Raising Elves

As wild as nature. Myself, parenting and natural remedies blog.


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On being slow

When I was a child

I was slow.

Slow to process

slow to learn

slow to grow.

 

In those days there was

no such thing

as a person who learned

outside of the ring.

They yelled and they screamed

I could not do

anything.

 

So I became fast.

 

I acted instead of thought,

so fast.

I escaped instead of felt,

too fast.

I stopped thinking.

I stopped feeling.

I stopped being.

I stopped breathing,

at last;

they stopped shouting.

 

In the quiet of the night,

when no one was around.

I stopped stopping.

Dwelling inside

the rhythmic nothingness

of sound.

 

And I was slow.

 

I was me.

 

I comprehend slow, but deep.

I act slow, but wisely.

I am so slow,

I can hear your heart break.

And as a witness, you are held in my slowness.

 

I see you

I see everything

I process the elephant in the room

I store a few ounces of your anger, fear or pain

I am slow enough to see your light bloom,

or fade.

 

And although I am slow in living this life,

in learning or counting or holding

a knife,

I see all that is magic and all that is there.

I see you, Great Spirit,

I feel your soft hair.

 

Caressing.


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I tried it your way

I tried it your way.

Because I was not enough,

so you said.

Or I was wrong,

was what you meant.

But really, I was just a reflection.

Of everything you were not.

So I tried it your way,

as I am out to learn,

not to rot.

I became your reflection,

I became

your anger,

your frustration,

your disappointment,

your insecurity,

your jealousy.

You told me you were better,

so I became the worst.

You told me you were more beautiful,

so I became ugly.

You told me you knew everything,

so I became stupid.

 

I tried it your way.

That did not work so well for me.

So, here is my way.

 

I love you,

despite yourself.


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God in The Child

It was cloudy once.
The sun in my stomach.
Like a cob web,
It absorbed others’ niggles.
A desire to heal.
But it didn’t know how to re-release
the pain.
To transmute it.
So it became cloudy, heavy, sad.
The sun in my stomach lost its shine.

Then something had to give and
it burst.
Cobwebs flew heaven-bound.
And something beyond life took it away,
in a miracle.
I let it go.

I didn’t realise I was letting it go.
I just woke up and there was a hole in my stomach.
Where my sun used to be.
Where my cobweb used to be.

And I looked into the child’s eyes and saw God.
For me to say that word,comfortably, is a miracle.
And my hole started to fill.
I could feel it- the lights.
Tinkles, sparkles, love- my child.
She filled it.

So now I have a sun again.

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