Love without pronouns means nothing

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just (don’t do it)

Just

Please Don’t Disturb 

Maybe

The Beauty is in the Mystery

Pretending

you don’t have to answer

Postcard from Heaven 

My child,

I heard what you said. I heard what you didn’t say. I even heard what leaked out in your tears. That’s the hard part about being me, I hear everything. And no, I don’t always respond. Because you don’t want me to. And, you’re right, I will tell you exactly what you think I will. Funny how that happens. Funny how you just don’t want to hear it. And I don’t want to say it. Again.

But this time, you’re not blaming me. This time, you’re not blaming anyone. Which is why I’m here. Uninvited. 

There’s nothing worse than being lost in a familiar place. Trying to find the answer to a question you haven’t even spoken. Hoping to stumble upon something you recognise. A signpost. An arrow. Direction.

I have a suggestion. Up. You need to look up. No, not so you can find me. Not even so we can see that face we love so much. You need to look up because everything you need is in the sky. And nothing you don’t. Starlight, moonlight, power, rain, strength. It’s all there. At the right time. Just look up. 

Don’t look inward, you do way too much of that. Don’t look outward, that only seems to make things worse. Definitely don’t look down, there are too many distractions down there.

Try up. There are no boundaries in the sky. No fences. Not a single one. Up is where you will be free to imagine. And that’s where it starts. The magic. The spark. That nameless thing you’re looking for. With no fences you are free to imagine something different. 

Will you try it? Please say you will.

Your Angel, always xx

My Malu

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This Spirit, did not examine bloodlines, or add up years spent, nor tally words learnt.

This identity, called like a lover, impossible to resist. It stood at the door and knocked.

It asked only of the heart, and waited for just one word.

And with my Yes, came freedom. Unexpected. Arresting. Because I have listened to just one voice.

The only one that matters.

In the roar of the waterfall, in the busy-ness of life. As deep called to deep, I listened. Even as the waves washed over me, I was found.

The first touch was like no other, an awakening to what surrender truly means, the willingness to suffer for all that is mamalu (sacred). A searing reminder of what it means to be fa’amalu (the protector) of my family.

I watched, considered each new mark. My eyes as open as my spirit. I wanted to feel it all. To be present as my transformation progressed. To observe my own becoming, as the ink of Samoa flowed through my skin and in to my blood.

The last tap, a full stop with the most perfect timing of all. The peace of knowing who I am, sinks deep. The applause from my sisters, the sigh of harmony, and the heartbeat we now share.

This baptism of identity, wrapped in culture, washed in love, becomes me.

And for those that feel the need to ask ‘that’ question, no, I don’t own this culture.

It owns me.

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