The Pursuit of Light

There’s something quite enchanting about darkness,

The mystical facets of childhood fairytales seem to tie endless lengths of string around breathless moments and pull them into a continuum of wondrous nostalgia. Those moments will never be the same—frozen, pulsing with resonant light. Perhaps it’s the lack of words which desperately yearn to escape from the confines of the speaker’s lips or the boundless concept of life pouring into the lower part of the hour glass, like the ever-evolving sands of time that causes a moment to stay perfectly imperfect. Maybe it isn’t.

Either way, as soon as something is spoken it dissipates into the air around it; it taints the energy it lives in.

When a moment is lived, it no longer exists and all that remains is the dance of vague moving images to inaudible, non existant music.



Autumn Leaves

She sits upon the turbulent winds of time,

waiting to be carried to the astronomical heights of dead balls of gas.

In the meantime, her crumbling flesh must remain a ragdoll to the ever-changing storm.

Tranquil. Open and free from the ancient, decaying branches of the tree.

Silver Screen

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Silver Screen.”

“Time flies.” That’s what all the people  say.

It matters not where you plan on going or where you think you’ll stay,

it matters not where you were last week or where you’ll be next year,

it matters not where your demons hide or where you’ve shed your tears.

It matters not where you’ve planted your dreams or where you think you are.

All that matters are the hands you hold as you gaze up at the stars.

So as time recedes before your eyes like the ocean swallowing the shore,

take the time to gaze at thoughtless clouds, wending across the sky and just breathe…

The Coathanger

I am a coat hanger.
I have fingers which have graced cheeks, laced with tears;
feet which carry me through orgastic stillness and oppressive noise,
nerves which pulse and glow with life,
I have eyes which hold a thousand galaxies and wayward shoulders.
I am the universe in ecstatic motion.
But for now, I am a coat hanger.

Tales of Truth and Trying Times

It felt  like nothing I’d ever felt before. It was like the lights were on but nobody occupied the space between my eyes. I’t the only thing that ever felt real. A moment of white hot light; it wasn’t even coherent; the most beautiful, profound things never are. I can’t even say it was images. I was just a happening. It buldozed my consciousness; I’d caught the acting bug.  I remember feeling as though I had an umbilical cord which was being tugged by small fairy-like creature; feathers tickled my heard. I felt human. My years of numbness had been broken by late nights, bright lights and the breath of 7 billion other human beings; those years of mindless torture and watery eyes had been shattered like glass, in the presence of an operatic, soprano’s song. I’m not sure what happened but it ignited a love within me which has kept me sane throughout years of belly-crucnching anxiety and clinical numbness. In those moments of darkness and fear, it became the only thing I could feel. It became my reason for being alive.

As I sat upon a deserted island—alone and afraid—desperately releasing flares in the night sky, I came to the conclusion  that one cannot force a rescue ship to arrive so one must embrace the unknown silence of the dark night.

There will be blue skys. That’s what I told myself. In moments of blind panic I’d let myself know that you can only ever appreciate the moment that you’re living. In truthful and trying times, I’d stop, breath and feel gratitude. Hold on to that thing that puts fire in your eyes and makes your insides churn with excitement; follow the thing that makes tears of love stream down your face.

‘Tis the way of the universe to love and love; it’s the eb and flow of palpable, living energy. That’s life. So When you feel purposeless and riddled with negative energy, that sinks deep into your gut, smile and gaze up at the sky. Know that I am a human being and I have felt exactly as you do in the moment that you’re living; there’s always another person who’s feeling exactly as you do in the moment you’re experiencing it. You are not alone.

If all the world were monochrome and I had to choose a colour to paint across the globe, I’d choose the ever-changing hue of the vast sky so I could watch ancient clouds wend through the atmosphere—endlessly and aimlessly. There is something about the omnipresence of the sky as it gazes upon the worm’s meat of humanity—as it gazes upon it’s orgasms and it’s suffering—which gives the impression that it knows of the human existence but wisely chooses to ignore our perpetual state of anxiety and need for control; it’s almost as through it sits above us and smiles—just like the Tibetan Buddhist monk who looks upon their pupil with knowledgeable eyes and old laughter and says “the purpose of our lives is to be happy.” As the man, drowning in paper and expensive fabric, mindlessly trudges alongside the artistic dreamer—who has a heart full of paint and a paintbrush for a brain. There’s something quite magical about the dust of time’s remains and how it seems to scatter itself across the sky—sprinkling humanity with it’s past mistakes and heartache. A universe of mystery lies beyond the marlin blue blanket. So, as the man and his conquests continue to tread the concrete floor, the sky will wink and smile, in all it’s glory.

Seasons of change

As I sat in the battered, brown chair—underneath the dull grey light which poured through the charity shop window—the ramblings of the shop floor’s very few occupants tumbled past my eardrums and numbly occupied my mind. “It’s not winter yet, is it. It’s still autumn.” The observant,curious intonation of Dean’s voice danced through the air. It made me release a subconscious chuckle. I thought that much was obvious—crumpled, golden leaves gathered in the corners of damp pavements.

