For Pip, Thrush and Blue

Source: International Association for Suicide Prevention

If you are feeling low, or trampled, unappreciated, or forgotten…and you are reading this, realize it is an illusion…the hope is real…you are valued…and what lies ahead…is brilliance.
― Tom Althouse

For Pip, Thrush and Blue,
This I say,
“To and fro, we moved
Through the clouds of hymns we hummed,
As the world progressed,
Our longing for freedom grew ever stronger.”

I remember days where we vanquished imaginary foes, where Pip once sacrificed his life to save the rest of us from an army of rather savage goblins. Sir Pip was our leader, advisor and messenger. He knew all the shortcuts, how to get to the adults when we didn’t and very often, managed in acquiring free chocolate from no one knows where.

Memories of riding our bikes downhill but being too exhausted to walk uphill come flooding as I traverse the paths that were once volcanoes and rainforests to us.

Nights, when Thrush would sing to us still soothe me on nights lightning, electrifies the earth. It’s one of those memories that are triggered by just one word, one stare, one leaf.

I see Thrush prancing and flying, always beating us at most games but being too good-natured about it, that we would end up sacrificing victory for a song.

I remember the day her brother died and it was we, who sang her to sleep. She never slept that night.

For Pip, Thrush and Blue
In life, did we live
With cares so free and hardly there
Days spent in childish glee
Ended in time, we wrinkled for love.

Blue, if joy ever had a sad day, it would look like you. You exuded so much joy that it was contagious and we’d find ourselves laughing the most random things ever – mailboxes, candy wrappers and paintings; because they felt like you – because they felt Blue to us.

We never knew you were hurting or that your smiles were so infectious and jokes designed to laugh so that none of us would feel the pain you battled everyday or hear those loud and terrifying thoughts that had screamed themselves sore. I remember how the heroes in all your stories were dreamers changing worlds they created because the real world was too harsh.

Photo by Dominika Roseclay on Pexels.com

As I rise above the bench down the street and reminisce my faults, I see what I missed all along – the beauty of loss. Every day we came together was perfect. The sun shone gaily, the wind blew kindly and the grass beneath our feet remained fresh and green.

Pip would go around securing our boundaries, Thrush would sing to the birds for whom she was named, while Blue would make sure there were no flowers that were withering.

I was up there, all along watching and wishing, I could be a part of this gang, so gay they brightened up my days spent in the dark.

Aeons have I watched over
Everyone and everything but,
None that portrayed life in all its glory
Like Pip, Thrush and Blue did.
Pip’s bravery gives me strength as Thrush’s songs
Warm my soul while Blue
Shows me the sun can mask pain too.

I knew this was coming. I’d seen it before the children did. Blue left the world as the beautiful angel he was. I saw Pip cry for the first time that day; the bravest of all warriors broken down at the sight of his comrade who was no longer breathing. Thrush was there, but people say she lost her voice.

For Pip, Thrush and Blue
As I watched death bring you closer
I saw the strength, bravery and kindness
Your little hearts were soaked in.

How wrong were they – I saw Pip and Thrush that night, at the same park they came often. Without Blue, they seemed lost but oh, how she sang! I saw Blue standing nearby, his face contorted in pain and pride bathed in a glow only freedom could provide, but they couldn’t see him and her heartfelt singing reigned the night.

I saw the veil grief covered you in.
Dears – I saw it all
Soaked pillows in the night and broken whispers
Showed me more than you know.

But know Blue is here, his soul finally free.
He lives through you
Every war you win within yourself
And every demon defeated
Is victory for him and every song sung
Is his life’s anthem.

For even in death,
Pip, Thrush and Blue
Remain bound and prisoners of
Love, strength and kindness.

Most nights do I^* take up my place in the sky, but even from up here, life just isn’t the same without you three.

Oh Blue, I wish you’d known just how much you mattered to all of us.

Photo by luizclas on Pexels.com

^*This story is narrated from the moon’s perspective and so, I refers to the moon.

The biggest lie we fall for is that it doesn’t matter. Your opinion doesn’t matter. Your choices don’t matter. Your influence doesn’t matter. Your existence doesn’t matter. You don’t matter. It is the worst, most destructive lie we ever believe, and in consequence it wreaks extensive damage to more lives than your own.
Don’t fall for that evil lie. Don’t forget that everything about you absolutely does matter.

You matter.
How you feel matters.
What you say, do, and think matters.
It all matters.

