MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “writing prompt”

Blissful

https://www.soulseeds.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/stairway-to-heaven.jpgBeauty is whatever gives joy” (Edna St. Vincent Millay). And what is joy? It “is a net of love with which you can catch souls” (Mother Theresa); “it is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognise how good things really are” (Marianne Williamson).

Sometimes – too often – we allow ourselves to be carried away by our anxiety, stress, anguish and worry to truly see all the things we should be grateful for. Our good health, our homes, the loving people around us.

There comes a moment when you feel you are drowning in engagement, in evergrowing “to-do-lists”, in increasing obligations that you persuade yourself to believe that something is wrong. But if we just stop, take a deep breath and look around, we see that there is a different perspective to life. One that is calmer, brighter, and a little more blissful.

Sometimes it takes a surprise, a gift, an escape journey to make you see it.

Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only walls” (Joseph Campbell).

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Bliss

Advertisements

Light up, light up

lampost-s-pier-sandra-crook

©Sandra Crook

In daytime, it seemed like a simple street lamp with its metallic surroundings and a white exterior. It was nothing special. At least that was what the majority of passers-by thought.

But one little girl believed differently. She saw in that lamppost a fairy tale. The first time she saw it, she said it reminded her of her father’s bedtime stories.

When night came, the lamp turned on; but in different colours. And when the first snowflake fell, the lamp turned itself into a lit-up snowball encasing Santa’s house.

Magic was there. You just had to want to see it.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

The Elegance of Grace

https://i.pinimg.com/736x/53/7b/8c/537b8cd6f9d98304e7b90a1308e2009d--la-dance-dance-photography.jpgShe grew up in a bedroom that was as big as some apartments she later saw during her rent-hunting period. She had always thought that was the norm. That all children were brought up in loving families that looked after their every need and sacrificed (themselves) for their own welfare. Finding out the truth hurt.

Elegance, her mother had always told Grace, was something that you learnt to impose on yourself to the extent that it came out as natural. It was like the pain a dancer felt, but to the audience it seemed like blissful gliding. That was the essence of elegance. To appear to have everything under control, without worries, stress or agony. It was not easy.

As she grew up, Grace lost her temper a lot. She was often nervous, allowing her agitation and fear to overcome her. Uncertainty did not fare well with her. She wanted things to be organised so that she could feel that she had the ability to impose some order in the chaos around her. But that wasn’t always possible.

It was only when she returned to ballet that she remembered. It reminded her that not everything had to be forced. Some things needed calm and patience to work out well and everything took time. It all fell into place at the right moment with the proper strain. The elegance was knowing how to acknowledge that and be prepared for when that moment arrived.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Elegance

The thrill of a parcel

http://www.chopra.com/sites/default/files/field/image/8giftsthatfosterkindnessandcompassion.jpgThere is something inexplicably intriguing with finding a parcel in the post addressed to you. Even if you know what is in it and you’re expecting it, you’re always filled with excitement at the mere sight of it. But when it comes as a surprise, a flood of enthusiasm fills your inside.

Tina found the parcel around noon. She had just returned from work and was looking forward to lying on the couch for the next couple of hours doing nothing, perhaps even dozing off a little. It was a medium-sized brown box. It could contain pretty much anything. But what was in it? And who was it from?

Tina examined it from all sides, but she couldn’t find an answer.

She took it into her flat and began to investigate how she could open it the fastest without causing too much damage to it. She took a scissors and ripped the packing tape holding the two box sides together. Inside was another package. This time in the form of a black-and-white paper envelope. She ripped it open to find a pair of purple woollen mittens.

Tina could barely contain her delight. Mittens for her meant one thing: snow. And as a December child, she loved this delicate white blanket that made everything seem all so magical.

In between the mittens was a small handwritten festive card. Tina read it and began to jump up and down with exhilaration. It was clear whom it was from and she couldn’t wait.

The card said, “are you ready!?

 

The magic season candles

candles_ IMG_20171126_122525_941

©MCD

It’s less than a month away!” miaowed Penny as she raced across the house into the kitchen. There was frost outside that morning and it made it feel all the more like winter. The streets and shops were already decorated, lighting up the magic of the season. For Penny it was more than just “the most wonderful time of the year”. Being a Christmas baby, she of course disliked the fact that everything was crammed into one day that did not entirely belong to her, but she felt it all so much more profoundly, deeply and emotionally. This was her season and she relished it.

This year, her parents decided to begin the season by handcrafting decorations before they turned the house into what could easily be likened to Santa Claus’ home. Her father brought out a huge pot and her mother put on an apron. Penny was curious. There were no ingredients out for cookies or cake. So what was going on?

