Understanding Power

Power stands in solidarity with Truth

Power does not require the taking of anything from any other source

The individual who stands alone

In authenticity and fearlessness of it’s own self

In joy of it’s own self

In understanding of it’s boundaries, are indeed, the most powerful

Power refuses what does not serve authenticity

It identifies easily what is not authentic

It takes action towards authenticity-not allowing anything to stand in it’s way

Power and bullying are often confused

The bully steals, manipulates and lies to achieve it’s outcomes. It always requires a second party to take from, to attain what they desire.

A bully suffers from the fear of lack. When they see someone who has abundance, it triggers that fear of lack from within them.

It triggers a response that desires to take from another what they feel they lack.

The fear of lack triggers many dark responses from within us.

Procrastination, addiction, jealousy, envy, spite, revenge, manipulation, competition.

Any of these responses within us will lead to theft.

True power, requires no other source to satisfy itself

Power attached to authenticity easily pushes away the bully

The authentic self, harnesses it’s own resources from within.

It understands what it can do

It understands and joyfully accepts responsibility for it’s own actions

It runs towards success with joy

Cheering itself on and celebrating every win on it’s own without the need for any external affirmation

It celebrates and encourages others as they succeed because it is full and satisfied with it’s own success

Empowerment friends, is knowing that the self is enough.

The Scent of Victory

Come to me with sweet requests that mask blatant demands

Come to me with chocolate covered lies that leave a sickly bitter after taste

Come to me with offers of affection and companionship that are actually the shooting of a gun marking the beginning of a race and a myriad of silent stealthy competitions

Come to me with offers of abundance and prosperity but actually hand me lack, starvation and poverty

Come to me cloaked in purity and good intent that covers maliciousness, envy and hate

Come to me with all lies and deception as you desire


Nothing that lies hidden shall ever stay hid


Come if you dare.

Come to the Victor who lays everything bare.


I am a heart that lives outside of it’s own ribs

Easy to squeeze and soft to touch

Thumping continuously

Loudly for all to hear

Easy to prick and to bleed

I wonder who would want to….

There is a constant stream from those who do

And yet…thump thump thump it goes

People stare at it as if it is strange

But I cherish it and it’s strangeness

You can see the capillaries and the veins and watch it as it beats

I love this

And the ability to live exposed and uncaged

Hiding nothing

Beating without any blocks or embolisms

To live unguarded



Passionately and unfiltered

Screaming away from all expectations

Throwing them off because other peoples shame, is not my own

My passions are mine

There is no apology required from me for loving and feeling and expressing

I am not sorry for any passions I have….for that is my essence.

That is me.


I carry your words with me forever

Locked into my heart

Seared into it

As I saw you open the lid of yours

For the first time

……the last time

I could not help myself but inhale the essence of it deeply, ravenously

It is a scent I will never forget

It is a light so soft and gentle and true

If I could bathe in it

I would bathe in it forever

Bare skinned

Naked so I could feel it everywhere on me

I am greedy for it

Insatiable and thirsty for it

But I thank my stars and all of the heavenly hosts

That they allowed me to see it even once

To hear it’s perfection and to have my own heart attempt to escape it’s cage to join it forever

I will hold that moment as a treasure

The one thing that filled me to overflowing like none has ever done before

Say the word, and I will give you the key to unlock the cages that hold mine.

The Arrival

I am standing to attention

When the bugle called me to the marching grounds

I ran as fast as I could

As the Captain stands and blows the whistle

Men, this is not a drill

rat tatta tat tat tat

The assembly move in unison ducking and looking to the sky

To Armes men to Armes!” Screams the Captain

The enemy had arrived

Even the papers hadn’t predicted

As revenge from a bullying nation strikes hard upon the peaceful abundant nation for standing it’s ground against them.

The bullies escalate as a challenge with intent to force compliance

There is no way to avoid a Tsunami of enemies when they declare war upon you.

Judgement arrives whether we incite it or not

As nations are pulled apart

and innocent people are caught upon it’s deathly wave

Daniel and Mary (maybe the beginning of a novel?)


She walked along the river that night. A tinder box in her pocket, carrying it close and checking it often. Waiting for the darkest hour, the thickest of night, when stars were being snuffed and the mist lay heavily all around and drips echoed loudly upon the mossy stone.

It was the hour that moss and stone conversed, their words heavy and thick and slow. The moss was soft and welcoming, their secrets as heavy as the burdened leaves that bowed under the burden of their wintery loads. The drops falling like small boulders, just before the dawn. This was the time that she had waited for. She pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. A fleeting thought imagined and wished it was his arms instead.

Her boots fell heavily upon the damp leaves. They made little sound apart from the occasional thud, snapping of a twig or squelching of mud. She pulled her hat tightly over her frozen ears. If only she could hide her thoughts as easily as she could hide her ears, she thought to herself with a little annoyance. Her mind circled endlessly with memories that drove her boots steadily on. They seemed more assured than she was, as they trampled the damp squelching leaves. Her boots held a simple continuous rhythm that quickly aligned with the words in her mind…







