Hope Regained ~ A Poem


This poem was originally written without a title; a second version was written a few years later, given the title “Hope Regained”. This is the original version, with title added.

 

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Hope Regained

All alone, inside ice cold and sad tonight, here in this empty room;
Listening to the sounds of passing cars and voices bouncing back from bare walls.
Memories slowly enter my mind and then come crashing into conscious thought
Recollections of that happy day not so long gone by
And yet an eternity of events in memory
Bring on slow, burning tears as I feel myself being to cry.
Why ask for any answers? Leave alone each How and Why.
There are no questions allowed, but my God, where are you now
When I feel like I could die?
With such spontaneity and many an expectation we made our hopeful plans,
We gave much of what we thought we had and worked to make our home.
Our love so fresh and warm, invigorating and strong,
The only foundation to build our future upon.
We had only known each other for a while and yet could see so true:
That very definite bond, so evident, incredibly held us to one another –
See now, it should have been just me and you.
This is not merely a move for me, it’s a severing of golden thread,
It’s a tearing down of newly-built walls, a shattering reality.
Might I hope rather: a great step forwards into happier, secure opportunity?
Do you?
Dreams save when lonely and frightening the world seems,
Holding the future to promise of sunshine and laughter.
Who warrants a guess at what awaits us?
Who knows what turning the next corner might bring?
To lose hope now, to forget the dreams, warm fuzzies and smiles
Is to encourage futility and shatter all good intention.
May I feel the sweet temptation of determined effort?
Torn and bruised in heart and mind, a fear to test new emotion –
Dare I allow the shock of optimism?
Why, what good to brood and ever backwards slip
As Life strides and onward we must plod without fear.
Alone, first I thought, but now no longer …
Have my Life, it will not leave me;
My dreams, my work, my love, my hope and patience
To these combine ever faithful with honesty.
Together, see us win: Life and I – once again it’s “we”.

*

Holly M Maxwell

Written 29 April 1984

 

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© Holly M Maxwell Boydell


All rights reserved.

 

 

 

 

My Journey Into The University of Life

IMG_2942 - cropped - THTT signedHaving delivered my son, the youngest of my two children, to a prestigious international university at the weekend, I find myself ready to share the thoughts that are streaming through my mind right now … keeping the feelings of emotional adjustment at bay, while I picture our son adjusting to his new life in a new place, and we adjust at home to not having him around.

It is a strange head and heart space to be in, not for the first time another massive readjustment, a new place within a strange place, on a journey that has held many unexpected bits along its path.

Here is a little more of my own story …
It is a snippet about my starting out in the Big Wide World, showing up at the gate to the “University of Life”.

~ : ~

Did you know?
I did not go to university.

Furthermore, I do not have any certificates from any institutions other than a matriculation certificate from high school, and there are no letters after my name.

I have no profession, no specific thing that I can tell anyone that I ‘am’, no one easy answer to provide when faced with a form to fill in about what I ‘do’.  And yet, I do and have experience in a lot.

I have been educated to beyond tertiary level, by the “University of Life” … for those who do not know what this is, the best and shortest way I can describe it is: It is the long way round to blasting through glass ceilings, reaching full potential, and having ‘degree status’ clout. However, in matters of life, meaning, authenticity, sustainability and leadership in a range of ways, it is the path that I have travelled, is most definitely not a short cut nor easy way, and it means that whatever I say, I mean and have quite possibly seen, felt, tasted or survived.

It would be wonderful if there were a degree for this journey into and through the “University of Life”, a piece of paper to frame, a garment and a mortar board, but there is not. There is little recognition in tangible form for the courses that I have been on. As a result of the journey, and despite it, when you meet me, what you see is what you get. My communication is undiluted; I do not suffer fools lightly (nor does the book of Proverbs in the Holy Bible), and I have found that life is far too short to beat around the bush. It would be good to add a degree to this level of experience and integrity, but as yet I have not.