When I look up at the multitude of colours in the sky,as they scatter themselves across the clouds, my mind wanders to that place of perpetual summer, where one spends endless nights running through fields as the sun sets or listening to the white crests of ocean waves kiss the sand as my lungs fill themselves with fresh, salty, sea air. To be present in a moment of transendental awe. ‘Tis wonderful to experience that visceral sense of glittering hope which one feels while gazing upon New York City, from the phallic structures which dominate the sky; to remain suspended in a seemingly perpetual oblivion—between the wordliness of ants and oceans of paper-induced adrenaline rush and the ambiance of a celestial realm which caress’ one’s spirit in hope of incarnating an intrinsic comfort to a being which symbolises the universe in ecstatic motion. ‘Tis the flow of energy. That’s what summer means to me; to relish in one’s own consciousness while simultaneously transcending beyond the realm of the proverbial box of human civilization; ‘Tis the transient being transcended.

So as the season shifts and time recedes before our eyes the realm of my mind also shifts to the dewy, autumn mornings when the water-speckled blades of grass bath in the cold, opaque sunlight; the lustrous radiance of the golden christmas lights dance with the buzz of warmth and elation which fills the air of the market; the heavily celebrated bass, electro dance and pop music of long summer nights, on the beach, is turned down and replaced with the soft lull of lounge piano, by the fire. The sticky mouths of children guzzle liquid chocolate and sweet pink fluff underneath the sprinkling of colours of the fairground Ferris wheel. Steaming, polystyrene cups of mint and green mushy peas fill frozen hands and soft knitted wool cuddles running red noses as stars explode, in the sky, above the bonfire. As ice cube moulds and transparent jugs are shoved into a cardboard box, shop shelves are filled with a multitude of selection boxes and tubs filled with foil covered glory. ‘Tis a blessing in disguise when denim ‘Levi’ shorts and string-tied bathing suits remain in the back of the wardrobe and knitted Christmas snowmen, on jumpers, take their place.

What a wonder it is to ponder upon the confusion of shifting seasons; how one era dissipates and melts into the next; how time recedes before our very eyes. Our minds remember fragments; our existence is fragmented. All that exists is subjective and exists in our minds. When we remember our childhood, we imagine snapshots and photographs; we imagine fragments of what has been. So when we imagine our concept of winter and autumn—our mental schemata—we see images and remember sensations which we associate with these phenomena—otherwise known as classical conditioning. Take moments with yourself to imagine that which tickles your senses; that’s what matters in life—it recedes anyway.


A Guide to Life (Not really)

As you will all be gut-wrenchingly aware of: life didn’t come with instructions so this post isn’t going to be the answer to all of your prayers but its a good way to start putting yourself into an open mindset. Much of your life issues and miseries stem from the absence of one skill: to exist with a future which is only, proverbially, two feet in front of you and a past which only consists of lessons and joy. You will only ever achieve happiness if you stop picturing it as a distant cloud which is to be chased. Happiness only comes from accepting the fact that each moment recedes before your eyes; it comes in inches so you have to know that you are relishing each moment as it happens and know that external things can only cause you suffering and misery if you let the. You choose the occupation of your own mind. If you don’t want pain anymore just don’t let it in by always focusing your mind upon the wonderful things and the absence of pain, no matter how tiny.

After discovering that I have scoliosis, just over a year ago, every element in my life has felt ambiguous and I have woken up, some days, feeling my blood pounding in my ears and my stomach curling into itself. It’s frightening how close to the edge of who I am as a person I can travel when placed under the scorching, belly-twisting heat of anxiety. After mulling over the content of my months of adrenaline-fueled anxiety, I’ve finally realised that although I have no control over what happens, none of it is really my problem and the only thing I can control is the pain I allow into my life. For me, the purpose of my life is the fill my mind with joy and prosperity; it seems to me that it isn’t a case of learning new things. Life is unlearning poisonous things and becoming more receptive to who you really are and what truly matters.

The Compass


“Are you heading in the right direction?” glared my cracked phone screen into the night.

Perched up a ledge, outside the local contemporary—a free gallery, filled with contemporary art—I drifted into the abyss of my mind. ‘Is my life going where I want it too?’ The proverbial gray blanket, which rested upon my consciousness, provides evidence for the answer to this question; no, I don’t feel like my life is going where I need it too.

Take me back in time, into my carefree youth in 2010 and a different picture may be painted: I was certain that my life compass was taking me to my calling. I’d just discovered my calling. Days were bright, nights were light and the perpetual vastness of the sky seemed to talk to my spirit; it gave me a reason to survive. Acting became the one thing which supported and still does support my existence. It was a time when the dark fog of anxiety hadn’t surrounded me and my faith in life was a dazzling white light which radiated from me, in everything I did. This became and still is my life; it’s in everything I do; its always there to remind me that I matter and have a purpose in this life. It tickles my heart.

