Concocted
Dear Ray,
I am a meaning-making machine,
I concoct my own reality.
Conjunctivitis rules,
this teabag doesn’t work.
I am my body,
raspberries for all.
God bless the tea.
I am at home,
it leaks sometimes,
I have fallen asleep here.
Do I mean too much for my own good?
Without Rosetta Stone we wouldn’t be where we are.
And the fire in my brain
has burnt an imagination
to cinders.
It is the morning of the day,
this is my way.
There is now an interlude…
Reading tea leaves
Analysing everything
Dissecting calculations
Measuring the hell out of stuff
is one way of driving your self mad
Another is
trust your intuition
If there’s only one thing you’ll let me advise you do this week …
Explore your horizons
– they may be wider than you assume.
Travel with love in your heart.
That’s a fine mantra.
How you translate it into action
through kindness & generosity
– there’s the challenge.
Experiment with it today.
Find your way.
Being late is a virus
spreads from day to day, like jellyfish.
Be early today.
Win first mover advantage.
Be the worm.
Where would we be without earthworms?
From Bath to Cork with baby Grace 