Connect with me

Hello and welcome to my blog formerly called Gypsy-K. Please note that I am only updating this blog while I am walking from Rome to Jerusalem from September 2015. My online home and permanent blog is at You can also sign up for pilgrim postcards and newsletters here. Thank you for being here and supporting my journey. With love and courage, Kym xx

Sunday, 28 April 2013

Four days to go....

There are only four days until I fly to Phuket.
My excitement is restrained but growing. This leaving is temporary and short; my return ticket is booked and unchangeable. My bank account is groaning, hungry. But this is a holiday I can’t afford not to have.

It feels like I am returning home.
I have held my breath since I left 16 months ago to dive deep into the darkness of everything that has needed to be held and soothed and loved. That breath is ready to escape. I am ready to let it go. When I stand on the golden cream shore of Naiharn Beach I will release it to the distant horizon where it will mingle and fade with the setting sun. When I immerse my body in the warm buoyant waters of the Andaman Sea, I will release the tension of landlocked life to be dispersed amidst a billion million molecules of instant nurture.
I will be home.
Full circle.
Endings and beginnings.

I used to roll my eyes upward when I spoke of this hedonistic, tourist-haven of an island. It was meant to be the first stop on my adventures, a stepping-stone into Asia and beyond. Instead it has become somewhere I have returned to many times. Irony chuckles; it has become my spiritual home.

Jungle-covered hills.
Giant marshmallow clouds.
Azure sea.
Tangerine, gold and pink ribbon sunsets.
Earth medicine.
This is everything I need.
And everything that’s waiting to greet me.

Sunday, 14 April 2013


Maybe I’ll never write anything
that changes the world.
Maybe I’ll never even write anything
that is read by anyone else’s eyes
only my own and maybe yours, random reader,
who has stumbled into my invisible world.

Maybe I’ll spend years or even the rest of my life
writing a book that never gets finished
or never has the chance to be read
because it never gets published
or it sits lonely upon an e-shelf gathering cyber dust.

Maybe I’ll never express
in precise and unerring words
my heart’s understanding of life,
of how much I love Mother Earth
and her immeasurable beauty,
of the pain that has brought me to my knees
and opened my heart
and how I rise each day hopeful of new possibilities,
hopeful of realizing the highest potential of who I am.

Maybe I’ll always be a ghost,
haunting each day with my spirit
but rarely ever seen by human eyes
except the few with the presence to see.

Maybe I’ll just live human ordinary
and the more ordinary I embrace and live
somehow means I’ll end up living extraordinary.

Maybe I’ll always work a day job
to keep my body sheltered and alive
and pay for my soul’s exploration.

Maybe I’ll never figure this out,
that which I think I need to figure out,
and the moments in my days will alternate
between searching and being.

Maybe all my pushing and striving
is for naught and pointless
because there’s nothing I need to do
to be more perfect than I am right now.

Maybe I’ll always be alone
because that one person I believed in
from fairy tales and Hollywood movies
doesn’t really exist in the outer
because that one person is I.

Maybe I will never fully unlearn
unworthiness, fear and doubt
that sometimes hold me back,
dim my light,
and keep me separate.
Maybe they will always be part of me
and all I can do
is love those wounded friends.

Maybe none of this matters
and I just think it does
because I’ve grown up in a world that most values
do, have, achieve.

Maybe the most important thing is each breath
I draw fully into my body,
deep into my belly
with which I use to cry
yes, this
thank you, thank you, thank you,
my internal, eternal prayers
as I sink down into my core
and root my feet within the earth.

Maybe all there is,
is this longing,
this pull,
this call
that I wake to each day
that makes me reach to the light,
and surrender to my own blossoming.

Maybe yielding to the longing
is the only answer there is.

Friday, 12 April 2013

Permission to be

The house empties leaving
chambers of hollow silence.
Silvery light filters
through Tuscan shutters.
In the gasping gaps between
the sparrows’ morning chorus,
the rattle of trains
and drive-by cars in
peak hour procession,
raindrops tap
the corrugated curve
above the porch
faster than the throb
that pummels
inside my head.

I lie cozy
beneath the covers,
hair wet and tangled,
my morning routine
started then stopped,
succumbing to the aching
and the tiredness
that has
defeated my defences.
Reluctantly accepting
the invisible attack
is too great to continue,
that I need not diminish
how I am feeling right now,
that pushing is punishment,
undeserved and unnecessary.

I hug a cushion to my chest;
the girl child lies embraced.
She does not have to be strong.
She does not need to toughen up
or feel guilty for yielding.
She does not have to be better
to be well.
She can choose to lie down
and allow the grey arms of sleep
to carry her gently
into that wordless realm
where rest repairs and restores.
She can give herself permission
to be as she is.

Thursday, 11 April 2013

Counting down...

“For ages you have come and gone
 courting this delusion.
 For ages you have run from the pain
 and forfeited the ecstasy.
 So come, return to the root of the root
 of your own soul." - Rumi

I am counting down.
I am not wishing these precious days of my life away
but I am excited about returning to the island,
a special place that holds so many memories,
where my heart opened to beauty
and my understanding of life.

It feels like going home.
I can already feel the tension of city life leave my body
and my breath return
deep and full into my belly.

There are this many days, hours, minutes, seconds until I depart….

Listen to this....

It is the theme song of my life.

And picture all of this, that awaits me….

I go without expectations.
I am not the same person who left there 15 months ago.
I am a deeper, fuller version of myself.
When I look at these pictures and wonder how or why I left this place
I remember the call to return here, to Melbourne,
the call to heal.
Maybe my experience of the island will be different this time round
but all of this will be there,
I know.
This is the fourth time
I return
and close the circle once more.