There are some people on this planet who are amazing aren’t there? When I think of all the billions of people who must exist on this planet at any one time, then look around me, well – I feel luckier than most.

I don’t mean to boast – no, not at all – just thinking and surmising about this gift that we call life because it’s so great to be alive here and now. Just try and think about it, just put all your worries and woes down beside you for a bit (they’ll wait – believe me) and think of all the things that put a smile on your face. Even if you don’t think there’re many, you certainly have some, and because you know what ‘nice’ is like, you know what to look for while adding to the little bit of ‘nice’ you’ve got right now. Before long you’ll have some more ‘nice’ in your life.

 

Now don’t get me wrong! This is not an easy thing to do. I’m not talking about the kind of nice that’s here one moment and gone the next – short term ‘nice’ – like a ‘nice’ day at the beach or a ‘nice’ cuppa with a friend at the coffee shop. I’m talking about the kind of ‘nice’ you can turn to when your world feels like it’s about to crumble, crash and fall. The kind of ‘nice’ that can turn tears of brokenness and despair into a tug at the corners of your mouth and gradually dawn into a tiny glimmer of hope.

 

Could it be that short term ‘nice’ is like a spark from a spark plug in a motor that ignites the fuel – the beginnings of a chance of momentum? In its own self encouraging way, a healthy motor with plenty of fuel will keep firing along regardless of the circumstances.

 

That’s the kind of ‘nice’ I mean. The fuel and air inside a cylinder of a motor is pressurised until the spark ignites it and the cycle is repeated over and over again. I can imagine the cylinder and the piston thinking – yeah, yeah, yeah, same old, same old – it only sees its own little world of drudgery, pressure and heat – you see, its not able to see outside its own environment and unless it can it will never find it’s self worth and feel any real fulfilment in existing at all. If only it could know just how much I appreciate its little part in the running of my car and how it makes our lives so much more enjoyable to live.

 

That’s the kind of ‘nice’ we need too – long term ‘nice’ (fuel) To know, regardless how things look and feel, we have worth and we do make a difference – a reason for being here whether we can see it or not. It kind of  helps to keep that burn inside us, lighting in us a momentum that helps the world turn, no matter how small our little ignition, if we could understand the power of ‘nice’ we could set the world ablaze with so much more than we are.

 

Regardless of how difficult it may be for you right now, try to remember that your ‘nice’ wants to be nice to you. Smile – it actually is good for you…

 

You matter so much

 

Love? Huh?



Here are the words...

Some love is just a lie of the heart
The cold remains of what began with a passionate start
And they may not want it to end
But it will, it's just a question of when
I've lived long enough to have learned
The closer you get to the fire the more you get burned
But that won't happen to us
Because it's always been a matter of trust

I know you're an emotional girl
It took a lot for you to not lose your faith in this world
I can't offer you proof
But you're gonna face a moment of truth
It's hard when you're always afraid
You just recover when another belief is betrayed
So break my heart if you must
It's a matter of trust

You can't go the distance
With too much resistance
I know you have doubts
But for God's sake don't shut me out

This time you've got nothing to lose
You can take it, you can leave it
Whatever you choose
I won't hold back anything
And I'll walk away a fool or a king
Some love is just a lie of the mind
It's make believe until it's only a matter of time
And some might have learned to adjust
But then it never was a matter of trust

I'm sure you're aware love
We've both had our share of
Believing too long
When the whole situation was wrong

Some love is just a lie of the soul
A constant battle for the ultimate state of control
After you've heard lie upon lie
There can hardly be a question of why
Some love is just a lie of the heart
The cold remains of what began with a passionate start
But that can't happen to us
Because it's always been a matter of trust

Holy Smokes! Beats me...

Night’s the worst, don’t quite understand why – guess it’s just one of those things. Something about the way the day goes through the mind, almost like rewind but just a little different to the real; only one dimensional – from one point of view I guess. It opens up a door somehow into ‘imagination’ and that’s where it happens – actually, that’s where most things start. If we dare to walk through that door, the dream opens up before us while we’re awake.

 

Some people remember the dreams they live while sleeping, but I only remember the dreams I have while I’m awake, and oh! Such dreams they are!

 

I think I’ve heard it said that we can control our dreams; that we make our dreams work to our will – yes, I understand it can be that way. There is a great need for us to choose to dream and to form our dreams which will eventually form our lives; a very important gift we have as humans. Perhaps if we could understand what our imaginations were really for, the world would be a much brighter place in which to live.

 

But that’s just me and yet another silly dream…

 

It’s dark, and the aroma drifts in. Lying, breathing as quietly as I can, it’s a touch to the senses that awakens the person inside me; the one who lies dormant, hidden by life and responsibility. She is a very real person and seriously one who is not to be taken lightly…

 

It’s strange to think – if we met ourselves and got to know us, I wonder would we see ourselves the way others do. It’s not quite the same as someone else trying to shape us into the form they would like us to be, it would be us being honest at last. Not in a cruel harsh way but actually honest with ourselves for our own good/growth/fun.

I open my eyes and I see the movement, the colours, as the aroma of excitement is breathed in and out of my lungs. The sensations, thrills, tastes and smells; a face.

 

Piercing eyes, and lips that smile…

 

I wake in the morning. It’s over; fondly remembering everything right up to the time I fall asleep. Yes, night’s the worst, don’t quite understand why – guess it’s just one of those things.

 

Something about the way the night goes through the mind, almost like rewind but just a little different to the real; only one dimensional – from one point of view I guess…

 

He came one night…

 

Lying on her makeshift bed – cardboard boxes folded on the concrete floor - Rachael was lost to the world that other people called ‘normal’. She had never known a parent, never understood what it was to be embraced by arms that protect, nurture and love - only ever lived servitude; the world of ‘give and never expect’. Small frame, dark rich hair that glowed a halo framing a grubby pixi face in which swam the deepest eyes, full of fear – full of too much life lived before its time.

 

I think it was the way she lay there in the semi dark of the light shining through a square hole that used to be a window. So small. Curled up under the woollen blanket, folded in an attempt to compensate for the holes – she shivered regardless, but that was just life and there were many far worse off that she. He stood there for the longest time, looking. As he watched she shivered once more and rolled over, curled up into a tight little ball. He drifted off into the past and stood in this world yet lived within the memories – a very different life in a world that no longer existed.

 

Memories carried him to days full of family fun, light and hope together with his wife Catherine, a wonderful gift to him in a life that was close to perfect. Just before their 5^th wedding anniversary, she gave birth to twin girls who meant the world to him. The 3 great joys of his existence would dance and laugh in the warmth of the past. He remembered a time when the girls were around 8 years old, a camping trip to a remote river where they fished from the banks – the girls picking flowers, dancing and laughing in the warm sun under the gaze of dad and mum who were one in heart and soul.

 

A sound woke him and carried him back ending the momentary escape from the ‘real’ by rats and other vermin fighting over a morsel of refuse they considered edible. Little did he know, it was Rachael’s stash of supplies, scrounged from the street the night before hidden for when the light of dawn dragged her into another day of her existence – the life she had been granted by whom, she knew not.

As she uttered a muffled cry, sobbing into the dream, his heart picked her up and then his body followed. Lying in his arms, her new daddy’s footsteps echoed into the night, the sound bouncing off the cold concrete paths and walls – a sound of defiance at the world from just two who had been robbed of so much…