Tag: the self

  • Prose and Poetry: Explorers of a Breathing Forest – 15/10/19

    Prose and Poetry: Explorers of a Breathing Forest – 15/10/19

    Your eyes dart from left to right. Taking in the view, you know you appear confused. But, what does it matter? Appearances are nothing when you are alone, surrounded by no other living things. The forest appears to breathe though, with life it heaves and puffs, the life within these trees, this shrubbery, this undergrowth, is teaming with a sense of alertness that you are unable to wholly see. You can still feel it though, sense it, quivering beneath the surface, and you heave your breaths along with them, the forest you inhale and exhale with the lot of them.

    You know not to touch though, to seek further, to spread apart the flowering shrubbery or to part the bushes from the trees. There may lay something dangerous inside, and you are not wont to look, you prefer to carry on with your life path, strictly you are on the path of seeking another form of outlook. Each step reminds you that you have turned away from the shudders, the living creatures hidden, hiding well away, because each footstep you take, the vibrations grow smaller and of less frequency, and this pleases you, for you can move on with what you seek.

    What you seek is a place to lay, a place to rest your world-weary cheeks, to reside in a canopy of fronds that will tickle yet cause deep feelings of momentous pleasure-causing breaths, high then lower bounds and leaps. Where you can rest with quiet confidence that you will be uninterrupted, you’d even take an isolated gorge as a place of rest, if this solitude were presented. But now you discover a nook in the canopy, and further below what appears a gnawed-out area within some undergrowth, and here you are pressed for choice, which shall you select? With a firm conviction you crawl, hands and knees, into the tightly hollowed undergrowth perfect for someone of your stature and your stature alone, and you now breathe in the welcoming woody scent. You may have found yourself a warming and protective home.

    Huddled, you rest, knees to your chest, rocking back and forth to generate some extra heat, as well as an expulsion of additional nervous energy, for you feel something is forthcoming. On the horizon there is no proof, no inkling that there will be a change in the view, but you can sense it, and your heart quivers with this truth.  It is as though you possess an extrasensory perception for these kinds of things, and like the breathing of the forest which you also breathed with, you hone in on the sense of trepidation you have come to associate with this futuristic feeling.

    But there is nothing to fear, a brightness appears, heralding something close by, something becoming nearer. Your heart bounces and bounces; with each beat it creates for your life to continue onward, for your life to continue to be held lovingly dear. Then this light draws closer to you, seems to hone in on your presence, as though you are the heated target it seeks to reach its ill-fated doom. Instead of an explosion, the orb attaches itself to you, nestled through the occasionally-jagged undergrowth and now you feel yourself warming.

    Hotter and hotter you become, as if your face is awash with burning shame, and then you realise that you are actually positively glowing. Glowing with the sense of confidence that you had lost for years, a strength of personal abundance that will keep you going and knowing that you are something fierce and mighty to combat, not something helplessly wasting away. That you are strong, you are an almighty being who you can now completely believe in. A sense of personal mystery is no longer vibrating as your aura. You are now glowing perfectly.

    Feel the sense of freedom that comes with being your true self. At believing that you are talented, intelligent, on a path of truthful self-enlightenment. That you do not need to hide yourself away, ashamed at your apparent lacking of flowery traits and self-concepts, because you already possess the formula that life has projected within your mind and heart. You know these experiences better than any crowd who believes they knew the lot of them.

    Possess your self-worth and place freshly bloomed flowers within it as if it were a freshly blown glass vase, because you are now transparent and there is only true beauty to view. Understand there may be slight imperfections, perhaps cracks or internal bubbles, but know this: you are amazing, and you have finally found the right view. It was always sitting within you, your internal mirror, the true reflection of you.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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  • Poetry and Prose: The Disguises – 10/10/19

    Poetry and Prose: The Disguises – 10/10/19

    What can I say? I’m a chameleon — I can shape shift at will. With the right applicators, the right clothing, the right hair colour, I can alter my appearance and seemingly become someone else, a new someone. My ability to change is inherent, a desire to change who I am, to become something more, but why can’t I be completely content with who I am?

    There is no need to continually change anymore. I am accepted for who I am and how I appear, and for those who decide to speak otherwise, I’ll dismiss their words without a care. For, I have gone through so much internal suffering and physical upheaval, my alterations took a great toll on my tired body and heavy mind.

    A chameleon may be desirable to those who prefer their others as showy and changeable, but I am now an almost-contented being; only a few complaints have I, and I can work on altering these, quietly, without the flash of colours in the brimming sky in others’ perceptive eyes, their flashing, thoughtful eyes.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.  


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  • Poem: The Ribbon-Twirling Dancing Dolly – 06/10/19

    Poem: The Ribbon-Twirling Dancing Dolly – 06/10/19

     She joyously twirls bright ribbons yet feels dead inside,
    With a knowledge that what was once there,
    Fresh-faced, bright, youthful, still alive,
    Is now broken, irreparable,
    Scattered in pieces upon the stage,
    An urban pavement,
    Nothing to show for the destruction,
    No sense of inner pride or holding her head up high.
     
    Her dolly-brightness is a façade
    The light and shade a humorous method
    At relaying that inside she is still ignited
    Still burning with life;
    One only has to look at her lack of brightened eyes
    To take in this scene with a sense of absent mirth.
     
    Oh, how she could have reached the heights
    Become more than she had ever been
    How she could have flown into the hemisphere
    Succeeding and achieving at building a life
    Of her own.
     
    But here she is
    Dead as a doornail because of the path that she chose,
    To vacuously entertain and be admired rather than use her mind,
    To exercise the chemistry of her intelligent brain

    For a while she was simply an amusement
    A joke
    Something mocked behind open hands
    Just something to be viewed in passing
    upon the set stage.

    But with time, hopefully she’ll rectify her life
    Breathe in once more
    And live a great freedom, a life
    Without recollection of that strife.
     
    Because dollies are meant to play
    Entertain their owners
    Give them joy for hours upon days
    And seemingly there is nothing wrong
    With amusing another
    When it is performed with great respect of oneself
    And with an allowance of renewed life and vigour.
     
    Thus, with her self-justification and self-talk
    She feels less dead inside now,
    Her stitched-shut eyes now become visible once more,
    Brightened with the knowledge
    that her presence is again wanted
    She is popular,
    Not cast aside onto the floor.
     
    A renewed sense of popularity,
    A chance to regain a zest for life,
    To provide them with who she was meant to be -
    Now,
    She throws down her ribbons
    Which kept her bound and down.

    Altered, affected and no longer ill at ease
    She strives for something more,
    Something less vapid,
    A role in life where she could be
    Acknowledged as being more than what she’d been designed for,
    Her eyes are finally open enough to see.

    © 2019 Alice Well Art, Lauren M. Hancock also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.


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