― Richelle E. Goodrich, Being Bold: Quotes, Poetry, & Motivations for Every Day of the Year

World Suicide Prevention Day (WSPD) was first launched in 2003 on 10 September by IASP with the endorsement of the World Health Organisation (WHO). The 10th of September each year has been designated as a way of focusing attention on the problems of suicide worldwide.

Our renewed message is one of hope; that aims to empower people with confidence to engage with this complex subject.

An ambitious task now lies ahead. Through this theme we aim to work together, through our membership and beyond, to create a movement of preventative action, with sustained messaging to drive behaviour change and ultimately, prevent more suicides.

‘Creating Hope Through Action’ is a reminder that there is an alternative to suicide and aims to inspire confidence and light in all of us; that our actions, no matter how big or small, may provide hope to those who are struggling. Preventing suicide is often possible and you are a key player in its prevention. Through action, you can make a difference to someone in their darkest moments – as a member of society, as a child, as a parent, as a friend, as a colleague or as a neighbour. We can all play a role in supporting those experiencing a suicidal crisis or those bereaved by suicide.

Source: International Association for Suicide Prevention

Thoughtfully yours,
D

The World Around Us

Hello! My name is Maya, and I run a potter-y random blog called PottahWand! I’m really excited to write this guest post on Random Specific Thoughts! It’s called ‘The World Around Us’, and it’s about our environment!

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The autumn air is filled with delicious scents of roasted hazelnuts – my village’s very best. The red, brown and orange leaves were sprinkled around the ground, adding a pretty touch, but something else is there, too. Bright pink, yellow, green and blue wrappers are littered across the landscape, which ruins the would-be autumn-y scene in, not only a village, but my village, and my home.

After a quick 15 minute run around the village, I notice more and more wrappers, cans, and crisp packets. I wrinkle my nose in worry. The harvesting festival was near, and I can’t possibly clear all this up by myself! I decide to visit my auntie Emma, Yes, I think, she can help me decide what to do!

When I arrive at auntie Emma’s, the seeds of plastic waste have already been planted, and lots more wrappers are strewn everywhere; her front garden, with all her colchicums and helianthuses, the flowers that she gave so much love and care to; the roof on her house, that would have looked merry and cozy in the atmosphere if not for the garbage stuck on it and, I gasp, her orchard! The apple and pear trees now seem to grow neon pink and orange scrunched up paper-like plastic!

I rush to the door and knock a few times – her hearing has not served her too well, and she cannot hear too well. An old, small woman with my eyes, chestnut, and my own black, silky hair, but greying, opens the door, and says, “Dear Evangeline! What are you doing here, so early?” I laugh, for it is 10:48 – nothing early, for me, at least. I immediately turn grave.

Image source: Pinterest

I can laugh and chat later, I have to tell auntie Emma what I’ve seen! I could always go to the library and search up some ways to stop the pollution, but I’ve always thought that my auntie is the wisest in the village. I tell her everything, from the beginning. “So, auntie, could you help me? What can I do?” she thinks, tipping her head slightly to one side. “Tell the people. Tell the village what you have to do. You know what to do, my dear. I believe in you.” She says simply, tapping my nose.

“Everyone!” I yell as loud as I can, holding up a large sign, bearing the words ‘The World Around Us – Save Our Earth!’ “I must tell you all something that must be undertaken immediately! Otherwise, this Earth, our home will perish!” I begin to say a speech I have written as loudly as I can: “The world around us is changing. What do we do? Nothing. This,” I point at the woods, “is our life. Our home. Everything that we’ve ever done in our lives, everything, leads up to this very moment. Of course, we’ve seen what’s been happening in the past year or so. But we haven’t done anything about it, and that, precisely, is the problem. I know that we can’t un-pollute the planet, it would take us decades, maybe even hundreds of years if we tried. But we can salvage this corner of the Earth, and give it life, and nourish it. Thank you.”

Time slows down. Not a sound in earshot. Even the birds decide to stop singing. Then, suddenly, they clap. Great waves of appreciation and understanding. I am rooted to the spot, astonished. Every clap makes the redness on my face grow stronger. I cannot believe this is happening.

– 6 months later –
After my speech, we started work immediately. Now in our village, there is no pollution for miles. Every week we have a sponsored clean up, though I must say that it is getting harder to find plastic now. We’re trying to clean in other places near us, for example, the town next to our village. Okay, it’s not perfect. We still have our everyday problems. But we’ve made an impact on Earth, however small. We’ve done something to help.

The End

Where The Lost Thoughts Go

(This is a story (edited version) I wrote for Diamond’s Photostory contest. It was very much an impulsive write and I apologise in advance if it appears nonsensical).