Why did I not go to university? 
Plainly put, I might have gone to university (indeed would have loved to attend the beautiful establishment on the slopes of Table Mountain, where I lived), had circumstances that I was living within been very different.

Having left home pretty much, at the raw age of eighteen, it was simply too hard to take on university by myself – the funding and the focus required were a crippling prospect – as well as manage my life entirely by myself. That said, I tried to get to university or teacher’s training college, I even made an appointment and met with my senior school headmistress – who said in no uncertain terms that she believed in me, even offered to help me to find a bursary – but it all felt too hard to pursue at the time. I found that, as I needed to support myself, still contributing in certain ways to life at home, already by then well-schooled in the rigours and realities of some very obscure scenes of life, I could not afford the time nor the cost nor the luxury of a university life.  How I would have loved to join all my friends who were able to do just that! But it was not the path that life had set me on.

Looking back (and at the time) I know I would have grabbed life on campus with both hands and squeezed every bit of juice out of a university experience when I left senior school – it was how I lived my life, anyway – but instead my mother directed me to undertake a Secretarial Course.  I was told that I would be supported partially to do that, but not to attend university. The lion share of everything that I needed I would have to find myself … not least, it turned out, the guidance to do what I was gifted for.  What a waste of twelve years of striving to be the one who would (and had so often done so or come close to) be winning the prize. There had been many Speech Days, when I was younger, where I had walked proudly up onto the stage to receive a book prize or some other form of recognition … and no one was ever there to support me. I gave up on that lark halfway through high school, when my home life became a series of rapidly changing and dramatic stage sets. It was hard to keep track in the pace of life itself, anyway … I do recall that our headmistress gawped when I told her that one day, during the public reading of our results at the start or end of a school term, in front of my entire year.

Therefore, despite my reluctance at going to do something that held no interest to me at all, the path that I had been told was my most realistic option was the one that I took. The little that I learnt at Secretarial College ended up being one way I kept myself from starving during many desperate times over the coming years. It was never my choice of career path … but it helped when I could find nothing else to turn my hand to fast.

Did I not receive a Certificate upon completion of the Secretarial Course?
No, I did not.
Why not?
Because I did not complete the course.

Four months into my six-month secretarial course in the city of Cape Town, after and whilst enduring endless banging away on manual typewriters (ouch) in an effort to reach perfection and to get my perfect banging of keys up to reasonable speed, with countless sheets of paper and carbon flying in all directions, battling to get my head and hands to process the simplicity of shorthand, staring square-eyed at the columns of bookkeeping figures … and on and on … I could not take any more. I was feeling utterly demoralised.  So, being used to ‘making a plan’ and finding ways to keep going within storms of life, I went straight to the nearest newspaper seller, bought myself a newspaper, and opened up the Classifieds pages to scour the list of Job Ads. I had to find a better way to do life than doing what I was most definitely not suited to, and I hoped that this would somehow lead me through an open door  … instantly I saw various advertisements that I somewhat courageously, very determinedly, rather cheekily, circled and then set my sights on applying for.

The first job I applied for … “Girl Friday for City Insurance Brokers” … led to an immediate interview … and the immediate offer of said job.  However, there was only one problem: the directors of the firm who were offering me the job, at what for me at the time was a huge salary – R300 (South African Rands in 1981) per month – required that I be at least able to operate an electric typewriter. Snag: I could barely manage to keep all the sheets of paper in the manual typewriters at the secretarial college down the road, let alone type one sentence without needing to erase and repair errors (times multiple pages) … and so they, being optimistic men of ‘making a plan’ too, decided to deliver to my little flat, with their company Driver, one of their new electronic typewriters, with the implicit instruction that I PRACTISE.  I was to show up for work three weeks’ hence, armed with the electric typewriter that they owned … and in receipt of the necessary skills required to operate it.  They were, clearly, believing in me to produce a miracle

I showed up for work … on time and on the due date … with the typewriter … whom I might have named by then … only just able to drive it.

