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The Magic of Words

Words are the pearls I string on a thread that form the jewels of my stories.

I love words, they fascinate me. One word is one pearl and a string of pearls a sentence or a story that can portray a multitude of feelings. Words portray emotion, communication, information, beauty and love. Words can warm, words can heal, our words can hurt and wound. Thoughts are words that can lift us up, tear us down, drive us and heal us.

The written word is a document to a time, place and feeling. A memory recorded to be treasured.

My writing is art just like a painting. What joy to begin with nothing, a blank sheet that communicates no feeling and finish with a creation unique and individual that can incite any emotion, laughter, tears, love, confusion, sadness, even hate.

I want to fill my world with pearls of spirit, love and hope and my greatest wish is to string them in a fashion that will move you.

Thank you for sharing xoxo

“Words are the pearls we string on a thread” ANTHONY ROBBINS

photo credit: UnShuttered Soul~ Good to be busy! Bokeh via photopin (license)

Kite for life
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Getting back to Water 🌊

Time for a change of pace here on my blog.

I have an addiction to alcohol and red wine is my poison. I chose the name for my blog as Turning Wine to Water to reflect on my passion for water sports as an integral part of my recovery process. My love of the ocean, surfing, kiteboarding and stand up paddle has been a therapeutic and at times spiritual process. When I am in the water I feel connected. Connected to myself, my inner child, to the universe and I am reminded to be grateful. Grateful just to be alive. What a beautiful journey we are on as spiritual beings, having this human experience to grow and progress our true essence.

I can recall quite clearly a conversation with a girlfriend that took place in my mid 20’s which went something like this:
Me. ‘Do you have a passion?’
Friend. ‘No’
Me. ‘Shouldn’t we have a passion? Shouldn’t everyone have a passion?’
Hmm…

Fast forward 13 years or so and I have been blessed to find passion indeed. It began 11 years ago when an opportunity to learn kitesurfing came my way and from this I have found a passionate love of the ocean, a joy and peacefulness in surfing SUP. On top of this I have discovered a love of writing. God heard my question of so long ago and manifested passion into my life and along with it came the opportunity to travel around Australia, to become involved in the exciting world of competitive kiting and stand up paddle surfing and racing, and to meet many amazing people some of whom have become beautiful, supportive lifelong friends.

Also in this 13 years my alcoholism was progressing to the point of dysfunctional hopelessness (when I drink), but if the only hardship in life I have to endure is the fact that I can not take so much as one alcoholic drink then I think I am pretty damn lucky. What a great big F you to God for endowing me with this fortunate life if I choose to forsake it all for the addiction that wants to see me ruined. When I feel like giving in I must remember to breathe, pray and head to the ocean.

Thank you G. Your will not mine be done.

Chica
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🌻🌞My Sunrise🌞🌻

A poem I wrote in the early weeks in rehab when I didn’t think I possesed ‘depth of feelings’. I was to soon learn when they slammed into me like a Mack truck but this is beside the point today.

This morning I didn’t physically watch the sunrise but I feel it today in my spirit and I see it every time I look at my nieces Melanie and Hayley and into the faces of Melanie’s babies Alyse (Ally) and Isaac.
Think of a drink , think of these faces, they are too precious.

The feature picture was taken by myself one amazing sunrise in Burrill Lake, South Coast NSW.

My Sunrise
By Michelle England

This morning the sunrise belongs to me
Rising in grandeur delighting the sky with his tender hues
Gently, softly, slowly, teasing
And then he bursts in brilliance and glory
Painting the clouds complementing his beauty
The land opens up to accept the sweet gift
Soulful birds singing their descant song soaring
Flowers in worship unfolding faces to the sky

I open my heart and pray
I pray thanks for this morning and the sweet birds
Thanks for the crisp air the trees and the flowers
I pray thank you for life and all things in being
I pray thank you, just thank you, whithout a name

This morning the sunrise belongs to me
A dance in my heart the rhythm of memory
Startling in beauty carrying me away in the moment
Enchanted in joy
There was just him and me
🌹

Jack in a box
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Meet Jack

I’ve named my addict Jack.

Lately I have felt like a Jack in a Box. Each night I pop Jack down on his spring and push the lid shut. I go to bed relieved, grateful to get through the day. Sometimes I physically exhale a huge breath as I thank God for another sober day because I was sure I wouldn’t get through it dry. In the morning I wake and the box is there, my first thought. Most mornings I manage my prayers and begin my day but invariably somewhere throughout the day he springs and frightens the crap out of me.

I imagine my Jack as a maniac circus clown, crazy hair, big red contemptuous smile, wild open eyes, total madness behind, and the long cackling laughter of the insane. In one hand he grasps the neck of an open bottle of red, crimson liquid spilling and splashing as he boings this way and that, jesting away on his spring. In the other hand Jack holds a spliff, waving it around, smoke coiling from the glowing tip. Devil knows what he has concealed in his pockets ready to spring at me any time. And there Jack remains bouncing all day around and around in my head, trying to take control, playing his tricks and whispering in my mind.

