It rained a LOT this weekend. At times, it was torrential and caused flash floods and other damage. This morning I woke up and the sun is shining, birds are singing, and everything is green and fresh underneath the debris that is left. All it will take is a quick sweep of the lawn, and the lush green carpet will be ready and waiting for bare feet to run across it.
I feel the same. I have cut the last strings, and now all I need to do is brush them away, then there is nothing left to hold me to this dark time. The time to bloom is now. I can see where I want to be and the path stretches out before me; inviting, beckoning, welcoming. My feet move towards it of their own will, trusting to their instincts that have for so long been trampled on. My heartbeat sounds loud in my own ears, but it is not from fear, but from confidence. This is the time.
It is late spring, not quite summer just yet. Not all the flowers bloom in the early days, some wait until the heat of the day becomes consistent and steady. Now is the time. Bloom, show your beauty and your potential. Summer is not yet here, and it's not too late to embrace that grace that is inside of you.
Monday, June 8, 2015
Saturday, June 6, 2015
They Say
Writing is easy, just write a little each day.
They say.
It doesn't matter what you write about, just put something on the paper.
They say.
Once you start the habit, it will come naturally.
Or, so they say.
But, do they have this jumble of thoughts and ideas and plots and characters all floating around in a nebula? How do you sort one story from another? And how do you remove yourself from the process? Because I can't seem to get out of my own way.
Write from experience.
They say.
Write what you know.
They say.
My experience is not unique. My perspective may be, but it is overshadowed with pain and doubt. I can't accurately describe what I've been through because I am living it. I don't have the luxury of time to smooth the rough edges. It is raw and uneven and not coherent at times.
It will get better.
They say.
You'll move on.
They say.
Someday you'll be OK again.
They say.
I don't like to listen to what they say. I don't know if I can believe them. How do I know who to trust any more?
They say.
It doesn't matter what you write about, just put something on the paper.
They say.
Once you start the habit, it will come naturally.
Or, so they say.
But, do they have this jumble of thoughts and ideas and plots and characters all floating around in a nebula? How do you sort one story from another? And how do you remove yourself from the process? Because I can't seem to get out of my own way.
Write from experience.
They say.
Write what you know.
They say.
My experience is not unique. My perspective may be, but it is overshadowed with pain and doubt. I can't accurately describe what I've been through because I am living it. I don't have the luxury of time to smooth the rough edges. It is raw and uneven and not coherent at times.
It will get better.
They say.
You'll move on.
They say.
Someday you'll be OK again.
They say.
I don't like to listen to what they say. I don't know if I can believe them. How do I know who to trust any more?
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