She found herself repeating those words over and over again. What else could a poor girl do? She felt for the tinder box again. The callous cold metal was slowly warming against her heart as she pressed it closer, “Around the river bend, up Minors Hill. Climb up the old quarry.” He had said that day. She had been sure to repeat it over and over again, terrified she would forget it. Her breath became increasingly heavy as she traversed up the steep rocky side of the quarry. She could feel her nails tearing on the granite as she climbed steadily upwards. Heat, cold and burning fingers equally paining with her lungs and limbs, as she carefully balanced herself over short gravely trails and slippery boulders. “Not much of a trail.” She said out loud with a smile and a hint of sarcasm to herself. She could see why the cottage had been abandoned, The track was anything but simple. But she had set her course, and nothing could turn her from it. After what felt like hours…. the cottage and the wood pile, that he had so carefully described, appeared suddenly before her. It was as if it had been expecting her. Her eyes fastened to it immediately as she picked up speed – excitement and determination helping her forget the stinging and the burning aches as she ran toward it. She checked to see if the pile was damp, the surface layer was wet, but beneath it lay the perfect stack of dry aged timber and kindling. You were ready even then, she thought to herself in amazement. With shaking cold burning fingers she removed the top layer of damp useless timber, then removed the tinder box from her chest, began striking the flint. It caught on the third strike, as she delicately blew on it, as if it were hot soup, the thought of soup was torturous and she immediately focused on the task ahead in order to ignore the painful hunger. The flames grew steadily and she thanked the gods that no wind blew this morn. She nursed the flame carefully in the still wet blackness. Maybe the gods are with me after all…she whispered to herself. Soon the flames were licking the wood crackling and sending sparks into the air. She found an empty crate that lay recklessly about and sat down between the flames and the worn old cottage. It seemed to stare at her with its gaping windows, like a blind old widow. She pretended not to notice it, Ghosts shall surely arise from it if I pay it attention, she thought to herself.. The mist started to glow around the bonfire, like one of the new iridescent electric light globes she had seen recently in the shop window. She sat quietly making a fast and desperate prayer. Now all there was to do was wait and hope and pray.




Dancing Shoes

Feeling fuller than ever before

“At last!” she groans ..with a cheeky smile

I have drunk on the wine from the only cup I had ever desired

She drank thirstly

She was surprised at how satisfied she finally felt

It was the only thing she had ever wanted

Weights immediately lifted from her

And she remembers the visions from before


She dances with maidens until the dawn

Her Empire is readying itself for abundance

Famine has been vanquished

The rains have come

And all are released to thrive and create and grow

Although She see’s the horizon, she knows it is endless

Her feet cannot help themselves but kick upwards and her body move with joy.

She is ready.

She has been freed.

Perfectionism (a personal note)

Today I had to concede my issue with my own perfectionism and it’s root cause.

The root cause of my perfectionism is fear.

Fear of humiliation.

Fear of rejection

Fear of abandonment

Any kind of mistake or error made by myself, immediately has filled me with these overwhelming feelings

I immediately check, recheck my actions and previously my immediate response was always worse case scenario- upset, despair, anxiety, depression, shame, guilt and even self harm.

This has been highlighted for me just recently

I understand why I have this response. I understand that I have had inner child wounding. I understand where it comes from, how it occurred etc.

However, sometimes until we are triggered again- it is hard to know whether we have truly healed from these types of wounds, and what further healing needs to occur.

So thank you Spirit, here I go again, triggered (If I ever hash tagged….eye roll, groan, why me, when does it end, Spiritual Awakening=healing, so over it, better in the long run, faith- it will all make sense soon, please don’t let it carry on this badly next year, no excuses left, all my faults and wounds revealed, it really does help, still sux though)

What I have learnt, is that I am still deep in perfectionism. I have healed parts of it, but there have been parts that were not healed. It has created a dissonance within me. I am no longer self harming in regards to being confronted with my own errors, however, On occasion those unhealed parts, still trigger defensiveness, behaviours and those old familiar negative fear based feelings. I am scared of criticism. I have visions of mass rejection and humiliation, that immediately spring to my mind. It occurred to me that I have never accepted that error and imperfection is a natural/ normal part of being human. When one is a perfectionist, error feels 100x worse because the fall from grace feels greater, you feel the disappointment of the people around you, and the question of loss of reputation equates to disaster. Shame is quick to follow. The other response I have had, on the flip side, is overreactions to other peoples mistakes, condemnation, judgement, self righteousness, rejection. In other words projection onto others. This feels worse to me, understanding that, I am treating others this way, because that is how I feel. I am again called to heal my childhood wounds. Learn to accept and love myself as I am. Accept my imperfections, so that I can accept imperfections in others. Love myself so I can also love others.

As I talk about love over and over again, I am again convicted about my own words and actions towards others. Everything I write about on this platform, are all messages for me just as it is for you. Spirit speaks through me, but nothing is held from me in regards to responsibility in heeding those messages.

Owning my imperfections enables easier transparency for those around me and enables generalised increased openness and therefore reduction of stress for me.

I didn’t realise how by owning my imperfections, that I am also able to be more relatable to others.

Mistakes are normal

Mistakes are how we learn

Mistakes are ok

Consequences are inevitable….no matter what

Keep on the healing journey friends.

Love xxx

Death of the Ego

I stand on a mountain with my chest puffed out

I stand as a heroine

as a Queen and an untouchable thing

I hold my nose in the air as I smell the stench of other peoples offenses

fearing them

avoiding them

refusing to even look at them

…..even hating them

I hold my nose assuming the stench is from everybody else

until a spotlight is held upon the mountain from which I stand

suddenly I see the refuse of my own waste

My own colossal mountain of rubbish that came from me…was made by me.

The Spot light which at first I enjoyed in my pride

I now wish I could run from, because it reveals my shame to all!

The Spotlight has become the murderer of my pride

But oh how it has enlightened me to feel compassion

and again I stand here shaking my head at my own error and arrogance and ask you for your forgiveness.

Spirit….I wish there was another way.