The Coconut Muse

Tag: beauty

  • With Your Own Eyes

    With Your Own Eyes

    There comes a time, quiet, slow…
    when the noise of the world no longer stirs you,
    when the chase loses its thrill,
    and you begin to wonder
    what it really means
    to be alive.

    Not to exist.
    Not to survive.
    But to live.
    Fully.
    Fiercely.
    With wonder burning behind your eyes.

    Because peace…
    real peace
    isn’t handed down like a gift.
    It’s carved,
    soul-first,
    from chaos.
    From heartbreak and stillness,
    from standing in the middle of life’s storm
    and choosing to plant your feet anyway.

    You will not find it in the noise,
    nor in the glitter of what others call success.
    Peace is not a destination
    it is a reclamation.
    It is the moment you stop asking the world
    who you should be
    and start remembering
    who you already are.

    To see the beauty of this world
    is to choose to see it
    with your own eyes.
    Not through the lens of fear,
    not from behind the filters of doubt,
    but raw and awake.
    The sunrise doesn’t care if you’re ready.
    It rises anyway, bold, magnificent.
    So must you.

    Go climb the mountain.
    Not to conquer it,
    but to let it whisper its ancient truths into your bones.
    Let the ocean remind you
    that surrender can still be strength.
    Breathe in the scent of rain on warm earth.
    Let stars make you feel small
    so you remember how vast your soul can be.

    You were not born to rush,
    to break,
    to bury your light beneath routine.
    You were born to witness.
    To love.
    To feel.
    To heal.
    To stand still long enough
    that the world can speak to you again.

    And when it does
    when your heart is quiet enough to hear it
    you will know:
    peace was never far.
    It lived within you,
    waiting for the moment
    you opened your eyes
    and chose to truly see.

  • Everything I Lost, I Found by the Sea

    Everything I Lost, I Found by the Sea

    It began with footprints… mine, then gone.
    Washed away by a tide that seemed to know
    how to take what I never meant to give.

    The sea, wide-eyed and glistening,
    offered no apology, only silence
    and the hush of waves pulling secrets
    into the folds of its ancient skirt.

    I had come here hollow,
    salt-stung with a loneliness I couldn’t name,
    looking for something I thought I’d never find again:
    a smile I used to wear without effort,
    a hope I had buried beneath too many goodbyes.

    But the beach,
    that quiet witness to the coming and going of everything,
    knew better than I did.

    It placed small miracles at my feet
    a shell shaped like a heart,
    the warm kiss of wind on my cheek,
    laughter from children I’d never met
    but who reminded me how joy sounds.

    Then, you.

    Not like a rescue,
    but like a returning.
    Like a part of me walking back from the sea,
    holding out its hand and saying:
    “Here. You forgot this.”

    And in your eyes
    the soft blue of low tide
    I saw it all:
    the trust I lost,
    the fire I dimmed,
    the love I feared I’d never be worthy of again.

    So now I know.
    The beach doesn’t just take.
    It keeps things safe until we are ready
    to see,
    to feel,
    to begin again.

    And in its shimmering honesty,
    I found everything
    I had once believed
    was gone.

  • “Three Little Birds”: A Philosophy of Peace in Feathered Form

    “Three Little Birds”: A Philosophy of Peace in Feathered Form

    A song as light as the morning, and as deep as the soul…

    It begins not with thunder, but with sunlight.
    With a melody so simple it floats, like wings, like breath, like hope not yet spoken aloud.
    Bob Marley didn’t just sing a song with “Three Little Birds”, he offered the world a lullaby for the weary heart, a mantra for the anxious spirit, and a philosophy wrapped in reggae’s warm, swaying embrace.

    “Don’t worry about a thing…”, the words arrive like a whisper through the leaves, not as denial, but as release. It’s not that there’s nothing wrong. It’s that, somehow, in the grand rhythm of life, even the wrongs will find their way to resolution. Marley’s message isn’t ignorance of struggle, it’s triumph over fear. A refusal to let dread take root in the garden of the soul.

    And then come the birds. Three of them. Small, ordinary, divine.
    They do not preach or shout. They sing.
    Each morning, they perch beside his doorstep, a quiet ritual, a sacred simplicity, and remind him of the most radical truth of all: that joy can be gentle. That reassurance can be feathered, that the universe sometimes speaks not in thunder, but in the flutter of wings.

    The birds represent more than animals, they are omens of ease, of divine presence in the mundane. They are faith without dogma, hope without pressure. A reminder that the Earth is still spinning, the sky is still open, and the soul still belongs to something bigger than bills and battles and broken dreams.

    “Every little thing is gonna be all right.”
    Not because we will always win.
    Not because life is perfect.
    But because peace is a choice. A daily, sacred act of listening to the song inside you.

    Marley, prophet of rhythm and rebel of the soul, wove this song not just for a moment, but for lifetimes. He gifted the world a philosophy that needs no scriptures, only sunlight, a bit of music, and the courage to believe that not everything must be understood to be trusted.

    So when the day darkens, when worry coils in the chest like smoke, close your eyes and listen for wings.
    For the quiet chorus just outside your door.
    Three little birds, reminding you:
    You are here. You are alive. And yes…
    Every little thing is gonna be all right.

  • The First Time I Saw the Ocean

    The First Time I Saw the Ocean

    There is a moment when the world shifts, a quiet transformation, when the air itself holds its breath. It is the moment when the horizon, endless and unbroken, first unveils itself, the ocean, vast and boundless, stretching to the very edge of the sky. The first time you see it, you stand as though caught in a dream, unsure whether to blink, whether the world will vanish the moment you close your eyes.

    The wind hits differently here, carrying whispers of salt and stories from across the globe, and the sand feels like nothing you’ve ever known, soft, gritty, like it belongs to someone else’s memory. Every step is a promise you never knew you needed to make, every breath a discovery of air you never thought existed.

    And then, the water. It rolls in slowly, rhythmically, like a quiet conversation from another time, another place. It laps at the shore like an old lover returning after years apart, its waves brushing against your feet, cool and relentless, both calming and daring. There is something in the water that pulls, an invitation, a beckoning. You want to step forward, to surrender to it, but you hesitate, unsure if you’re ready for the vastness of it all. The ocean doesn’t care if you’re ready. It simply exists, vast and undeterred, older than time, yet alive with every wave that crashes against the shore.

    For a moment, you are no longer just you. You are the smallness of a single grain of sand, but also the vastness of the universe. The ocean holds you, humbles you, makes you feel both unimportant and all-important in the same breath. It does not ask you to understand it; it only asks you to witness, to feel, to let its rhythm wash over you.

    In that first moment, the sound of the waves is no longer just noise, it’s a song, a lullaby sung to your heart, a reminder that some things in this world are too beautiful, too immense, to ever be explained. The ocean does not need to justify its existence. It simply is. And in its simple being, it gives you something you never knew you needed, a reminder that sometimes, the greatest beauty in life lies in the things that are too big to be understood, only felt.