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” 
― Dr. Seuss

I’d fallen deeply in love with my life and was finally happy with who I was and had found my place in this ambiguous thing we call life. I didn’t just exist; I lived. Just as I’d toppled over and fallen into an endless cavity of darkness, an extraordinary breath of life emerged and opened my lungs, for what seemed like the first time; it’s had placed my feet onto the ground so I could start running for a take off.

I remember slumping into a cold, plastic chair, one miserable Monday morning. I was twelve years old and still a year eight pupil in a pretentious British secondary school. Up until this point in my life, I can only ever remember existing; I didn’t know what it was like to live. Even though I’d always lived safely with a loving family, I hadn’t ever feel joy that felt genuine or experienced a moment of perpetual vastness. My form tutor’s lifeless voice rang through the fusty air. “A local drama school and agency are popping in for a…” I’ll never forget what that moment did to me. It was like a montage of images and feelings ambushed my mind and left within a split second; it just happened and nothing will ever be the same again.

Travel forward into the present day and there I was, sat on a cold stone block, outside a pompous art gallery, waiting for my grandparents—who have a confusing habit of pretending that we we’re a perfect family—to take me home after an exhausting day, finally finishing a performance exam, which had tirelessly dragged itself out for months. It must have been something about the holes in the night sky, where tiny, twinkling dots lay over the earth like a duvet over a child’s makeshift den or maybe it was the whooshing of the cars as the drove by combined with the ceaseless chatter over workaholics and drunken louts, but whatever it was, it pushed my into a bottomless chasm of thought. A volatile emotional state of mind is something I’d struggled with for three years and the light that shone within me—seemed dimmer than it’s usual fluorescence. I’d often feel overwhelmed with grief one moment and completely numb the next. I always felt clear in the city; they make me come alive. So in that moment of asking myself if the way I’m living my life is actually fulfilling me or not I became simultaneously clear and ambiguously unclear: Clear because the bright lights of the city filled my senses and unclear because I was presented with what seemed to be an absurdly obvious question in my most beloved environment. I rendered myself into a state of disbelief at my lack of realization. I had let fear take over my life; I’d let it become bigger than the faith which lives within me. ‘But how did the fear cause me to veer away from where my life is meant to take me. When I look back at how all the events in my life have transpired, it all makes sense; it all led to my passion for acting and how it excites me. If there is one thing I’ve realized about myself through this incredible journey of self-discovery, it’s that I crave action. If I don’t act upon my dreams I become restless, anxious and I start to purposely shift the control I have over my life onto someone or something else because not having acting in my life and not acting upon my dreams and deepest desires makes me feel as though I have no purpose in this life; I need this feeling—of perpetual vastness and the fulfillment of always having to work on something—to function in a way which means I’m living and not just a bag of skin, bones and blood with breath and the ability to speak. This is it.

So here I am, asking myself if I’m walking in the right direction and honestly, I’m not feeling as fulfilled at I did. I feel like a flower whats been crushed by the dirty, playful fingers of a child who remains unaware of the irreversible damage they’ve inflicted upon the flower and they’ve only just decided to release hold of the flower. I’m blooming again but not completely smooth because, unlike the flower, I can pick myself up, dust myself off and remove the blanket of numbness which has caused me to live in fear. I am stronger and have a more powerful heart than fear and no quantity of negativity can ever take that away from me.

It’s the darker eras of life which put the fact that the only life we have is the only we live in this very moment into perspective. It’s something human beings generally tend to forget. We have two choices: accept it or change it. You can take this course of action in one of two ways: in fear or faith. The belief that the future exists steals faith and poisons it; it creates fear because we convince ourselves that we have no control over the outcome of our lives; we tell ourselves that our despair isn’t our fault. If it isn’t your fault then whose fault is it? the outcome of our lives depends upon our reactions to our circumstance. So if the compass of your heart is pointing towards that audition or that road trip then follow it; don’t walk into the opposite direction because the destination your compass points to is blocked by a brick wall. Climb over the wall or break through it.

When we imagine our ideal life destination, our minds may take us to a place with freedom, sun and fresh air, immersing ourselves in the passions which drive us through life. We create an ideal and imagine it to exist among the vast blue sky or out in a continuum of nothingness. The thought which fails to present itself is the one which tells us the only happiness to ever exist is one which burns from within; the only true happiness seems to exist as an output of following your gut instinct. Follow the compass of your heart; it’s inconceivable where it may take you.

The sharp sound of a car horn rang as I turned my head to the road; my grandparents were slumped into their car seats. My legs carried me toward the car door and, in one swift movement, I was sat in the uncomfortable car  seat, drifting, once more, into thoughts of life, dreams and the city as the lights intruded the car through it’s windows. The lights continued shining as my eyelids drifted, closed.

Ellie x