strength is the quiet wisdom that lives deep in the soul making its peaceful,powerful presence known and felt in the times when we are most afraid it has been lost forever. strength is not what i once thought it was. its not force or might or will. it is strength of heart when the body and mind are tired beyond tired that is the connection to the source of all. heart strength is grace.
by gracefulsong
Freedom. The thing I long for. To escape my demons in my head and from my past. To no longer be trapped. To let all my worries float away. To let go. To forgive and forget. To accept. To be free.
By pixiedust
Strength can mean many things when looking at abuse and can be a very confusing concept at first. Of course most people will first see the strength of the abuser; the power they hold over their victim. However, what people often miss is the strength of those who suffer from abuse. They are stronger than both they and we realise. To have endured such pain that has been inflicted on them and still survive is great strength indeed. They may struggle to cope but they are still here. We might look at escaping the abuse as being strong but equally you have to be a strong person to have to deal with it. Those who don’t seek help are not weak but simply show a different strength – that to deal with the abuse that each day brings. Survivors of abuse are strong, not just they’re perpetrators.
By pixiedust
Our new theme is Strength and Freedom.
There will still also be some entries on Beauty as well.
Beauty is…
The sparkle of a rainbow,
A golden sunshine ray,
A newborn baby’s laughter,
The start of every day.
A coloured flower petal,
A shining white snowflake,
The deep red of sunset,
Every breath we take.
by pixiedust
One day, in a dark forest where shadows lurked, way back before the beginning of time but also today, and perhaps even tomorrow or many years hence, a woman lived. This woman lived, but she also died, every single day of her life. She longed for love but she lived deep within a maze of walls. Noone could penetrate these walls. Noone but love itself.
But love, she comes in many disguises.
But love, he brings many surprises.
Who will look within the magic mirror?
This woman sat betrothed to ugliness every day of her life. Morose, willful, she stood by the broken windows and shattered glass and pondered the wisdom of her fate.
You see the heart speaks in riddles, you see it does.
All she saw in the mirrored fragments was bitterness and decay.
Lost and sorrowing, a widow yet never engaged or married, this child of dark mists and shadowing graves was not yet a woman in soul. She was, as we’ve said, betrothed to ugliness, warped by it’s torturous paths and bitter deceits.
But this ugliness, it’s all a lie. A delusion. Phony, fake, false.
But can our lady see it – no?
Let’s continue with our story…
The ghosts of the wall maze were many and persistent. Dark words and foolish enterprises, taking her away from herself, freezing her soul clean. Clean but ugly of decay and misuse and disuse. Running through the caverns of memory she sought love, and love deep. Alone, alone she fell, tore and dreams how many, winding chasms of neglect and sore-hearted dark-scape, screaming. Alone.
Endlessly she sought to be her father’s beautiful daughter, his lovely princess, respected and adored. As he ran from her one more time into his own misty hell, she had one request. Bring back her beauty, her love strewn with a crown of thorns.
He promised, oh he promised, as he faded from her sight, he set off on his long journey over sea and dark vale, to see where the shadows swept.
But on his return, all was not good.
Oh wait, oh wait to hear our tale anew.
By Katie
What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?
For me one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, it’s the sun shining on the snow at an Ashram in Canada where I was staying for a while on a course. We were working on ‘what is enlightenment’ and I’ve never seen such sparkle and purity.
Katie
My newborn cousin. She was only hours old and tiny, about the length of my forearm. My aunt laid her on the bed, in a pool of the sunlight that flooded through the window and I stroked her wrinkled little feet. She whimpered and squirmed and for the longest time she refused to open her eyes for me, but when she did they were a vivid, brilliant blue.
persephone
An abuse survivor especially needs to find beauty, to give her the strength to heal. She needs to realise that beauty in the world, in life, is all around her and that she does not have to merely observe this beauty, she too can partake. The abuse survivor needs to find her inner beauty, to nurture it and allow it to grow, and she will find that others will see it too.
By persephone
I’m not crazy…..I just need to be loved.
I’m not crazy…..I just want to be loved.
I may look, or sound, crazy, and I may have a diagnosis and take medication that might make you think I am crazy, should you have such narrow minded and stigmatised views of human suffering….but really, I’ve simply had a rough life, where I had to hide my real self away to survive. But I’ve never really lived.
I may behave like I’m crazy sometimes, and sometimes when people see me as crazy, their misunderstanding actually makes me more so. But, instead, if you listen to me and have patience, if you let me into your world, I might let you into my world, and the pain that exists there, the pain and the longing.
When I behave crazy, it usually is because I’m experiencing a dissociative flashback, and something from my shadow filled past is haunting me and not letting me go, not letting me be safe in the world now.
But…..I could come back to you and your world if you just be a little gentle and kind to me, and not laugh at me or throw back insults. You would see that I don’t want to hurt or hate you really, you would see how I am just like you…I just need a little warmth and humanity….
Misunderstanding is human, and I am struggling to come to terms with my past and rebuild some personality so I can be here with you in the present. If you help me understand, and demonstrate by your treatment of me that I am a worthwhile human being, then I will no longer be that crazy woman, I will be a woman who is becoming alive.
Written several years ago.