I saw him from a distance. It was a mere glimpse, but I registered so much of his face in that tiny fraction of a second. He had a lost expression as he sat staring into space. As I approached him silently, I searched for what it was that had his gaze enslaved.

It was a solitary cloud.

It looked like a thick white blanket that had been rolled and crushed repeatedly, until it had frayed ends and stray threads in all the wrong places. I couldn’t get over how incredibly magnificent it looked, in the messy state it appeared to be in – at first glance, its beauty was in all, that was wrong about it. It was far too different from all the shapeless clouds I’d doodled away when I let my thoughts wandered.

“Hey Sandy.” I’d been so dazed I didn’t notice I’d been standing next to him the whole time. “Hey.” It’s a half-hearted greeting, but I can see he hasn’t heard me. I sit down beside him and we continue to stare at the lonely cloud that appears faintly translucent from the last rays of the setting sun. “Would you miss me if I float away, Sandy?” The question hits me from out of the blue and I’m disoriented at what he’s asked. Did he actually say, ‘float’?

Photo by Jason Blackeye on Unsplash

He turns around to look at me and I know he’s searching for an answer in my eyes, one that I’m afraid my brain can’t formulate into words. “You can’t float“, I say.

“I could with balloons.” It irks me how quickly he replies. The fact that he’s actually thought it through, that he anticipated what I would say, annoys and touches me at the same time.

“Of course, I would miss you. All of us would.” That puts him at ease for a second before he tenses up again and sits rigid staring at the last few wisps of the cloud, he’s given so much of his attention to. I suddenly catch sight of a few balloons next to him and the realisation that we’re sitting on the roof hits me like a bus. He can’t have been serious.

“Don’t you think it’s unfair they’re born to soar the skies, that they get to break themselves and stitch themselves back again and disappear and not be asked why they left?” He’s not himself today, but I can hear a pained love in his voice. He just wants answers.

“Life is unfair.” I know my answer is too open-ended and I know it’s not what he wanted to hear as I see his face scrunch up in thoughtful anger. “But it’s still unfair?” He wants me to say yes. “Not to them, it isn’t.”

I feel myself losing patience, I don’t understand where he’s going with this and I can’t walk away, not now that I’ve seen the balloons. “The balloons can’t take your weight.” I blurt out. He stares at me again and it just hurts so much to see him in wordless agony struggling to convey what his thoughts are screaming.

Photo by diya-pokharel on Unsplash

“Cloud, are you okay?” I ask, trying to count the balloons. He stands up and hands me a balloon. “I think it’s cruel I was named for a fluff of white that goes around exploring all day and here I am stuck with no place to fly away to, when the voices inside demand a space to be let out.”

He starts blowing his balloon and beckons me to follow suit. I hold an inflated one out to him with a questioning eye and he shrugs as he ties their strings together. “They’re not for me”, he whispers. We blow up balloons till there’s enough to fill our home.

He takes out a few scraps of paper from his coat pocket and secures them at the end of each balloon. I can see something scribbled on each of them but they’re folded and hidden from view. Once all the balloons have paper scraps of their own, he hands a few of them to me and looks me straight in the eye and says, “Set them free.”

We watch as the balloons float away into the sky without a word of thanks or a farewell stare. ”I felt bad we were keeping them in a drawer when they had so much potential. It felt wrong we were condemning themselves to a sedentary life when they were created to soar. I figured I might send them away with a message or two for the clouds they pass through.”

Seriously? He was guilty about the balloons in his desk drawer? My anger vanishes like the cloud did, as I see my brother staring at the last few balloons. The sky’s a strange tint of royal blue speckled with wispy clouds and an occasional star. For a brief moment, I’m suddenly made aware of the thoughts and efforts he must have channeled into organsing this little escape, because his little heart couldn’t bear the fact that we were ‘holding a few balloons captive.’

Photo by Thomas Peham on Unsplash

He looks perfectly content, his skin giving off a slight glow against the blue sky and we watch as the last of the balloons disappear at the horizon. “You have no place to fly away to, Cloud. But you have family who’ll brave any storm for you.” He turns to me and I go on, “Like the stars that are always there but never seen on sun-soaked mornings, by your side brother, will we stand through thick and thin.”

Dear clouds,
Please take our worries with you the next time you drop by, and set them free. Keep these balloons safe till they arrive at the place the lost thoughts go.
Sincerely,
Cloud Star Stone

And now, meet the siblings of this story!

Sandy

Source: Build A Bears Furever

Cloud

Thoughtfully yours,
Introverted Thoughts aka D