is right in front of you, it is loneliness. A great emptiness that rages and beckons. Terrifying and alluring. A sirens call.

Welcome to the musings of Beth Hobson (writer) – to be taken with a spoonful of sugar.