My role as “Girl Friday” was a broad one, and it went from challenge to challenge, from strength to strength over a period of two years.  When I became bored, the Directors and senior staff found new challenges for me … while they expected me to answer their incoming switchboard telephone calls with aplomb, and not trip myself in the process of dealing with miles of yellow tape attached to the office telex machine … a vital piece of kit in the inter-office and inter-national communication system of the time.  Oh my word, it was all slog … but I loved it, because I was being mentored and taught and appreciated and given bonuses and helped to stretch and stretch and stretch … all in lieu of my much-coveted university place.  The Directors and senior staff had taught me all that they could, from keys to claims and back again, and wanted me to pursue a career in their field.  It just seemed grey to me, and so I declined their offers to support my studying to undertake the Insurance Industry Exams. C’est la vie.

When I could stretch no longer within the framework of the office and the company, when I decided that I could not face a lifetime in the insurance industry, when I was done with doing all the things that were possible for me to learn in that one office, when they had moved premises from the “Golden Acre” (and I had helped them to do so) to the outer suburbs of Cape Town … and all of life seemed to scream to a boring halt for me … I resigned. Job done. Great friends made. Wonderful experiences, including a yacht launching that I had organised to great success … but it was time to move one.

I am now in my fifties. Much has passed under the bridge since then.

I have much more story to tell, but that’s enough for now.

The “University of Life” is the hardest one on the planet to get into and to do well within … it requires a huge amount of tenacity and guts … and listening … and learning … and independent battle strategy … and following leads … and bumping yourself, getting bruised, picking yourself back up … but it often produces Eagles and Leaders and I have only to look at my children to know that I have defied a whole lot of what Life tried to use to trip me up. It has been an exhausting ride, but I am thoroughly proud of it and abundantly blessed as a result of never, ever, ever having given up.

So, without a degree and without a professional accolade to slip off my tongue, or any other seriously impressive title to blind you with, please know that what I write and what I do and what I speak is me being completely and utterly real, desiring to share what I have and to make the world a better place than the one that I found.  I speak from experience, and all of it hard won.  Often a lone voice, I have lost and found my voice … stronger and more vibrant than ever before … because I have the scars to prove that life is a powerful force and love will carry us through everything, if we just hold on.

Be brave. Be strong. Keep believing. Fall down. Get back up.
Cry. Shout. Scream at the wind. But don’t ever stay down on the ground …
Wait for the next current of life to come along … and then rise up!
It might take time to heal from the wounds, but just remember:
Eagles don’t have time to hang out with those who wish to remain forever on the ground.

If you’re on your path to graduation, go for it!
You’ve got a headstart.

With love and motivation,

Holly x

PS. My typing speed is phenomenal now … and I still have no desire to be anyone’s PA … shall leave that role to those who can do it with aplomb. Oh, I did it, by the way … I worked as a PA in London, in a prestigious establishment there, and I have the experience to prove it … Just no Certificate, I’m afraid. There is, of course, other working experience to add to the bow too, but those stories are for another day.

PPS. I am still learning, changing, rebuilding … and it is now time for me to graduate to the next level too …

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“the gazebo is scheduled for conservation work soon. Please respect the fragility of its interior”*

rings true!

*(a sign seen in a beautiful garden in the Cotswolds recently, it is what gave me the inspiration to write this piece)

~ : ~

Link to WordPress “The Daily Prompt”
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/sympathy/

Courage To Be Real

IMG_2934 - THTT signed

I recently received a message from someone I have never met, whom I learnt has had a very challenging life and has a very sad childhood story. The message was so heartfelt and so grateful  … it moved me beyond tears … this post is a result of receiving that message.

Apparently my ‘being real’ has been a blessing and has provided strength to this person, who has been following my writing (unbeknownst to me) for some time …

Why am I sharing this snippet into the ether?

