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[lettersfrommowglii-blog]

LettersToFellowWriters

I find myself constantly searching for something. In recent times, I have been successful in finding things that grant me a sense of serenity and self acceptance.. yet, I still do not feel fufilled. I do not feel confident that I have found "the something" for I have only found some things. 

Perhaps I have reached my limit for this chapter. There must be more... is this an onging memoir? Is this a biography, auto or written by those surrounding me? No, no.  I choose my own adventure. 

Fellow writers, are you familiar with that feeling.... you'll know the one. The feeling when the words in your head pour through your fingertips, not nearly fast enough. The adrenaline that pumps through you as you anticipate what will come of pouring your heart and soul onto paper. I have found myself blanketed in that feeling for some time now. As though every step I take leaves the words of my story tucked into my footprints. 

The awareness that I am in fact growing. I have reached a point in my journey so that I am now able to reach a fair state of mindfulness, through the day, as the falling shadows dance from tree to tree, and the temperatures swing dance with the clouds and the sun. All day, I have an awareness illuminating inside me. It is anxiety, it is love. It is fear, it is peace. 

The joy I get from writing, is now joy I get from being alive.

What a time to be alive.

Mowglii

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LettersFromTheHeart

"I'll be the Earth to ground you from the chaos all around, I'll be the home you return to, I can be your middle ground"

One of the toughest heartaches as a mother, is the times you see how much they love you. Doesn’t make sense, does it? Allow me to explain. 

Heartache is the moments of growth. 

When they cry and reach for you as you walk down the halls of their school, leaving them to face lessons bigger than they know.

Heartache is when the scrapes on their elbows pain them so much, yet they never ask for rubbing alcohol, first aid, a bandage. They ask for your arms, so you hold them. You hold them and ignore the rock lodged into their arm, for just long enough.... because they don’t know that they need to clean the wound, they don’t know they need to wrap it. All they know, is that they need you. 

Heartache is the screams and quivers that wake you in the night, when they need you to be brave, for their tiny hands just cant hold the sword yet, to fight the monsters under the bed. You are a hero. You are a Mother.

Heartache is how dependent they are on you still. Heartache is Love.

[lettersfrommowglii-blog]

Letters to the Earth

You may not remember me. Maybe you remember my tiny toes, and tiny hands making pies with your soil. Massaging the ground in my imaginary pastery garden.. Harmless, we played like neighborhood friends, we were friends. It's been some time, my dear. My tiny toes have turned to callused feet, with miles upon miles of stories to tell. My tiny hands no longer make dirt pies, but write tales of heartache, hard learned lessons and nearly lost memories. Were you watching me, though I may have neglected you? Did you count the steps as I walked you coast to coast, did you hold me while I slept with you, under the stars, under your trees? Was it you singing me to sleep? Losing touch with you was the beginning of losing touch with myself. I'm sorry. I'll be honest, I didnt miss you. Though, I was missing you. In previous years, I now know you were there with me. Guiding me through the woods, down the winding roads, to the mountaintops I danced upon. You've always been my only mother. I acted as an ungrateful child. Niave and uneducated, yet you were teaching me lessons all along. Here I am, to tell you I am awake now, moreso than ever. I am awake and I am grateful. I see you, I feel you. I love you. These are my letters, to you.

Yours truly,                                Mowglii