Tag Archives: listening

The Three Voices

Little Voice, Big Voice and Real Voice lived together inside their human.

Little Voice spoke in faint whispers. She was very wise but her wisdom was shrouded by low self esteem.

Big Voice had no trouble being heard. He mostly talked utter nonsense, yet no body had ever pointed this out. So he just kept talking.

Real Voice prided himself on his sense of accuracy. He said things as they were. He saw things in black and white. This was unfortunate as he missed out on many colourful opportunities.

One day their human began practising the art of silence. Someone told her there was a way she could control her thinking. This concerned the three voices.

Real Voice decided to talk with Big Voice and Little Voice.
They all gave each other a moment to say their piece.

This had never been done before.

Big Voice said ‘you know this is just a passing phase. Another New year, she thinks she can have a new mind. She will never stick it out.’

Real Voice smirked at Big Voice ‘this is not some new diet or passing phase, I sense she actually wants to gain some perspective. Some humans happily drift through life and allow their voices to take over. She’s not like the rest of them. Something has changed.’

Little Voice, brushed her hair away from her mouth and said, ‘maybe she wants to think for herself? Does she not deserve to hear her own true voice in the silence?
We speak over each other, well you two do. I rarely get a chance to be heard.
I’m a cheer leader with Pom Pom’s and a whispering voice. I want to scream at her to just do it. Become a tightrope walker in stilettos if you want. She doesn’t want to join the circus but you get my drift.’

Real Voice smiled at Little Voice and spoke in a forgiving tone. ‘Dreams are for the sleeping Little Voice.’
Big Voice interrupted, ‘well now I’d have to disagree with you there. Not everything is black and white. Dreams are not just for bedtime, they are the foundations of new beginnings, the building blocks on which new lives are made.’
Little voice clapped in delight. ‘That’s the most positive thing I have ever heard you think Big Voice.’
Real Voice sensed an air of difference, he never witnessed Little Voice and Big Voice compliment one another.
Big Voice sounded quieter and Little Voice grew almost taller.

‘I can hear you all’, said their Human. The three voices looked up in the air as though a god had spoken from the heavens.
‘Rumbled I tell you’, said Real Voice
‘We have been rumbled.’
The three voices held hands in fear.

There has been less noise recently, the voices try not speak over each other. Little Voice doesn’t whisper anymore. Big Voice is a better listener and Real Voice is taking a colour therapy class. He wants to brighten his horizons.

An Peann

Happy New Year Readers.
This year listen to your own voice. The one that’s trying to find you. X

 

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Under Cavan Skies

On the 360th day of the year with four minutes to midnight we stood under clear Cavan skies.

Every star had a sharpness so bright they could make an atheist bow at their majesty.
You cannot deny what the eyes make you see.

Orion’s Belt was fastened with clarity.
A question mark backwards demanded we ask ourselves the unanswerable.

Above Orion was a red star.
Stars normally don’t impress me, they make me dizzy.

They crowd my thinking, take my breath away, make me feel small and overwhelmed. They frighten me with their boastful eternity.

They will continue to shine long after we are gone.

The Ancient Greeks once thought there was a blanket behind the skies, they believed the blanket was pierced with little holes, in which the light shone through.
Those lights are what we call the stars.

Time teaches us to believe different things.

As we stood under the lights, I listened as he told me what the constellations were called.

I listened because these past few weeks have taught us that although the stars relentlessly shine, those we love can dim their light.

People can walk out the door and never come home again.

Children can be taken before they are given the opportunity to shine.

Who’s heaven decides such fate?

Illness can meet you at unexpected places, leave or take us into his arms and walk away with us.

Walking up the yard toward the house, the blue lights of the suspended Christmas tree on the street outside, brought us back to the falseness of our reality.

Our made up world that we focus so much on, fades in comparison to the Greek blanket hanging in the Cavan sky.

Oh, the beauty and fragility of life.
Understanding that brightness can be found even in the darkest corners, can resurrect our hopes.
There is such power and strength to be found in the darkness of life, for through the darkness is the epitome of life – those everlasting twinkling beacons of night’s light.

If only we could remember to bring those stars into our day’s light.
There may come a time, you need to fight for some light, if you do just remember
that once the Greeks believed in a pierced blanket in the sky.
Anything is possible, if you are willing to see the light.

An Peann

 

A Coat of Vulnerability

I once had the pleasure of hearing Patti Smith perform in London. Only two hundred of us shared a room with her.
I was young and mesmerised.
It was one of those evenings; I banked preciously in my mind.
A night I knew, I wouldn’t forget.

Recently, she was asked to sing at the Nobel Laureate Ceremony, when she was asked to sing the winner hadn’t been announced.
She soon found out Bob Dylan her hero, was the person she would be honouring with song. She decided she would sing Dylan’s ‘A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall.’ A beautifully painful piece.

Hard Rain fell as she sang, the words left her.
Accompanied by a full orchestra in the company of dignitaries and royalty, she had to stop.

‘Sorry, can we start over? I’m so nervous?’

