Soft tears fall silently
on cheeks as she sits
without breath, staring.
“She didn’t know what
it was to be a woman
…… neither do I……..
taught by the best, me.”
Palpable grief, greened
by sickness of heart oozed
out of her every pore.
“Sixty two years of not
knowing how to be WOMAN.”

Air felt cool.
Eyes heavy.
Motionless child
buried in pain filled layers
to hide, to scream, to suffocate,
to die to ever being alive……
“I’m in no man’s land….”
she said….
raising one hand to sky
picturing mother’s
worn, rough skin, the razor
she used to shave her chin,
the hands she used to
break the pheasant’s neck….

Mourning the loss
of possibility
turns from one
generation to the next…
till someone realises
they still have time
to become the woman
they never were.
Only then does
something change…
slowly, gently,

no pushing,

no blame.

“Middle Way”


Sometimes it’s so difficult to find the words for that eternal, bottomless pit of soul screaming that wants to spew out of my weeping mouth and
throw itself against the wall in utter frustration….surely this is the hell we have been led to believe is without ourselves? The little bit of hell I create for myself, I create for you too as you do for me….

Just as joy and laughter are contagious, so are anger, frustration and despair; the Oneness of all things and so it is. Agression, violence, love in abundance, laughter and loving are all parts of the whole and when the balance of these is disturbed then we find discord within the home.

Voices need to blend and balance each other. When one part rises and sings others are stiller, holding the space for the leading sounds….. Cacophony brings suffering…… I see it; I know it.