Because I have a very important message for anyone who thinks that their life is meaningless, less than, unappreciated, unapplauded, unrewarded or is simply battling through the little and large waves:

You do matter. Being real IS allowed. You ARE precious. You DO deserve to be on this earth. You ARE worthy of love. It does NOT matter what you look like to others. It is NOT money or possessions that give people value. It is NOT anyone else’s place to make you feel bad about yourself. You DO have a role to play in the universe. You ARE allowed to be honest, frank, authentic, and even ‘cut and dried’. You MAY become a brighter, lighter, saltier, more fabulous and utterly authentic version of yourself. There is NOTHING that is impossible with God on your side, so do NOT allow ANYONE to rob you of your dreams, your true nature, your ambitions, your hopes, your desires. It IS OK to fall down and it is even ok to make a complete and utter fool of yourself … as long as you learn from the experience, keep learning, and allow yourself the freedom to laugh at life and to laugh at your own jokes! Laugh at yourself, laugh and laugh and laugh … And HUG yourself a lot, because there are times when no one else is there to hug you. So, always find ways to encourage YOURSELF. You are fully entitled to joy and peace and love and prosperity and abundance in every way that you wish and that would make your heart sing. You DO matter, and every single aspect of life belongs to you just as much as you belong to Life itself.

There is only one caveat to all of this, and it is:

Remember that it is in giving of ourselves that we give the most … money can never quite cut it in the same way … and if we wish to see our own lives blessed, we always receive a greater return for our investment when we help to raise others up first.

Be brave enough to be your AUTHENTIC self, and don’t worry about what anyone else thinks about you. It is NOT our business to try to dictate all outcomes or another’s thoughts, but it IS our business to BE REAL … and is the only SUSTAINABLE, healthy way.

If you will dare to step out of the box, you never know whose life you might save!

Be brave enough to LOVE, to be who you are, for real. You’ll shine, you’ll prosper, you’ll make a difference, no matter what.


With courage and love,

Holly x

 

 

Sunday Morning Mindfulness

Quietly and sleepily sipping my first cup of Earl Grey tea early this morning, I slowly and absorbingly read the pages of a beautiful hardback book given to me by my mother and stepfather a few years ago.  I think it was a Christmas present – there will be a note inside to tell me, as I usually note these things nowadays – and I remember being instantly delighted by the sight and feel of the book, when I received it.

The cover of the book is white, with fine black writing and an elegant picture of a blue flower on the front, details on the back of those writers whose work has been included and form the body of the book, and the inside cover is a lovely blue. Published by the Royal Horticultural Society, it is a collection of prose and poetry with lovely pictures, artist sketches, of the flowers and plants that have been written about.  A coffee table book in a sense, or one to simply pick up and feed your senses with … which is why I picked it up this morning.

I read the other day, in a most unlikely place, that Table Mountain in Cape Town has 1,500 species of plants – whereas the entire United Kingdom has no more than that, indeed less than.  The fact astonished me, as Table Mountain forms only one very small part of the vast and beautiful country of South Africa, a place rich and awash with abundant flora and fauna; a place I miss to my very soul, because of this.  It was, believe it or not, this morning that the realisation dawned on me: “I miss the flora and fauna of South Africa”. More than anything, I miss the sights and the sounds of the natural world … and that is saying a lot, as there is much else in that gorgeous rainbow nation which I miss very much as well.

The little book that I was dipping into this morning, is about plants that grow in Britain, many of which I have come to know since my return here from Australia in 2006, and mostly since purchasing our current property in 2009.  I have learnt a lot about the British climate and natural environment while living in Berwickshire, experiencing life ‘out in the sticks’ much of the time, observing what is going on in our own tiny patch and what is going on all around us.  The monocultures that are witnessed everywhere in the United Kingdom, concentrated in the areas of countryside, are a depressing sight to someone who knows and longs for the biodiversity of a beautiful, natural world.  Instead of focusing only on those sorry and disastrous states, however, I take my focus back to the beauty of individual plants and absorb the wonder of life wherever I see and feel it, plants being only one way (and a potent one at that) of feeling the connection, a tangible connectedness, with the source of all life.