Instead of being another star’s falter, it became poetry in motion. The ultimate illustration of how we can all make mistakes. In a cold world, where people are quick to judge and slow to praise or support each other, Patti wore a Coat of Vulnerability. A delicate outfit worn by a beautiful human being.

Patti a hero of mine, honoured her hero Bob Dylan. Her performance was stunning, more splendid by the stumble.
Sometimes words leave us.
Sometimes people leave us.

We can always find our song again, even when we are nervous.

Mistakes are good, they are the lessons that help us find our way again.

Imagine a world where we could, just start over again?
We live in that world.
Patti wore a coat of Vulnerability, she wore it well.

An Peann

Dedicated to my favourite singer in the world Olivia Luc her lovely husband and beautiful family. They have had their own painful song to struggle through recently, together they have strength and love in their song. Well wishes to you all. Xxx

 

Where Cold Ghosts Meet

On Grafton Street she was putting the finishing touches to her chalked coloured masterpiece.
She drew love hearts over all the i’s, pretty they were in their painful disguise.

I had seen her work before, on the ground of Henry Street, her colours then washed away by the man in the truck that sweeps.

I never made time to read them, you know how we are sometimes in a rush?

Last night, I stopped.
I stopped, instead of glancing at the wares inside the windows of the Brown Thomas shop.

I stopped, became moved without moving.
Together we read her chalked words.
Her message reminded us how we should never look down on others.
I asked her could I sit down?
Together we shared a space on the cold October ground.

Her Mother gifted her to the State when she was 12.
Pragmatically she explained, it was for her own safety’s sake.

I asked her was she not fostered?
Shaking her head she told me how her Mam still had rights at the time.
Voluntarily she entrusted her into the arms of the state,
with a promise and a hope to take back home some day.

‘Where did you grow up?’ I asked her.
It turned out we we both grew up in Tallaght.
Looking at her face, I felt I could have known her Mother.
She explained that she grew up in Jobstown, I said ‘so did I’.
She looked back at me with shock in her eyes.

She calls herself April.
She is 18 and a half years old.
She grew up running away from various Care Homes, she didn’t like the hostels, she said ‘it’s not safe to sleep on the street.’

‘I have a tent, another couple stay there too, no one comes near us.’ She assured me it was somewhere safe to rest her pretty red head.

She has somewhere to have a shower every day at nine.
She goes to Art classes in a homeless project, to pass away the time.

More than anything she just wants a real home, so she can go back to school.
This young girl has had it hard, but she is nobody’s fool.
She is waiting for aftercare, the social worker closed her case.
Eighteen years old, no longer a care for the State.

April wants to go to Trinity, she reads a lot.
To study history, even be an archaeologist some day.

I told her she was too beautiful for the streets, she said ‘ah, thanks, thanks a lot.’ She really was ever so sweet.

April grew up across the river from where I lived.
The river being a trickle that divides a multitude of lives.

I am sorry for you, I said.
I don’t feel sorry for you.
I am just sorry you have to live this life.

We hugged, longer than we needed to.

April being no fool, is burdened by circumstances.

She is just a young girl who deserves the right to go back to school.

An Peann

I asked April was it okay to write about her, she said it was okay. If you are reading this, stay safe.
You will go to Trinity some day.
Big Hug.xxx

Metal Horses

In the darkness they leave, pushing wheels across crunching gravel.

They move quietly around corners, waiting for the morning air to awaken their senses.

They walk up the steep hill, like it’s Everest, smiling in relief as they reach the top.

The sunrise stretches his red arms across the sky as they reach the graveyard on the hill.

Stopping again, they dismount to give way for another weary soul.

She puts her hand upon the clasp of his young hand, thinking, it’s time for gloves again.
I love you, he said. With a smile and a tighter grip over his hand, she loves him back.

Leaving each day in the darkness they awaken with the sunrise.

Returning home each night, they see the remain of the day nod his head at the coming of the night.

We are their metal horses, their trusty steeds, we take them safely and swiftly, from their sleepy dreams. There is a lot our bicycle wheels have heard and seen.

An Peann.

See your Own Road

A moment may arrive when you finally decide to

make your own path.

Do not shake in hesitation or self doubt.
This realisation, possibly frightening; could become one of the most liberating experiences you will ever know.

Many paths’ we share intertwine; however, each one of us must find our own way.

The road most travelled is smooth at the surface; the one less journeyed can have obstacles in its way.

These obstructions are not set in our way to stop us in our tracks; rather, they are the climbing challenges to our very own success.

For many reasons we may want to follow the masses; security, money, pressure, conformity- the list is endless.

The road less travelled can be paved with the architecture of your own dreams.

If your moment arrives, if you know it is time to walk alone – embrace the challenge, shake off the limited expectations others put upon you.

This is your path, your road, your life, your direction.
It is hard to get lost when you know your own way.

Life is a journey of the mind, turn off the ‘we know best for you’ satellite navigation; tear up the itinerary of the crowd.

See your own road.

For the very first time.

An Peann

Photography by Erik Johansson