“We’re going to make candles”, her mother announced. Scented, colourful, big or small they would all have something special because, like her parents always said, “what is made with love, reflects that positiveness and warmth”, and what would be more ideal for this season?

Penny watched as the fluid wax turned into hard candles. She believed she even saw a sparkle glowing from the mixture. And when the first candle was lit that night, she was certain; this was going to be one of the best holiday seasons ever.

Fernweh

FernwehThere is a word in German – Fernweh – describing a crave for travel; being homesick for a place you’ve never been. Few can understand the feeling. It’s the need to be somewhere else, wherever  you are at the moment. It’s that emotion that fills your veins when you stare outside a window on a rainy autumn morning. It’s the answer to “what’s wrong” on days you can’t function, or aren’t satisfied with anything but don’t know why.

We all experience that longing at some point in our lives. That need to flee, to escape it all; that urge for change; to find something new, something that will relight a spark in our lives.

Even if we don’t know where that place is, we will always be hopeful that there exists somewhere where everything is (somehow) better, different, brighter.

When a river turns into a current

Holding on to angerThere comes a moment when even the calmest of rivers transform into currents, streaming their way, carrying with them anything around them, like a gush of strong, wet wind flooding its surroundings. Times change. It is the nature of things. Nothing can maintain a steady rhythm, pace or rate perpetually.

There is a need to react, to act, to do something to relieve all those feelings that are suppressed inside. And the longer you keep them locked up, the greater the explosion will be.

Buddha said that “holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned”.

After the blow-out, disaster may have ensued around you, but it is you – the quiet stream – that has lost its composure, that has experienced something out of character, that has been irreversibly scarred. And the more times the river turns into a current and causes floods, the greater and irreparable the wounds will be.

The truth is, however, no matter how many self-esteem and self-improvement books we read, if we are not surrounded by people who understand us, who love us and who share our desire for mutual respect, it is not easy to maintain that much needed calm for long. All people really need is the acknowledgement of their actions and the reciprocation without needing to spell out everything done for someone else every single time. More often than not – and this should be the case – we do things for others because we want to, not because we have to. There is no point to the latter.

It is in the nature of things to fall apart. But it is also in their nature to come back together. The rate depends on us alone and our determination to prefer the calm river to the raging flood.

Autumn walks

©MCD_Autumn walks - Karpenisi

©MCD

There is something soothing about a walk in the park, surrounded by the colours of autumn, the falling orange-brown leaves and the crackling sound of them under your feet. There is something even more calming when you are accompanied by people you hold dear in your heart; more so when you’re holding hands transferring the warmth of love with one cherished.

Autumn walks help clear your mind. Because for those valuable moments you are lost in the footpath, your mind drifts among the crispy leaves, the fallen chestnuts, the tall trees of shades of yellow and brown. The tranquillity touches upon your soul in ways that only nature can. And you return somewhat changed, more serene, ready to set and accomplish new goals.

In a season of change, we need the escape to rethink our own paths in life and be ready to take bolder steps.

A shop of memories

chicagomg

©Marie Gail Stratford

It’s strange how certain places, songs, things, are associated with specific people. Maira had that. Every time she visited the city, she would always drop by her favourite department store.

And every time it would bring back memories.

She had visited that store so many times with different people. All with whom she shared a special bond.

That bond was rejuvenated whenever she stepped through the big glass door.

Even if she was alone, she always felt that sweet melancholy of beautiful times passed.

And so, each time, she always bought something from there. As a reminder of the visit.

 

Also part of Friday Fictioneers

Push the button

petergriffin - do not push buttonLife can change in an instant. It is at those moments you realise how short time is. How little you spend truly appreciating things that are important, and actually living. It is in those instants that you suddenly awake at the thought that you spend too many moments overthinking and worrying about things that won’t matter later on.

An instant is all it takes for the world to change.

In an age where technology has evolved to the extent that it connects people across countries, continents, oceans, time zones with just a click of a button, anything is possible. At any moment. In just an instant.

In our daily lives we are constantly pushing buttons. Some are in the form of switches, like the one you press to turn the light on or off. Some buttons start our cars, open doors, turn on the cooker / boiler, launch our computers/ tablets / phones. Things that we nowadays take for granted and happen automatically.

But what happens if we push the wrong button? If suddenly – in an instant – we mistakenly erase important data that we can’t recover? It is in that instant that time freezes. It is then that we realise how much power a simple button has, and how much we have entered an automated mode that we often do things – press buttons – without really considering the consequences.

We live life on full speed and when things get a bit out of hand we panic, we feel lost and desperate. It is not about the speed with which we do things. It’s about the buttons we push and the impact they will have on our lives. Even if it is just one button. The implications may be huge. Just think that a bomb – any type of – can explode at the simple push of one button.

Post Navigation