This is another thing I have realised only within the last few days … I ‘drink’ from the beauty of plants and feel drawn into closely observing the presence of bees and other wild creatures resting on or feeding from plants, because I feel a sense of connection to them, a connection to something deeper than myself, something and someone who is my very source.  I am easily uplifted by the sight or smell of a flower, a plant that is in excellent and robust health, a bumblebee or butterfly supping from pollen laden faces or drinking nectar from the trumpets of exquisitely designed little or large flowers. These things really draw me in, momentarily, for seconds at a time even, but powerfully and satisfyingly.  No matter if they quickly pass, the next moment soon comes.

All of these things of nature, strange as it may sound, feed my soul … and yet, so does the sight of a beautiful painting in a gallery, the feel of a special book, the experience of seeing a magnificently designed building or a chic, sophisticatedly detailed car (I have been known to stop and stare, mid conversation, when a Ferrari or Lambourghini has been sighted), a fabulously crafted pen, a stunning dress or creations of our recent past, like blue and white crockery and Bentwood chairs, a cared for old Morris Minor, a mirror or bowl of beautifully crafted glass.  Anything that is beautifully styled for elegance, efficiency, for peace or for speed,  will always draw me in, like a honey bee to nectar or even a monkey to a scene of curiosity, I suppose! I am simply fascinated by beauty, simplicity, form, ergonomic and eloquent design.  I see all of this in nature, and in miniature form it is always communicated to me through a beautiful plant, tree or flower – or even in sand or soil, in sticks of all sorts, in pebbles, rocks and gemstones!

Thus, as I turned the pages of the book my mother had given me, reading with pleasure about primroses, plumbago, giant white lilies, meconopsis (delicate blue poppies), blue iris, hyacinth, and even dandelion, I appreciated every word as one who closely knows the subject that she is reading about.  I feel the essence of a flower so easily … try it, next time you have the chance to inhale the fragrance of frangipani (in other climes), or jasmine, or the deliciously lemony tang of citrus blossom … you’ll connect with the source of all life that way too, I’m sure.

Digressing from my original subject of this piece, I realise, this issuing of invitation to others to feed on and drink from the well of life is a natural one to me too … I love to share what I have been blessed to know, to experience, to have for a season, to love, to learn from (good or bad), to achieve, to grow through, to expand within. There is so much joy in having others on the journey too and the invitation is usually a spontaneous one, invitation being something that has been a natural instinct of mine from a very early age.  In recent times, living in a place so remote and far from most of my friends and loved ones, I have extended the invitation through publishing (mainly online as yet) many writings of my own. Everything that I write and share with others, is an invitation for someone else to share in the experience of, a form of hospitality, a hand outstretched, an open door of sorts. If anything I write helps another, that is a bonus and hearing about it comes always as an unexpected gift.

And so, back to the book and the early morning cup of tea which helped to waken me for the new day …  I looked into the pictures opposite each page of poetry or prose, I read the lines, I felt the scenes, I appreciated the closeness of observation that had enabled the writers to share their presence as they wrote about the plants, and I felt loved. Nature does that … whether out in nature, or in word, or in image, nature nurtures somehow, I find.   There is nothing quite like experiencing the real thing, the sights and smells and feel of life inside elements of plants, flora, or the quirkiness of the fauna of a place, but to read about it is a close thing at least.

As I closed the book for the time being, having finished my cup of tea and feeling that a piece of writing needed to be birthed, I held it briefly in my arms and felt my mother’s love. Knowing that the book had been especially chosen for me, not least I am sure because of its colour scheme on the cover, the white enhanced with shades of blue, for content and for sight, becoming freshly aware of this was another nurturing of sorts.  My mother was born in this country, in Edinburgh, and these are the plants of her country of birth which I am tending and reading about these days.