There’s a bridge nearby and Jack has an idea. “Why not stash some booze under the bridge. Tell the folks you are going for a walk because that’s normal anyway, no suspicion there.” When I am alone on my bed he has more super ideas, “Why not Google the closest pub, bottlo or club to the house, that’s handy information to have we might just go there. I bet they have good food.” Such a clever fellow my Jack, “We’re in Qld, lets go home Mum and Dad won’t be back for a while, lots of drinking time just have to hide it from bro.” Or “There’s white in the fridge and red in the pantry, both in casks, just one of each, they won’t know.” He has countless more inventive and of course foolproof ideas but I’ll share just one more of his genius suggestions. **”Uncle Jack gave you a flask, let’s take it to a meeting and on the way back fill it with booze and no one will know, they’ll just think it’s water in there. And, Oh don’t forget Vodka doesn’t smell.”

Thankfully I have been smarter than Jack and today I am winning. Each attempt of Jack’s that I have resisted has made me stronger and tonight when I put that lid on his box I’ll glue the damn thing shut, wrap it in duct tape and throw it away. If he comes back I’ll have to call him Houdini.

I look forward to tomorrow as Jack fades from my mind and each day gets better and the insanity fades. Today my heart is filled with hope and plans for a bright future, love of my family and service to others.

I think I’ll get a new box with an angel inside… And if Jack reappears my angel has got gloves and isn’t too holy to use them!!!

Blessed πŸ™‚

**My real Uncle Jack and a water flask not a hip flask

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The Cloak

I spent 7 1/2 months in a long term drug and alcohol rehabilitation centre in 2014. My start in the rehab was a breeze because when I entered I considered myself a human lacking feelings, and certainly I wasn’t feeling any. ‘I just have no depth of feelings’ I liked to share with my therapist and my peers in this therapeutic community. I was warned about ’emotional detox’ but didn’t think this applied to me. I didn’t cry much.

Suddenly at around the 8-9 week mark a flood of emotions assaulted me as my personal ’emotional detox’ began. I cried solidly for a couple of months and a heaviness consumed me. I wasn’t to break out of this until a few weeks before my departure on completion of the program, and for the 2 3/4 years since this darkness has not often been far away. Initially It began on waking. I opened my eyes each morning and the first feeling, before even a thought entered my waking consciousness, was dread. It felt like ‘Ugh’. I wrote ‘The Cloak’ toward the end of my stay in the rehab.

I feel I’m wearing the cloak today πŸ˜” however this too shall pass

The Cloak

By Michelle England

Perfect unconsciousness
Black, dark, still
I wake

Ahh…

Recycled air escapes from deep
The place just outside my soul
The cloak so soft descends upon me
False comfort easy to get lost in
Sweeps me up in folds of grey
Laying me down in the hazy shadows
A simple paradox
Tenacious surrender
Secure and warm in this fragile cold place
Enticing me to stay
So soft so gentle

Stay…
Stay

Ahh…
In…Out…

My sigh resides
The place just outside my soul
Resides there in the darkness

A murmur from deep
Close your eyes little one close your eyes
I will lull you in my folds
Lay your head down in my bed of shadows
I will hold you

Stay…

A robust spark rekindles
Burning brighter warming from within
Spreading tender strength and courage
Fractures the fog of my hostage mind
A smile so tiny toys upon my lips
A solitary peaceful tear marks a path upon my cheek

Ahh

My sign surrenders
The place just outside my soul
Bringing forth with might and valour
The rainbow of my spirit

The cloak turns drab and heavy
Folds of dark foreboding cold
Deception plain, name revealed
Time to bid it go

Time to breathe
Time to rise
Time to be

Time to shed
My melancholy cloak

photo credit: spaceamoeba Golden walk via photopin (license)

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Home

Above the clouds, my country Australia below I contemplate what home is to me.
Home is friends. Home is love. Home is where my heart is. Home is with God and God is all within and without.
Whenever I have faith I am home.

I am home πŸ’—

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Let her Go🎈

Let Her Go

By Michelle England

Let her go
Pray she will be set free
Let her be
Let her fly if that’s what she needs
Let her go
Breathe through the pain that’s not what she means
Let her go
Let her be

Let her go
Trust and stay true to me
Let her be
When she is ready she will reach my way
Let her fly
Be there when she is in need
Let her go
Let her be

**Inspired by Passenger’s Let Her Go; which was running on replay through my mind when I was trying to deal with a situation beyond my control or how I’d like it to be. It was either stay in sadness and self pity or breathe, remember her pain, have faith and set her free…

Writing and sharing brings me the grace of peace 🌈

photo credit: Lenny K Photography Hitch Hiking via photopin (license)

Footprints
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Friends for Life

As I spend my last few days in Cambodia the feeling is bittersweet. I am ready to go home but I do want to stay. Travelling particularly alone we cross paths with many like-minded people, become friends for a time and inevitably part ways. I have made friends here in Cambodia that I know with every fibre of my being we will be friends for life. We have shared a special and unique bond and gone above and beyond for each other.

Although my footprints have washed away we will always walk together x

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To My Readers

For those of you who read my posts and I feel this is very few, I thank you. My purpose is partly for myself as a form of therapy and attempt to understand what I do, but also in the hope to help educate people on the powerlessness of addiction as a disease and not of moral deficiency. I also hope to reach others in my condition as someone to relate to and share with. If I help anyone along the way I am so grateful that I have the opportunity through my words. Additionally I am attempting to establish myself as a freelance writer but this will only be a small part of my blog and a nice light and enjoyable (mostly) thing to share with you as I know of late most of my entries have been quite heavy. I look forward to sharing my progression in recovery and spiritual growth as well as entertaining you with my poems and stories. Please Like and Share my blog so that I may reach more receptive people.