the holiness of cinnamon, and more.

in the quiet of this morning i made oatmeal, rich with cinnamon and honey’s golden kiss.

i do this every day, and also,

i whisper blessings on the hands that made this and not just mine, no.

all the hands that planted, and watered, and harvested, and packed, and delivered, and the lovely hands that work at the till in the shop where i bought all of this goodness.

all of this light.

how beautiful is this life of mine, i say as i eat all of this love.

and i say thank you to the bees, and the earth, and the trees, and my body, who i so often forget.

but lately, i don’t.

no.

not anymore.

because late one night and early some mornings, when the earth was sleeping, i dared to ask for more.

more light, more God, and truth like i have never known.

and i watered my hopes and my bones with tears, and they were seen.

and they were heard.

so small and so quiet.

but still.

i was heard.

and now i see God everywhere, but seldom where i was told he was before, and now i don’t look for him there anymore.

because he is here in the light that falls on my bedroom floor, even before i vacuum it, can you believe that?

even in the dust, on my floors and on my shelves and on my life, even here.

but dust, is what i am made of and more — little bits of stars and heaven and tears and earth.

and floors are where i have found holiness, and him — yes, God.

and there is more to this, if i may tell — he is in the postman too when he comes to my door, but i don’t think he knows it yet, so i will keep on speaking kindness over him until it blooms white hot in his soul.

and i call him by his name, God, and the postman,

and i say thank you for all that i have received, from Him, and from him, yes, even the mail.

and just in case someone else further back has forgotten that we are all holy, i say thanks for him too, the postman.

the one who delivers my mail with his soul.

it is only a simple prayer.

thank you.

but holy.

holy, with the fragrance of heaven, and somewhere out there in another part of home and earth, someone once touched the cinnamon on my oats, and i bless their hands, and their heart, and their body, and their soul, and for them too, i ask for more.

and this is how i change the world, and this is how i open the windows.

and God finds me here, in the dust, and in the light where it falls.

everywhere.

— the holiness of cinnamon, and more.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

Photograph by Alessio Cesario.

christchurch.

and a morning will come where you will wake up to find that somewhere, somehow, some of us have lost the way, and heaven mourns this loss, and pain will weep all over the earth again, because hatred is nothing new and there have been hearts closed up tight against the light since time began, but you must remember, please do not forget this, that somewhere, somehow, a mother is teaching her son how to throw open the windows in his heart and a father is teaching his daughter that God is love and so are we, if we choose to be, and this is important, and people all over this world are standing up for love and crowding out the-thing-that-would-separate-us-into-boxes and even though it hurts right now and will for a very long time, in the end we will be ok if you hold my hand and i will hold yours, like a friend — i see you — and if we speak kindness over each other, like a blessing and if we hold up flags of mercy over our brothers and our sisters, and our mothers and our fathers, and ourselves, and if we remember that there is no them under heaven, just us, then we will be love and we will win.

— christchurch.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

Photograph Pixabay.

My heart goes out to the people of New Zealand today. xx

#christchurch

uitpak, wegpak en regpak.

partykeer dink ek, mens moenie die dag begin voor jy nie eers rustig oor ‘n koppie tee met jouself gesels het oor al die dinge wat gister, en miskien ook lank terug gebeur het, en al die ander dinge wat miskien in die nag se drome met jou gebeur het.

en dan as jou oë eers alles mooi bekyk het, dan kan jy mos nou alles mooi reg wegbêre. alles in sy plek, soos my ma altyd sê.

‘n hopie hièr, vir ek-het-nou-genoeg-gehad-van-al-die-nonsens-en-ek-gaan-diè-laai-toesluit-vir-ewig-en-altyd.

en ‘n ander hopie daàr vir ek-sal-moet-terugkom-na-jou-toe-want-my-hart-sal-weer-hier-moet-optel-en-voel-en-ruik-sodat-ek-uiteindelik-vrede-kan-eet-hieroor.

en dan is daar ander stukkies wat saggies blink en hulle moet mens nie tè vêr wegsit, want sjoe, is hulle nie pragtig nie?

ek sal hulle elke dag uithaal omdat alles in my kop net wil dans in die sagte lig en my gesig smile net heeldag van al die mooigeid. en dis seker die belangrikste hopie van almal, maar nie alle mense weet dit nie, want hulle sluit nie die laaie met die goed wat hulle harte deurmekaar krap en dan kom staan diè goed swart en knorrig voor hulle elke oggend en dan is dit moeilik om die mooi lig so deur die donkerte te sien.