Perhaps I shall soon find a way to travel easily between the other countries and continents that I love but, for now, I drink in the beauty of elements of the country where I am currently based, as I dream of and plan for what can be. Always, I am grateful for what is and has been, and always I drink in the awesomeness of now, all around me.

It is in the plants, the flora, of a country that we read deep into her soul.  It is in the plants that I find my connection to my source.  It is in the plants that we find our nourishments, our medicines, our fragrances, our hope, so much life, the essence of so much that is sustainable and needed for healthy longevity, our groundedness, our environmental stability, and the source of so much joy and of so much that is meaningful in real life.

Holly x

 

 

 

 

 


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Link to WordPress “The Daily Post”:
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/inhabit/

 

Truth And Love

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This piece is raw and unedited. It was written straight from the heart.

 

Truth And Love

When I was a little girl, we had a black “houseboy” called John who cried when we left our home in Natal, to go to Cape Town. He had been my closest ally and loved us all so much, bending over backwards in so many ways to put our lives and needs before his own. Not only did that parting hurt, but so did losing my beloved pet cat, “Kicky” on the journey … and then our father disappeared from our lives a little while later … to reappear magically fifteen years later … but that’s nothing compared to what happened during those fifteen years.

No one knows my full story. No one knows the pain that I rise above every single day. No one else I know has walked a similar path – in Africa, Britain, Australia, and bumped back down in unfamiliar territory in Britain – and I have no one with whom I can compare stories or gain direction from. So I hang onto God and I never ever know what He’s going to do in my life each day … but I always know that He is there and he’s keeping me breathing through it all.

For about twenty years, I had a type of amnesia. After unwillingly leaving South Africa at the end of 1985, and then being totally immersed in British country life for almost two before taking myself on the next (challenging) adventure to London, without back up of any sort, I had completely forgotten the languages of the country where I was born and grew up. Survival mode had kicked in full ball. I had no contact with most of my oldest and dearest friends and many of my beloved relatives for most of the years since leaving South Africa, through no design or choice of my own, and over the past decade or so many have reappeared. This, in itself, has been a massive heart stopping exercise, one that has been on a curve and a roll and non stop for a considerable amount of time. I thank God for these people, every single one of them, and for the serendipity that has been working to repair the broken jigsaw puzzle of my crazy life.

In the meantime, all of life has to happen too.
And, by my God, it does.
Full ball.

Please understand that I’m still doing my absolute best to recover from the last nervous breakdown, the second of two which occurred in Australia over the fourteen years that I lived there, the last in the process of the chaos that was our leaving our home and life in Australia, putting my lovely business to bed ~ hoping to pick it all up again after a little soiree abroad …

One day I might write the full story.
The full story.
The full fifty plus years.
But. I’m afraid to expose those who have betrayed or hurt me ~ I realise that’s their indaba and not mine. I can only live with Truth and we each have to live with the consequences of our own decisions, choices and actions … as do I. We each have to learn to grow and mould ourselves into better shapes and treat others better and gain compassion, understanding, learn forgiveness and practise the loving art of grace … each of us … I do not manage the universe … so one day my story will come out, because it just might help one other person on their rocky path.

God bless those who love unconditionally and who do not judge. Your reward will be waiting for you in heaven … meantime, on earth we each get to experience that which we give out.

Choose LOVE.
It’s the most reliable, I’ve found.
In all its facets.

 

 

 

~ Holly ~

 

 

 

A Poem To A Young Man Entering The Army

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Some of my Readers know that I grew up in South Africa, during the Apartheid years.  At that time, all boys who had completed their schooling (or immediately after attending university) had to do their ‘national service’, in either the Army, Navy or Airforce.  They had no option and were forced to do this compulsory service in one form or another.  The threat of national service in South Africa led many to leave the country, or to protest in various ways, or to seek office roles within the services . Few were in the Defence Force as a matter of career choice, at the time. Some Defence Force experiences were a lot easier than others.

