Expressive and Emotional word content… poetic justice… my thoughts are perceptive, occasionally subjective but always dimensional. My career lies in psychology and my mind lies in philosophy. To question and ponder is to reflect. I am both reflective and directive. I never walk with caution as our steps need their footprints. I love this journey we call life.

The value of life

I felt perplexed and uncomfortable initially writing this post as this topic is subjective, and sensitive to some. It is also interchangeable, hard to measure, and frankly sore.

How can we put a value on life? Is our value equally proportionate to our own experiences, or is this simply biased, based on negative perception, or positive naivety?

I ask this as today I had the unfortunate (or fortunate, depends how you look at it) experience on my way home from my university course. I came across a fellow student in a distressing and risky situation, were I feel that she was contemplating this exact value. I said fortunate experience as I do feel that we had disturbed a possibly irreversible event, and I am so grateful for this. This lady evidently needed help so I do not feel like our intervention was a hindrance, nor would I have done anything different. I don’t believe this person devalued life, I believe her own narrative told a story of pain, torture and desperation, and at that moment, value was meaningless. Like many other people in similar situations, this shit is real. I see the pain and can feel the hope dripping away from them, and this challenges every drop of my own integrity, and passion for both my personal and professional stance. I value life.

Yet so do they.

Ignorance states choosing to not value life is selfish and cowardly. However, if life is causing continuous pain and suffering, then the value has clearly diminished for that person and who are we to judge. We don’t live their life and we do not know their narrative. It is not for us to judge, but to value not only our life, but also the way we live it. The way we don’t judge, and the way we are willing to help those who cannot see their journey as they are blinded by pain.

It is a joint journey we take on this game of like and we pick others up and promote the value When they can’t see, we become their eyes, and when they lose their words, we offer words of support.

The value of life. My own, yours, his, hers, and theirs…..

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Sun ponders, smiles, rain and despair!

The sun is red hot as I sit in my garden listening to the sounds of summer, the dogs barking in excited chatter, the bees flying around busy at work..

Quiet reflection is impossible, but it gives realistic pondering centre stage. Everybody is enjoying the weather, the bbqs are dusted off, social groupings grow, people enjoy good food and drink. Everybody is happy. The sun keeps on shining.

So what about when the sun packs it’s own bags and jets off away? When the rain returns, and the summer sounds are replaced with thunderous booms, and the sound of abandonment and empty streets.

Where do the happy people go? Crowds disperse, people hibernate, food and drink becomes purely a lifeline as the bbq is shunted back to its dusty place in the shed.

Do we honestly need that lightened sparkle to feel alive? That heat on our face, to feel blessed? We all love a sun tan and summer but winter, spring and Autumn are also worthy of the blessed delight.

Smile, we are alive!

The erotic poet

I write from my soul, often paralysed by my own cognitive pen. I do not stick to a subject matter as I truly believe we are all multifaceted and diverse. I do believe that to remain honest with ourselves, we need to know every facet of our inner person, and own our own emotions, motivations and desires. I was honoured and intrigued when asked to participate in an interview and feature for this amazing online magazine. Like myself, their subject matter remains open and free. So of course I obliged…..

https://www.reflexivemag.com/articles/2018/5/23/writing-erotica-porn-series-emma-mari

Give them a read and a share. We all need to share the love

To love is to breathe

I had a thought in the darkest part of the night, ‘what if we loved instead of hated?’

What if we loved ourselves and felt comfortable in our own skin? Would it be really that bad to look properly in the mirror and look past the negative focus? To look deeper? Often we see blemishes of our own thoughts, shadows of our emotions, we are blinded by our own cynical lens.

How often do we appreciate a flaw as positively different? As unique? As simply us?

Do we hate on ourselves more out of insecurity and in fear of others judging us first? Are we afraid of the societal gaze and not measuring up?

Who the hell sets the scoring board? Who alters the bar? I often wonder if it isn’t our own doubt that leaves us feeling oblivious to our true beauty, yet to blame society seems just somehow 🤔

Social media does portray beauty in a can, falsifies the true natural state of a woman (and a man), but we can ignore this and take a stand to be whom we are….can’t we?

The opinion of others can only affect us if we let it, or if we perceive it. Beauty is standing tall and relishing in the chaos. Beauty is pure acceptance and that glow of radiance which is a result of being happy.

Happiness is not physical beauty. That’s simply a fabrication created within us. If we look good, we feel good right?

No.. because love is deeper than skin level. We need to accept and love whom we are, then beauty will own us. Simples.

Check out this amazing blog and please share. Let’s support each other and promote inspiration! ❤️

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Never allow your fear to become your suicide

Life is not meant to be easy, nor is it meant to be simple, our complex minds could not deal with the minimal stimulation of complete predictability. Life does need a healthy balance, and requires a healthy parallel of positivity to every negative angle.

As individuals, sometimes it’s easy to ride with our stabilisers on, to always walk accompanied, and to only jump when we have a safety net. Often it feels safer to walk the clearest paths, and to avoid the undergrowth. The safest path often seems like the better choice, and following the signs minimises pain, disappointment, and failure.

We remain creatures of habit and with that habit, comes death. Death of a dream. Death of our individual identity and hope.

What is the alternative? Our fear of the unknown screams loudly in the dark, and keeps us frozen to our rigid spot. Our metaphoric safe haven.

How can we comprehend and consider a different option If we continue to allow our fear to have an audience? Like a school bully, we empower it to grow and become stronger, as we watch ourselves shrink and shrivel deeper into our unhealthy beliefs. We watch ourselves die, leaving a shell of regret, disappointment, and that awful question of ‘What if?’

Sometimes that little step, that tiny risk, that glimmer of life, can ignite the small flame within us and all of a sudden, everything changes. Hope is reborn. We can start to believe again. We can live.

We are simply a reflection of our thoughts, defined by our emotions and become our own hero’s through our actions.

We simply need to be who we are. No restraints.

Find the Comfort in the Chaos

How often do we look at our life and judge our success on the the here and now? How often do we judge others, make assumptions based on our own perceptions of their narratives. Do we truly believe that happiness is dependant on order and neatness? Is that even a realistic concept??!

Do we notice the chipped paint and tarnished surfaces of today, or do we allow ourselves to enjoy the moments, the sweet memories, and the ghosts of yesteryear.

Often we sit and ponder on life and the journey we have chosen to take, or the paths which we have detoured from. Every broken plate has a story, every picture frame holds an abundance of emotions, and a personal canvas.

Can a tidy life really show a truly loved life? Don’t get me wrong, we all require a degree of order to ensure stability and security, but do we lose stimulation, impulsivity, FUN?!

Time is priceless, we cannot trade it, return it, nor can we ask for a refund. Once spent, it is gone, never to be seen again, and with it, a small part of ourselves disappears.

Forever.

As we age, our personas continue to change, the roles within our lives constantly changing and evolving, until we don’t recognise ourselves anymore. Then one day we are sat in a cluttered room thinking ‘where did it all go?’

To others we are cluttered by mess, but to us, that mess encompasses every memory we have made and shows that instead of simply keeping our lives tidy, we rejoiced in the chaos and lived it for all it was worth.

Then we grab the dustpan and brush, clear up the mess and carry the hell on….

Illustration by (Instagram): Honcaillustration