It exists in all of us, whether initially a flicker or a flame, creativity eventually asks for engagement. Art is born not only in painful moments of life’s unexpected and uncontrollable events, but also in the peaceful serene entrance of morning when an invitation is presented to begin a new day with the most playful of heart.
My wish to capture the sunrise this morning as a photograph was not granted as I was traveling on the highway. I could only gape at its beauty and imbed the picture in my memory. Difficult as it was to keep my attention on the road, mesmerized by the half crescent shape of the bright orange globe peeking out from the horizon, I turned my thoughts to the inspiration from nature once again.
Further down the road where the sun’s rays had not yet touched, a heavy ethereal mist was floating above the red river and evoked my fantastical imagination of a world where mystical delights swirl around each and every one of us playfully invoking a powerful urge and desire to create art from the inspiration of tiny water droplets suspended in air.
For me, the mist represents a lightness of heart that floats above the harsh realities of a mundane existence or the senseless casualties of loved ones. As with atmospheric changes, the heaviness of life can be transformed into featherlight peace. Once again my sense of purpose has been reestablished and confirmed.
As I was elevated from a mechanical state of tending to daily cares to one of sublime happiness, a magical gift was received again from above. A place created by a societal and collective imagination, but also quite possibly a place revealed to us in tiny glimpses of unimagined beauty upon daybreak in nature’s masterpieces.
Appreciation of these slivers of magnificence can fan and fuel the burning desire to bring forth our own creative beauty deepening our relationship with the creator of all.
“Listen to the wind, it talks. Listen to the silence, it speaks. Listen to your heart, it knows.” Native American Proverb
Doing nothing, sitting still, yet still listening.
The deafening sound of silence could drive some mad, and yet to others it is the foundation of reconstruction.In the quiet, you may actually hear the humming of your brain.
There are times, I just sit mesmerized while allowing my eyes to scour the room stopping at each window to gaze upon a color fusion filtering through the panes. The subtle background noises blend into a cohesive white noise below volume one qualifying a nearly silent state.
And here is where the peaceful calm washes over my overexertion of the day.As I sit in the space of uninterrupted quiet, I find the time to hear what matters.Lessons of the heart actively yearning to find me receptive, untethered by the bustling activities of motion bound by the restrictions of time.
What I need to learn is not always what I want to hear.Yet, I acquiesce to the silent message as it finds a path directly to my heart.
At that moment when a search for explanations begins, the untainted silence is shattered.
I have a confession to share with you. My hope journey comes only after a great battle in the wilderness I spoke of yesterday.
As I have been reading many of my readers’ and other writers’ stories I am amazed at the individual struggles and triumphs faced by each and every one of us as we travel through the seasons of life. And I am humbly reminded of the time when I wandered not only through the wilderness but also in the dark.
For me, there was a beacon in the darkness, first a glimmer that soon moved to a guiding light. My writing lit up the shadows, and many of my early poems share the exposure of my sunless days.
I would now like to share one of my poems with you all and embrace the pain and process that was necessary to navigate to arrive at 2019 – The Hope Journey.
My hope is to publish a book of the poems I wrote in the sea of suffering. Lost in the waves, my soul was revealed as I struggled to make peace with what I could not understand. The gift of healing through words is available as a beacon for all. And this greatest gift of all is called Hope.
Glimmer of hope Silently beckoning Sliver of light opens The passageway to another place Streaming rays point the way Striving desperately to capture Unwittingly suffocating the momentary essence Crying out for its return Elusive mystery refuses to obey And yet I wait