Dr Julie Carter



“I know the world’s a mess, but, there’s so much that’s gorgeous in it. I wish everybody could have what I have.” So said Alice Walker.

As I understand her, what this wonderful wordsmith was referring to was wonder itself. Knowing how minute, how unimaginably insignificant, we are and at the same time feeling the force of life pulsing through our bodies.

As molecules of oxygen gain entry to our windpipe and cease to become aimless floating constituents of air, blowing in breeze. Down they go through all those weeny little tubes and then, crossing all our borders with the world, they enter our blood to be carried by our corpuscles, so reverently and purposefully, to all the far-flung parts of us that need fuel. This same oxygen was made billions of years ago, inside a furnace of burning stars. The very same oxygen that eventually comes back up our windpipe and out into the breeze holding hands with carbon, a combination that sunlit leaves are greedy for. So cleverly the plants make their bodies from the carbon and toss us back the oxygen free of charge.

This breath, the very breath you are busy taking at this moment, how can it be sensed without sensing wonder? And even, or perhaps most especially, when I am running so fast that I’m gasping, I think it is impossible to breath and not be in love with the sheer wonder of this life. Head over heels. Well at least that’s the kind of feeling which I think Alice Walker was talking about.

Just wonderingAnd are you wondering what kind of life a person must have to be so incurably in love? Perhaps a life without pain, without struggle, a life which does not know desperation and injustice and violence. A life which has never been on its knees, weeping and bleeding in defeat. Such an impossible life is not what is needed to feel woven into the fabric of the cosmos by forces too wonderous to comprehend. What is needed is only a breath. The breath you are taking at this very moment. Enjoy it. Know that the power it gives you was born in the stars. There is never any need to feel small.

Filling A Hole

There’s a queer shaped hole in space-time
it’s the exact shape of me
In every moment changing
like the waves which move the sea.

There’s a story often told how
the hole was mine to choose
But I know when I make it
that’s not the exact truth.

This queer shaped hole in space-time
is for me and me alone
I’m the only one who fits it
it’s the only place that’s home.

This is how I’m needed
and why I must be me
The other holes are taken
no hole can be left free.