On a bright cool Tuesday afternoon , in 1994, I sat in Leicester Odeon cinema, watching an animated film that had held me since the very first note, chord and voicing. I was 16 and holding in the blubbing tears throughout an animated film, set in the sahara plains of Africa. The Lion King. 

Decades later I would watch this many many times more with my own children as animated films seemed to never leave the TV from dawn to dusk. 

That original moment of 1994, came back to me yesterday – as I was watching a Youtube thought piece on the music score. 

Simba as you know lived in peace, lived in the homeland where there was safety, where he could grow and play, where he was in line for a destined future and be nurtured into the process of receiving it, amongst friends, amongst the pride that had protected him since his birth. All except for the jealousy and envy of the vicious uncle. 

(Look I dont need to give away the plot of the Lion King here, surely) 

Anyway. After being lied to, Simba ran away, self blaming the death of his Dad, the pride leader, and just as he is at the edge of staying away forever receives the vision in the sky, the voice from the heavens, the great remembrance. 

‘Simba, Simba, Remember who you truly are’ 

And then the music changes. Then the hope begins. Then ‘something shifts’ in the air. The cub who ran afraid, now galvanised and returns. The Hero’s return. 

I could relate to none of it at the time. Except I felt blame for what was happening to me. Not at 16. I hadn’t grown up in somewhere safe, nurturing or protected – just had to mask it. And this line. I remember so very clearly desperately not knowing ‘who I truly am’ and so to ‘remember’ wasnt really going to help. 

I just knew what I had to do. I had to not upset mother. I had to not be like her either. And desperately do both. To keep her onside was to make the impossible happen – an actual recognition or being seen. 

I only knew what I didnt know who I was. 

In ‘getting through’ mode – without any sense of ‘who I truly was’ – even an evangelical faith, spent me giving more attention to ‘not being a sinner’ rather than being able to believe in who I was. 

‘Remember who you truly are’ 

I had to stay away. Not from a jealous uncle, but from a terrorising mother. Run. 

I gave myself to anyone that would keep me – just to stay away, even if that meant getting bruised and drained even more. Run into a ‘career’ I didnt really know about, just fell into being a youth worker. 

I was running alone – trusting no one, and barely myself – there was no self. Just protective thoughts that I thought were me. 

‘Remember who you truly are’

I didnt know. I only knew what I didnt want to be. 

(or who) 

Flying through life fractured and afraid. 

To the very edge. A cliff face that tempted me on a number of times. 

Stop being who you were and become who you truly are ( Paulo Coelho, Zahir) 

Yeah thanks Paulo. I didnt know. In fact I was blind to knowing who I was, but being determined not to be someone else. 

Last year. In my most recent full viewing of Lord of The Rings. I saw Aaragon. The ranger who ran away from his own responsibility, the heavy weight of it, and gradually, with magic and guidance of Gandalf…. facing the demons, made his way back into the place of rightful centre. Assured measured, light. Gentle. Aragorn remembered who he was as he, with others, returned to his rightful place, the centre. 

I saw something that I hadn’t seen before. 

I was beginning to realise, the return was happening. 

Another hero journey was part of my childhood. 

The Prodigal Son. The Parable Jesus told. The man who worked the family farm, asked for his inheritance (effectively asking for his Dad to die early) ran to the local town, spent it on prostitutes, and ended up in the pigs (a horror for a jewish community to hear Jesus say), come to his senses and realise the farm, the family was safe, home and he would be welcomed back, even to work and do whatever he needed to. The story ends with a celebration of his return and the grumpy loyal older brother who never left, complaining that he got no parties. (Luke 15) The son remembered who he truly was and where he was safe – when he returned to his senses. He went home. 

Remembering who you truly are. 

I didnt know. Confused by a return to a home that hadn’t in any way ever been that. But not wanting to stay in the edges either. 

I started to realise that I had been lied to, where jealousy and anger had been the tool used for my flight. Having left with nothing. My own life savings funded my gap year at 18, and since had barely anything, self financing two degrees. Last time I asked my parents for money was pre my first paper round age 13. Even wedding presents they ‘gave’ I had to pay back. Not sure the prodigal sticks. Wasting money id asked for, seeing the truth and running back? yeah, nope, Weighted by a responsibility and story I had to share of damage and pain, more like. 

Then I woke and saw the truth. Of the lies. 

Anyway. 

The awakening of understanding my true self has and is an ongoing thing. 

For so long I couldnt see, beyond what had happened to me, truth of which I masked and couldn’t even face. 

I looked inward and saw the barren lands of Simbas wasteland. 

I couldnt even look inwards, blinkered, bricked and blamed. 

Slowly by slowly, I have begun to realise. 

That I had to become, the very me, that was before the damage. The very me underneath. The one that believed in love dreamily. The one that knew that deep down there were lies all around. 

Living on the edge of the world. Living on the edge of my own life. 

I had to give up the truth to exist, having to become utterly self reliant – since 9… (when I first saw the lies) 

Remembering who you truly are. 

Wasnt just as simple as taking off the pair of glasses so I could see myself clearly. It was who I truly was being able to be believed in enough to assure myself that my fingers were ok to. It was as much forcing myself to believe in it to do it. To live in the truth of love completely. 

the Self destroyed…… cannot yet see. 

For, who you truly are. Is in the remembering. 

Before the childhood home, an eternal home lies waiting for you

A Soul that poured her light into to you. This is where I belong now. I know. Who I am. 

Finally, I Know who I truly am. And it’s time to walk onto the stage. 

And here I am. 

The Centre awaits. 

I dont know my mission, I dont know my goals, I dont know what is going to happen. Im just going to follow, the truth that I am Soul and from my soul comes words. 

My life was shaped by survival. Abuse. Since the first known breath. The normal rules dont apply. I was never going to ‘be’ anything. Maybe I wasnt supposed to have a ‘path’ or a ‘career’. I wonder whether it was to find, hone and be this light all along. I was insane believing in love from an early age, time to be insane. 

Maybe I was meant to have a normal life hidden away. 

Maybe that is your story too. You were blinkered by survival in childhood. 

And you have to go back further from before. 

Into the light that shone before birth. 

Your true essence. The one before. 

Not even the childhood in which promised so much, the inheritance of the land, like Simba. 

Words of life. Words of light. Words that hold a torch. Words that hold hands. Words than bring truth into being. Words by Soul. 

As I walked on Sunday afternoon, pondering this remembrance. I realised that I am not just a Soul, a body with a Soul, but a writer. 

And thats the simple story of how Soul Writer came to be. When I remembered part of who I truly am, and that on the edge of the empty field. I stand, with pen and soul in hand. 

Time to follow the call of the truth of me. 

And now it begins. 

Where I begin to trust in the truth of who I truly am. 

Soul Writer. 

Thank you for being here witnessing this start. This remembrance. As I write. 

As I write my story, more space opens up, inside me, for my Soul to play joyfully all along. 

Your support is both appreciated and a deep sign for me to keep on Soul Writing.

Not every piece will be as self reflective, I will be writing, for you, and less about me, and yet this first one feels like for me, an exploration of who and how I am here. With you from now on.