when you find yourself in a battle fierce consuming your bandwidth, constant in thoughts overthinking on overdrive, ask yourself a couple of things:
what part of me is leading this fight? a portion unhealed, ensuing from a place of pain? or an intentional, mindful self, my chosen values to guide the way?
and who am i fighting for? a version of me that wasn't able to right a similar wrong, desperately longing to try again? or the actual subject, the issue, right here, right now in this?
because nuances always matter in how you approach these things, one from a place of freedom: aware, considered, controlled. the other relentlessly, harmfully fuelled. a whirlwind of pain.
i hardly ever wear the colour white not just because it doesn’t suit my skin but because white for me (or any light colour really) is a magnet for all sorts of things that ruin pristine with clumsy.
and i am always convinced that it will take me less time then it does to prepare for my day—that i can sit there ten minutes longer lost in the thoughts in my head, even though experience has proved otherwise countless times.
i usually have a bruise somewhere on my skin, not clocking the distance required to navigate around a table, my own bedframe or a car door.
and while i’m frequently good one-to-one, i’m often unsure if i will enjoy large groups or leave overwhelmed, needing to recharge. suddenly fading in ability to make sense of words, mouths moving but mind not comprehending.
i love people and want to be with them trading smiles and stories and good will —but some days, when i have a choice home is my very best friend, safe.
my mind moves fast, makes connections quick, multilayered thinking. making me good at concepts in general, even if details might slip my mind, but i will likely miss the turn off on the road ahead forgetting where i’m going as thoughts run free.
if i have cut you off in conversation, i apologize. i promise i didn’t mean to. i’m excited by the content and contextually predicted what you were about to say so my brain thought you were finished.
i gather information from around, noticing details and subtle changes without trying and i wonder how many lyrics to songs i’ve gained simply walking through shops because if music is playing, my ear can’t help but hear.
(i wish i remembered details of complicated concepts instead of wasting so much space with lyrical words. that would seem more helpful really!)
but this is my mind, this is who i am and it’s taken me years upon years to realize that i’m absolutely fine and actually have strengths just by being me.
there was a time when it felt as if someone else wrote the story that was your very own life and created with harsh words cruel pictures of who you were
indicating the flaws that were theirs were actually yours, and you knew this was unfair, untrue but these words, they were frequent and slowly began to seep beneath your skin, regardless
and even through you resisted so hard, at times they made their way right through your beating heart.
this image that someone else penned has lingered and in your most vulnerable of moments you still carry the taint of hurtful, projected words
but let me tell you this, you were not the one who held the pen. you were never the one who formed those dreadful phrases or wrote distorted words.
you were simply there targeted.
and now what you can do is to pick up the pen and write anything at all that you choose. a story that’s yours and absolutely should have been yours all along
i look at you and my heart is sore since i know you’re doing your level best and have come this far already
but i see the struggle the grief, the hurt, the frequent pain the moments of despair.
i wish i could bear this for you, but i will cheer you on listen to your thoughts hold space for you to weep.
if you don’t believe it yourself—i do (i always have and i always will)
that you will make it up this mountain, summit that lofty peak. you will plant your flag victorious, and triumphantly proclaim “i have done it, this is mine.”
and while i’ll celebrate with joy, dance freely in the street, i won’t be surprised at all because i always believed you would.
on the very last visit, (the one before the call and the rush to her bedside to wait)
she said, “why don’t you just take it,’ and pointed to the teeny golden shape behind glass on a shelf that she knew i eventually wanted.
(she must have somehow known her time was near)
an elephant, one of many gifted to her over the years by those who knew she had lived in a village in rural south asia
and loved these gentle giants back when they would amble through the village, and one must be aware that tigers still roamed free.
yet this pachyderm was made in a different exotic place, formed with the shells of bullets from a despot’s terrible reign.
it was repurposed and brought by her son (who later became my husband) and treasured ever since —a reminder that love always, always conquers hate.
and now it sits near my bedside, next to the photo of us mere minutes after he got down on one knee to propose to this widow in south asia, but in an urban place
where we later lived and rubbed shoulders with women inexcusably harmed and were honoured to watch them remember that love conquers hate every time.
—tapestry of life
heather pound 2025
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i hope there’s a heaven for cats like you. the ones who arrived when needed most, and stayed a friend through thick and thin.
who made her laugh by day and slept by her side at night (even though at times you’d wake and find a mouse to bring inside, crashing around her room)
who welcomed her home, a safe haven, a furry little friend with so much conversation for a cat. the way you always loved her most.
and since you’re gone (and four years is far too few) i hope there is a heaven for cats like the one next door who has taken it upon itself to comfort my grown-up girl, bolting in her door, asking for affection, making her smile through tears.
maybe someday in that heaven you’ll meet and remember her.
heather pound 2025
Posted on
peace is not crafted in marbled halls of power. it’s not the purview of the wise, nor the product of a boardroom strategically drafted.
peace is a candle, just a humble flame that sparks one-by-one by one within the hearts and minds of those who seek the quiet and clear the mess, who focus on what’s better, provide the space—and wait.
it is the gift of a heart that listens, a mind with intention, a scaffolding of love.
and i have heard the desperate-hearted say that while joy would be amazing, they could contentedly live long if they simply had peace.
today is filled with wind and rain in a season meant for sun. but yesterday i spent some time communing with trees trying to recall if they were maple, oak or elm and was pleased when i identified birch by its trunk.
and when the path went through native new zealand bush, there were two feathered tails, chirping and flicking their fans from branch to branch as if i wasn’t there, and a tui perched unbothered not a meter from my face black with iridescent blue flashing in the sun.
but even on this stormy day, i looked out my kitchen window and saw a single sunflower peeking bravely over the fence from my neighbour’s garden and he doesn’t even know i adore their golden rays.
Heather Pound 