Pieces of Eight!

I continue to learn and re-learn that when I allow myself access to my inner world and imagination, I find resources that make me feel at my most powerful and alive. In my most recent coaching session with George, we explored how important it feels for me, as a coach, to facilitate my clients access to their own creativity. I strongly believe that we are all born naturally creative and that many of us have simply switched off from this side of ourselves, supposedly in order to meet the pragmatic needs of the ‘real world’. Or perhaps we judge our creative instincts and don’t think they are ‘good enough’ to be shared? The visualisation which our discussion led into was a great reminder to me that our inner treasures can take many weird and wonderful forms. If we accept and reveal our inner treasures in a creative way, we have a trove of resources available to us. After the bizarre skull and crossbones discovery within this session, I was at a coaching gathering a couple of evenings later and randomly got served a glass of Prosecco in the pirate cup above! Signs are everywhere if we look out for them. Arr, Jim Lad!

The Treasures of My Soul

Deserted beach, the hour of dusk

The breeze, a salty sea air musk

Unbridled waves, on wet sand floor

Exfoliating, pumice shore

Rogue bottle swept upon the sand

Its smooth glass clanking as it lands

I wait a while, perched in the dunes

Absorbing ship wrecked ocean tunes

And then a blinding flash so bright

Reveals my treasure trove of light

Exciting, just would not convey

The gems I found inside that day

This wooden, buckled, beaten trove

Half open in the rugged cove

Exposed the treasures of my soul

Eclectic, random out they rolled

A string of rubies, some what worn

A book of quotes, with pages torn

A pulsing heart, that cried out pink

A feathered quill, some jet black ink

I delved in deeper, gulls did shriek

Amazement etched across their beaks

As further in the trove there lay

A skull which had seen better days

Unfazed by my array of treasures

Some bizarre and each one weathered

I began to understand

This treasure trove, alone it stands

It overflows with gifts unique

Not just the pretty ones can speak

The scuffs and scratches, signs of use

Give character, although obtuse

My soul is rich and scratched and living

Its quirky treasures keep on giving

When I’m adrift, all out at sea

My trove is always there for me

When I embrace me as a whole

I live the treasures of my soul


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