When I was a teenager, many of my contemporaries went away to complete their service in the South African Defence Force over a period of two years – part of which consisted, for some, after ‘Basic Training’, of being sent up to the Angolan Border for around six months.  This was often a time of deep testing for the boys, just as they were becoming young men, and it was emotionally challenging for their families and friends as well.  There was little contact with them, and all letters were censored. A friend from the time, whom I recently reconnected with after many years, reminded me of the food and letter parcels that I had sent to him and to various others of our friends during the months of trials on the Border. It was a tough time, and many of us supported our friends as best we knew how, under the circumstances.

At some point, I cannot recall when, national service was reduced to eighteen months, and then to one year. I left South Africa in 1985, just after my twenty third birthday, and have not lived there since, so there is much that I have yet to rediscover about the land that I grew up in and loved. There are large gaps in my knowledge about the country as it is now.  However, I do know that when Apartheid was abolished, national service was not far behind.

Whilst much good can, and often does, come from the lessons that life teaches young people in challenges such as those experienced by the young men of South Africa, the brutality of much of the Defence Force system there at the time, made life very confronting, often graphic. It was especially life-changing for young men stepping into the real world just beyond the school gate.

I was twenty one when my brother went into the Army, just before his eighteenth birthday.  I remember that day as if it were yesterday, the tearful farewell, the sense of utter bereavement at the sight of his empty bedroom – and my brother was one of the ‘lucky’ ones, who it turned out was able to perform his national service duties close to home. Due to having suffered serious illness as a young child, my brother found himself exempt from much of what other young friends had to endure during their national service time. That, given all else that we had been dealing with, was a blessing in disguise.

This is a poem I wrote, privately, to my brother, on the day that he went off for his first taste of Army life. I poured out my ‘grief’ through my pen. I do not think I have ever shown this ‘poem’ to my brother before, nor to anyone else. Yesterday I typed it out and published it to my inner circle via the internet, today I am posting it here.  It is amateur writing and it speaks from the heart of an older sibling, who was carrying a lot on her shoulders at the time.

I dedicate this poem to my brother, now, and to all who are going through life-crushing trials .

Keep hope alive!

Be strong ~ even when you fall, know that you can and will get back up again.

With love,

Holly x

To  A Young Man Entering The Army In South Africa

Brother, for years we were told,
But never really believed,
That one day you, too, would have to join
The long, frightened queue
Of young men, new recruits of the Defence Force.
The Organisation, so powerfully strong,
Snatching, from our arms, our boys
So brave, but oh! so young.
Without you all, how would we fare
In these troubled times of war + fighting,
Dangers so desperately near?
They are but selfish thoughts that bring me to tears,
But how can I help feel pain for you
As the next two years seem achingly long,
An eternity of an unknown future.
My brother, you are so very dear to me
And with my heart I pray that you find
Some measure of peace deep inside –
To face the torments and anxiety,
The discomfort of cold and hunger too,
To learn to reveal or to hide true feeling
Whichever best suits a particular moment.
Learn to have patience for those not so strong,
And a kind disposition to  help the lonely get along.

There are many like you, struggling to be brave
Put on your courageous smile then
And show them your way to overcome
Anguish and fear,
Enabling them to gain strength through you.
Have confidence and optimism –
You will survive!!

Written on 12th July 1983
Cape Town, South Africa.

© Holly Maxwell Boydell

A Childhood In Photograph

Holly on journey fm Durban to Cape Town - 1966 - THTT signed

 

I saw this picture yesterday, for the very first time. It was a complete surprise. It came in a little collection, that I had not been expecting. It is a photograph of myself, taken circa 1965, on a journey from Durban to Cape Town. A journey that, in more ways than one, was to totally rock my world.