en vandag huil die wolke hier in glasgow ‘n koue, grys reën en ek het amper vanoggend ‘n laai-sleutel verloor, maar gelukkig het ek hom gekry so tussen gister se krapperigheid en los blaaie, so nou drink ek rooibostee uit my fyn koppie sodat ek al die mooi stukkies son en moederberg en die see van kalkbaai kan uitpak hier op my skoot en my hande kan al die mooigeid vashou en ek kan sommer voel hoe die see my vel liggies nat soen, en ai die lig binne-in my kop is vanoggend so mooi.

— uitpak, wegpak en regpak.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

Foto Lisa Fotios.

#afrikaans

when she takes me back.

…and then there are days, and nights sometimes, where healing, is lying down on my yoga mat in a dark room and going back,

.

back, as far as the child within me wants to go, and i let her decide where we stop and linger for a bit. i have learned to trust her with this most important thing, and

.

sometimes we walk through my father’s vegetable garden and he is there and the sun is hot on my skin and the cicadas are shrill in the heat of the afternoon, but we are happy and content and i ask him the secret to growing strawberries that are sweet like syrup and how-do-i-know-just-when-the-corn-is-ready-to-be-picked, and show me how to read the clouds that gather over the karoo landscape, and he tells me all the hidden things a gardener needs to know, and it is like the rain that falls from a broken cloud and floods the dry earth.

.

but sometimes, we stop where words are like acid and my skin burns and my heart melts like lead over a hot flame and then it cools into a different shape, and all i can do is stand there with my hand on her shoulder — the child who i once was, and i tell her that it’s ok, it’s ok, you are going to be ok, just you wait and see.

.

…and please let these words fall off your skin, please don’t let them cling, and yes, there is pain and it is not just your heart that hurts, his does too, but he does not know how to undo the deep tracks left in those new fields, and pain that is given no name, loves to marry anger and none of this is your fault, and .

it’s ok to let the tears fall, even now, let them water your skin, and your bones, and the dry earth of your heart and it is never too late to let them come, and just you wait, you will see.

.

it will all be ok.

.

and then we come back and we hug and say goodbye, for a while, this is hard work — too hard for every day, and she leaves quietly and i get up and read bedtime stories to a heart that looks at me with love, and i get to kiss a soft boy-cheek goodnight, and somehow,

.

somehow, it is all ok, and somewhere i can hear her laugh.

.

— when she takes me back.

.

© Liezel Graham 2019.

.

Photograph Pixabay.

Generational healing.

One of the greatest gifts that you can give to all the women who came before you — your mothers, your grandmothers, your aunts and nieces and sisters all the way back through the generations, is healing.

The same applies to men, of course, but today is International Women’s Day and this is where my heart is, today.

Do everything in your power to seek healing for yourself, both physical, spiritual and psychological.

Be honest with where you are, and who you are.

Be gentle with your pain and your scars.

Trauma cannot be undone in a day, or a week or a month or a year, but you can start.

Be kind to yourself.

Be kind to the memories of those who lived before you. We can only live what we know, we can only do something if we know how, and perhaps they just didn’t know — didn’t know how to leave that abusive relationship, or how to face that addiction, or how to simply love, or perhaps, how to just keep on living.

And perhaps, and this is hard, I know, but if they are still alive, they might never learn how, or want to seek any healing for themselves.

But, you can.

You can change your future and if you ask for the way to healing, to open up before you, it will.

Of this, I am certain.

And it won’t be easy. I am pretty sure of this too.

And healing will look different for each of us. And it might never fully be here for you. You might still jump at the slightest sound and always hate surprises. I do.

You might have to find new friends because your old friends cannot accept that alcohol is no longer your ‘friend’. That is ok. Really, it is. New friends will come.

It might be a coming out to who you really are, or a going back to who you once were, before…

Chains are notoriously hard to break, but you can do it.

And it will be worth it. It will be a re-birth, an undoing of you are not and a discovering of who you are.

Keep searching for it — your beautiful heart is worth every bit.

#internationalwomensday

#generationalhealing

Photograph by Pixabay.