Honoring the sacred

I know this might sound like common sense, but, I just had a deep thought about what makes sacred to someone. For some it’s a religious thing, but for me, the world opens up when you realize that sacred isn’t just in a church.

Sacred is sometimes simple, sometimes complex. It’s the thing that a person doesn’t behave normally towards. They grow quiet, they slow down, they pause. Their sacred is the one thing that they have when all else goes bad.

For some it’s a place, standing on a field preparing to play a game. For some, it’s music. The silence before they start to play. That sacred is something they honor with silence. With something peaceful.

For some, it’s a memory of something. Something good, something true. Something others might not understand, but that stands at the core of everything they are and want to be.

The biggest gift you can give to someone, is to find and honor what is sacred to them. There is a connection there, an understanding. A silent but unspoken code of ethics. You don’t trod on another man’s sacred.

That is integrity.

What’s sacred to you?

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A simple declaration

Though, it’s too foolish to be believed
extremely rash,
and ill-conceived,

My heart rushes out to meet you.

With dignity and head held high,
I burn through my blushes
and scream to the sky.

My heart rushes out to meet you.

Though, I cannot control
what others say,
I keep bravely along my integral way.

My heart rushes out to meet you

Though, they may rebuke my determination.
make mockery or active consternation,
chide me with endless conversation,

My heart still rushes out to meet you.

The truth about a tea towel

There is a tea towel on my wall. It’s covered in birds and words, listing their names. Your mum bought it for me, after she told me about you, gazing out the window into the garden, trying to reconnect the scattered parts of yourself.

 It was the first time you sparked back to yourself, inquisitive and thoughtful. You commented on the antics of the birds you identified. You didn’t see her reaction (the English are soo terribly good at hiding them) which is why, the sudden tears, in her eyes, made an impact upon me, sitting in Emma Bridgewater, listening to the hope in her voice. 

Hope for your future. A new you peeking out. A you she hadn’t seen in years. Something beautiful emerging from forgotten dust and illness.

You thought I was cold, but really I was keeping everything closed up in my chest. My duty was to allow you to have your say, your right to express things freely, your point of view and your hurt. Your words the thread you needed, to properly sew old wounds up.

I wasn’t detached. I was concentrating on holding my own broken pieces  firmly against my skin, so as not to pierce yours, newly healed.  You may not think so, but that was love. 

Goodbye can be a type of love, if done respectfully. Not a pretty kind, but still love, nonetheless.

Where’s the poetry?

Ok, this blog is terribly, terribly random. Not gonna apologize. It’s kinda the true essence of who I am, ya know? I’m Bekki and I am random as hell.

However, I am also polite. I realize you might have actually come here with specific post or topic in mind, in which case you can use the link below the header to select the stuff you are really looking for, like poetry. (If you are using a tablet you might need to select the = like symbol to open the drop down box) I link all my poems in archival by year and they order from oldest to newest. I try to keep it up to date, but there might be a month or two missing until I get at least 6 (poems) stacked up waiting to be archived.

Anyway, hello! feel free to be nosy. I posted it to be an entertaining visit…kinda. if you like introverts who rant, lecture, spout off about weird crap and generally live a random existence, you just found the place to be.

Maybe just me then huh?