Ebb and Flow

It's all in the attitude, the outlook, the lens from which we perceive the world. Circumstances are what they are, but it is our reaction to them that can change; and sometimes, the greatest change comes from within.
The Revolution of One.

I have always drawn great comfort and release from writing. There have been periods in my life when I have written non-stop. I have a lot to say.
Then there have been other times that a silence comes over me.
I have a lot to experience.
It used to be that sometimes, during the ebb-time of my writing, I would be stricken with a sudden panic that I am not doing more with my abilities, with my time. That because
I am a writer,
I have the obligation to publish.
To see my name (Hello, Ego! How you doin'?) in print.

But writing does not bear any relation to the business of publishing.
Or does it?

Writing is expression and should be something personal.
It should exist for its own sake, and not depend on who is reading it and for what purpose.
But that's utter nonsense.
Writing needs to be shared.
Otherwise, it's an endless babbling monologue in a room of one.

But in my room, there is a revolution brewing.
I can feel it bubbling inside, a brook of change, of growth, of resurgence.

I am standing at the terminal, watching the planes depart and land.
Tickets and boarding passes of ideas and possibilities, that might pique my interest or just leave me cold.
I choose to embark on this adventure with
anticipation
not wariness.

The attitude might not change the outcome, but it can make the ride.

Now Boarding

Do you ever get those dreams that make you wake up with tears in your eyes? I had one this morning. I dreamt that I was vacationing with friends of mine, friends I have known for decades, friends with whom I have all but lost touch. Not for lack of trying on my part.

We were at an airport about to go back home, when I told them how I felt about this distance that is ever-growing between us. They listened and were sympathetic, promising to keep in touch. Our flight was called and we gathered our things to cue up at the gate. As I was following them, I noticed they left some sunglasses behind - three pairs- and when I turned back from getting them, they had all disappeared.

They didn't even wait for me.

The last thought I had was, "It's okay. We're on the same flight."

I guess the symbolic and not so symbolic message of the dream is very clear. This feeling of abandonment the dream engendered is a familiar one, one I have dreamt about and have felt on several occasions; and as I slowly woke up, going through my morning routines, I realized it's time to let go.

No matter how much I try to keep in touch with people who have moved on in their lives, leaving me in their past, it's time to just collect myself and move on with mine. Trying to hold on to the precious memories of a past friendship, memories left behind like sunglasses at an airport diner, is sweet but futile.

Time to gather up myself, and cue up at the gate of new possibilities. And who knows, one day, we might find ourselves on the same flight.

A Voice

Sometimes, a voice moves separately from the words. A soft dulcet tone delivering the harshest comment can sweeten it into an endearment. A voice, harsh with anger, turns a simple hello into a curse.

Sometimes, a voice filled with passion, strangled by tears, impregnated by laughter, can evoke the most powerful emotion.

Sometimes, a voice is overcome by the enormity of what it has to deliver; and sometimes, it can break sound barriers, shatter all barriers, to deliver its missile.

Voices can mingle or clash, but sometimes, voices can maim the underlying understanding of voiceless communication.

Sometimes, soft voices can be barely audible in a room full of hotheads, but sometimes soft voices can command the room's attention.

Sometimes, voices can break off into many prisms of uncut crystal clarity.

But never, no never, should voices be silenced.

Something Smiles

Creativity. The root of existence.
Existence. An idea within, a breath coming out.
Spark. Electricity.
Syncopated oxygen.
Smothered in the fluid motion of air
spirit
soul.
Relaxation. A tune. In tune.
A one with one. Being just in the moment.
Just so.
So?
Trying to force the air out at first. Force the juices of inspiration.
Like one held in a cave too long. A willing captive of one's own denial of what the moment may bring.
Still.
It is worth the gasping, searing pain of being forced into that moment.
Going through the canal of birth.
Rebirth.
Painful and messy. The first breath painful, but the harbinger of life.
A breath we have taken for granted.
No second thought.
A primal instinct.
A life we live unconsciously from morning waking to evening ritual.
But.
Stop.
Breathe in the moment. Precious breath.
Breeding sparks of truth.
Nurtures the soil of the soul. The soul of the soil.
Spurts forth.
Lush and ripe to be
picked up.
Dusted off.
Starting all over again.
From the dust, something flowers.
From the pain, something smiles.
Empty of expectation.
Not seeking approval
or validation.
Like a parking ticket.
It is here
and here is wonderful.

Nesting

I have finally done the backyard, living room and bedroom to my liking! I will be adding some of my digital artwork in the living room soon. I have finishing decorative touches to put in the basement; and the next project will be the kitchen to complete renovating my home!

I see the remnant of my Vicks hugging cold on the headboard which I will be replacing soon!

I am working on some art for the wall :)

My digital artwork and a mirror will be added to this room. But I love me my new white faux-leather sofas!

Artwork on the wall is by Danette Relic, Rowena Murillo, and Steve Emery

Love my new faux fireplace/entertainment center!

The backyard is dreamy with the lights.