Miracles make no sound. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wrote with a kind of grace that was hard-won but very accessible. Bon vivant drips off the passage I picked up, inspiring a poem about the same.

Forgiveness is not a destination; it is a process, a lifelong journey that evolves with time, experience, and personal growth. Like many of our human capacities, forgiveness exists on a spectrum, much like a bell curve. Some individuals may find themselves naturally inclined toward forgiveness, capable of letting go and moving forward with grace and ease. Others may struggle, residing on the opposite end of the curve, where the wounds of the past remain fresh and forgiveness feels like an insurmountable mountain. Most of us fall somewhere in the middle, navigating the complexities of our relationships and experiences, attempting to reconcile hurt and betrayal with a desire for peace.

Today, I opened Gulliver’s Travels to a passage where Gulliver learns the Houyhnhnms’ language. These rational, horse-like beings marvelled at his civility, despite his resemblance to the brutish Yahoos. Their astonishment at his efforts to communicate struck me—how unimpressive our “rationality” might seem to others. Gulliver’s struggle to explain himself felt deeply human, highlighting our endless need to justify and connect, even to those who may see us more clearly than we see ourselves.

One Hundred Years of Solitude captures a universal truth: love doesn’t vanish; it transforms. Couples in crisis often believe their connection is beyond repair, but with curiosity and effort, a deeper bond can emerge.

As Esther Perel says, “Most of us will have two or three marriages in a lifetime. If we’re lucky, they’ll be with the same person.” Repairing a relationship is about rediscovery and building a richer, more enduring connection.

Today, I’ve been thinking about the balance between structure and freedom, especially after reading The Canterbury Tales—the pilgrims' clear direction struck a chord with me. It’s a reminder that great art reflects our inner conflicts, urging us to embrace both the comfort of the known and the pull of the unknown.

You are not mad. You just need a bath and a lie down.

We’re all just a few bumps in the night away from realising we’re terrified and have no idea what the fuck is going on.

There’s no roadmap for what I want to do, and no external saviour is coming to fix it. I’ve realised I am the priest of my own house—a liberating and responsible truth. As a psychotherapist, I’ve seen real change in clients when they undergo a psychospiritual shift. Medications and therapies can stabilise, but true healing transcends the purely secular.

Moments of deep autonomy—like Anima dreams or pivotal realisations—are terrifying yet exhilarating, showing us we’re in charge of our lives. Steven Pressfield’s story of Largo reminds me: we are our own saviours. Tune into your inner voice—it’s the only guide that won’t steer you aground.

I gave myself 10 minutes to write a poem today—no overthinking, just pushing past resistance. It wasn’t great, but the exercise reminded me how sneaky resistance is, like gravity you don’t notice until it stops you. Once I started, the ideas came, proving that creativity doesn’t flow until you’re already in motion. The lesson? Just start. Even if it’s messy, even if it feels forced. Resistance only wins if you don’t try.

Teaching my son to ride his bike this week hit me harder than I expected. It’s one of those moments that feels both huge and small at the same time—pure joy on his face, a Hallmark milestone, and the quiet realisation that he’s one step closer to heading out into the world. This is about that moment, the good, the bad, and what it means to let go, even as you hold on.

A trip to the zoo with my son reminded me of the value of seeing the world with the soft eyes of a child. Where I saw routine and structure, he noticed wonder and life.

It’s easy to let habits and assumptions narrow our view, but stepping back and softening our gaze can reveal so much more than we expect.

To be chaste to the world's distractions is not a prudential exercise but a recognition of the massive opportunity cost. Your inner muse awaits—a source of love, creativity, and self-regard outside of time. Channel this connection into art, not fleeting distractions, to enrich your relationships and sense of purpose. Say no to the noise and yes to your muse. She is waiting.

The Australian Sky

Rain on a tin roof—the real thing, not a digital storm or a rainbow badge. Under the vast Australian sky, we see the world built by boomers: practical, sturdy, but small in spirit.

They shaped modern Australia—jobs for life, golden arches, and suburbs without steeples. Their generation never faced the shocks that force deep reflection. Now, as they age, culture still bends to their influence.

But the sky asks more of us. It demands beauty, depth, and ideas that soar. We don’t need to reject their legacy; we need to lift it higher.

"Run the amber light, ruin the blank page, and embrace the messy first draft. Creativity thrives in the tension between rules and resistance, turning fines and stumbles into breakthroughs."

True growth means accepting you're just another bozo on the bus—a tough pill to swallow in cultures obsessed with being extraordinary. The relentless push to "do extra" promises transcendence but often leaves us chasing illusions. Sometimes, the real freedom lies in surrendering to ordinariness, sitting back, and simply enjoying the view.

The fool dares to step off the path their family mapped out, choosing a direction that feels authentic but often clashes with deeply ingrained expectations. This tension stems from generations of sacrifice, where safety and stability were prized above all else. Yet, the fool knows that true freedom and creativity can’t thrive under the weight of inherited fears. Trusting their own compass, they risk conflict and uncertainty to reclaim their agency and live authentically.

Pushing past cringe mountain is where growth begins. Writing and sharing creative work isn’t indulgent—it’s how we refine our ideas and connect meaningfully. On the other side of discomfort lies clarity and freedom.

While reflecting on Irish mythology and researching the Fomorians, I stumbled upon Seamus Heaney's The Lost Land. This poem, with its vivid imagery and emotional resonance, felt like a thread connecting my heritage and artistic inspirations. It reminded me how memory, art, and heritage intertwine, shaping the stories we tell and the legacies we leave. As parents, artists, or creators, we have a duty to preserve and expand our family’s narrative beyond the pixels of social media.

This year, my main project is completing The Kingdom of Silence, a novel weaving history and myth through the story of Charles Byrne, the Irish giant. It’s a reminder to all of us: embrace the imperfect first draft of your own story, unleash your creativity, and see what treasures lie beneath the surface.

Anam Cara: Finding Peace After the Storm

The west coast of Ireland reminds me of those moments when, as a man, you feel drained, angry, and lost. That’s when anam cara—your soul friend—helps you find peace. It’s not weakness, but the support needed to regain balance.

Expression, like art or vulnerability, is key. Anger must be released, or it destroys. Through creativity, men can let go and reconnect with themselves, finding peace in the process.