At first, on looking at this tiny picture of my little self, I felt the numbness experienced after years and years of irregular life pattern. And then the dam in my heart ripped open, my soul cracked painfully, and wide. This picture, part of a little collection of my and my brother’s very early childhood, was placed in my hands by my son, who had conveyed it carefully from Africa, along with other meaningful photographic portraits and treasured dossiers that had been lovingly handed to him to give to me, of our much valued family history.

Simple things that others might take for granted, without their natural presence through my childhood, appearing now they shake my world … towards a more grounded and more beautiful life, I hope. Pain has forced me to lean on God, from a very early age.

I have no grievance about the hand I have been dealt, time and again, only sadness that it needed to be so. I feel gratitude that these treasures are coming to light, although at fifty four it almost feels as though my life has slipped through the gate. To be honest, my adult heart breaks for this little girl.

When your world has been shaken many times, it takes courage to keep one’s head up. I trust that God and his promises are in all of this, and that true grace is firmly intact.

In mindful contemplation,

Holly x

 

Swing Low, Sweet Chariot – A Motherhood Memory

IMG_5949 - cropped - THTT signed

Cooks Hill, NSW, Australia ~ 1993/94

 

“Swing low, sweet chariot …”

This picture … me ‘n my girl … in the garden of the first home that we owned, where we spent many glorious hours in Nature together, had lots and lots of parties and get-togethers, with friends and family frequently coming to stay.

The garden was a ”postage stamp”, whose every inch I knew, into which I poured my love and learnt all sorts about Australia. Gardening became the therapy for a very homesick heart, a heart that missed people in two countries, two continents called “home”, but with that came a grateful connection to the earth and so much that reminded me of my beloved Africa.

In order to be a parent, I had to learn to listen deeply to the rhythms of real soul, such as I had seen in the ways that African people cared for their young … My journey was an otherwise blind one, based only on what I felt to be right, and most of the time I could not see further than my nose in the process. I read LOTS of books.

I called that home “Tintinnare” … which is Latin; it means the ringing of bells. It was and still is, I’m sure, a very special place. We lived there five years, sold it to move to “Rosewood”, when my son, four years younger than his sister, was a year old.

Holly x


[This post was written for another platform originally, hence the brevity of script.]

When People Talk About Others

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When people talk about others, remember that they are just as capable of talking about you. Be careful.

When you notice that people have slipped into the shadows, know that they have not collected their facts. Be careful.

When groups fall off the ledge of your life, know that they have been spreading rumour and gossip. Be mindful.

When people turn their back on you or walk away, instead of towards you with love, let them go. Carefully. Remember: they were never meant to be there for ever anyway, and their thoughts are none of your business.

Go mindfully through life.
Don’t gossip.
Gossip and slander hurts.
And it bites back
Always.
That’s just how the Universe works.

Appreciate those who love you, regardless, unconditionally.
They are the treasure.
Focus on them.
Practise love anyway.
It always wins.
That’s just how the Universe works.

~ Holly ~

 

Life Is Not Fair

DSC02437 - THTT signed

Life is not fair.

When you are ostracised, judged, criticised, scorned, avoided, circumvented, ignored, mocked, derided, gossiped about, spurned, shunned, snubbed, rebuffed, or even politely side-stepped, despite being honourable, loyal, honest, non-judgemental, clean-living, empathetic, kind, generous, tireless in doing the right thing … it hurts. It hurts more than it hurts those who do none of these, or only some. Why? Because your heart is open and, when your heart is fully open, you open yourself to being vulnerable to both joy and pain. Open is open, there are no half-measures with truth and honesty. What to do about it? Nothing. Only stand. Keep standing. Keep doing what is right. And in the place of standing, love and hug and walk only in the light … Leave all the others to their own devices … and rest in the knowledge that by doing only that which will stand up to scrutiny in a fair court in any land, your rewards will be eternal (as will theirs) and you can always live with yourself.

 

 

 

In truth,

Holly x