Brian Templeton Books - Blog by Brian TempletonBrian Templeton Books - Blog by Brian Templetonhttps://www.briantempletonbooks.com/blogs/author/brian-templetonFri, 06 Mar 2026 07:26:55 -0800http://zoho.com/sites/<![CDATA[The Fire, the Silence, and the Long Road Home]]>https://www.briantempletonbooks.com/blogs/post/the-fire-the-silence-and-the-long-road-homeThe fire in me came from rebellion. The silence from surrender. A reflection on the journey from noise to stillness, and the return to where we never truly left.]]>

I didn't set out to be a writer.

If you'd asked the younger version of me, the boy racing around the block with his brothers in Reading, or the young man packing fruit in a warehouse in Holland, or the one cooking jackfruit curry in a jungle kitchen in Costa Rica, writing would've felt like a distant thing. A quiet thing. And my life, back then, was full of noise.

But something kept calling.

It wasn't a voice. It was a knowing. That underneath the places, the struggles, the names I wore and shed, there was something deeper trying to be remembered.
Not who I was, but what I was before I thought I had to be anyone at all.

That's what my books are really about.

They're not about being Jamaican, or British, or vegan, or spiritual. They're not even about race, though it left its mark on the early chapters. They're about peeling it all back, letting it fall away. Until what's left is still.
Real.
Unshaped.

The fire in me came from rebellion.
The silence in me came from surrender.
And the long road home isn't really a road at all.
It's a vanishing point. A return to where we never truly left.

I remember one night in Costa Rica, sitting alone on the beach, the waves folding softly into the shore as they had done for centuries. The moon hung low, and the stars spilled across the sky like scattered ash. The air was warm, but inside me, something had cooled, settled. And in that moment, I realised I wasn't the same man who left England. I wasn't even the same man who had woken that morning.

And maybe I never was.

Some of you know me through my songs. Some through travel. Some go through the books. However you arrived, just know this: I'm not here to teach. I'm just sharing what I've lived, what I've unlearned, and what still whispers when the world goes quiet.

There's no map for this journey.
Just signs.
Maybe this post is one of them.

If you've ever felt the ground shift beneath your feet, yet known, somehow, you were being carried, then maybe, just maybe, we've already met.

Welcome home.

]]>Sat, 14 Feb 2026 20:01:06 +0000<![CDATA[The Day I Stopped Looking for Myself]]>https://www.briantempletonbooks.com/blogs/post/the-day-i-stopped-looking-for-myselfWhat if there's nothing to find? A reflection on the moment I stopped searching for myself and discovered what was already here, beneath all the trying. I wasn't lost; I was layered.]]>

There's a saying I used to hear all the time. People would say they were traveling to find themselves. And I got it. I really did. Because for a long time, I thought I was meant to find myself too. As if who I was had gone missing somewhere—in a place, a woman, a song, a silence. 

And I chased that feeling like a thread through cities, relationships, countries, and causes. Sometimes I'd catch a glimpse. In the mirror. 
In music. In the eyes of someone who saw me before I learned to hide. But it never lasted. Because the truth is, I wasn't lost. I was layered. 

Layered beneath the names I'd been given, the masks I wore to survive the roles I played without even realizing I'd auditioned. And the more I searched for myself, the more I missed what was already here. I remember the moment it shifted. It wasn't dramatic. There were no fireworks. 

I was sitting quietly, just watching the breeze move the trees outside. That was all. But something inside me loosened. And a simple thought floated through: What if there's nothing to find? What if who I am has always been here, beneath all the trying? It didn't change everything overnight. But it changed something. 

I stopped chasing. I stopped measuring myself by old pain or future dreams. And for the first time, I began to feel present in my own skin. That's when the real writing began. Not to become someone. But to uncover what I no longer needed to protect. To speak from that stillness that doesn't care about how it's received, only that it's real. So if you're tired of looking for yourself, I get it. You don't need to go anywhere. Just be still long enough to hear what's already speaking underneath the noise. It's not hiding. It's waiting. This is the space I write from now on. If it speaks to you, stick around. There's more to come.

]]>Tue, 10 Feb 2026 16:31:31 +0000