One of the many things I love about being in Jules Swales' writing classes is exploring new writing voices.

Here's an example of an exercise which I loved playing with.

What are you doing in your life that stretches you and lights you up? If the answer is nothing I can help you release the inner limitations which are in your way.

The Return

Amber flames danced seductively to a silent melody in the heart of the blackened hearth. A warm glow cast out flickering impressions on the aged stone walls. Illuminating rows of leather bound books heaving with wisdom forgotten. The Persian rug ablaze with colour brought to life in the dance. Each thread a promise of truth untold yearning to be witnessed.

My journal weighed heavy on my lap. Its faded words etched in my psyche not finding my heart. Three deliberate raps on the leaded window broke my contemplation. The Raven had returned. The mantel clock struck 9pm, his calling hour. Inky blackness merged with the depth of the night. The only tell-tale a white feather in his beak.

My humanness trembled bone deep. I found my body moving, my soul guiding me forward. Bare feet met ancient flagstones as the heavy oak door swung closed behind my back. Sweet camomile surrendered its essence beneath each footstep. At the gate, my eyes cast backwards longingly to the sanctuary of my cottage. My human desperate to retreat. The Raven took flight, leaving a clarion call in his wake. The white feather hung in the air like a question mark.

Onwards I moved, feet sank into cool sand. At the water’s edge, I released my burgundy dress, soft velvet caressed my thighs. I hesitated beneath the watchful moon before venturing into the foaming waves. I swam into opaque water, my breath suspended as I became lost in the liquid embrace.

I descend into the sacred depths of initiation. Wrestling with the shadows on the cusp of divine revelation. Clinging to the empty comfort of illusion. Fear unleashed its fiery dragons, illuminating the abyss of no self. Its pulls a mesmerising Siren’s song. An aching terror consumed me.

Then an exquisite release, a remembering. Layers transcended as I shed the skin of ancestral echoes. Veils lifted as I untangled from the roots of the forgotten self. The ecstasy of the return cascaded through my being.

When I resurfaced fragments of the past did not. The wheels of time were silent. My eyes could see what my soul had known for all time. I knew infinity in a teardrop and the love that cannot be spoken. I heard the gentle exhale of a soul unbound and knew it as myself. The stars, celestial spectators of the moment of grace erupted – Glory, Glory, Glory.