painting with the colors past pain

 

What would you do with freedom?
Would you feel free?

Sunny day, driving with the windows down.
The lizard king slithers in my ear stoking an already smoldering fire.

Instead of going straight home for lunch, I make a left turn.
Toward my special place to feed my soul. It burns with a desire that demands  satisfaction.

Ecstatically filled with the song of myself, I park on the side of the road.  There is a muddy walk beneath a small train bridge I found a few months ago in search of peace.

Basking in the warmth of the sun and the crisp breeze of the wind, realization hits me.  A green field next to a cold steel rail.  It is no accident that this place calls to me. Pink Floyd, the blessed teachers.

So you think you can tell Heaven from hell, blue skies from pain?  Can you tell a green field from a cold, steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? ~Pink Floyd.

Oh, yes.  You have my rapt attention.


The smile she grows to meet the sunlight.

Evo propped up on a rock, I set the ten second timer.  Running with grace in my hair, face and hands turned up to capture my exposure and complete reverence to the life giving mother.

Barefoot, I laid happily at his feet

Rubbing my naked back on each dewy blade of grass

My archer

Brilliant marksman takes his aim

Hand tensile

Anxiety builds in anticipation

Snap of the bow

The arrow she pierces the wind

Passing through sunlight

Furrowed feathers unfurl

Should I now hide my outrageous joy? I see it makes you uncomfortable.

Perhaps it makes you aware of the things you take for granted.
Perhaps the sound of my voice startles you because I have been silent for so long.
Perhaps it is my own vocal chords choking from unuse.
Perhaps it is only me that is uncomfortable.


Yes, that is the answer.  Once I isolated myself in shame of sadness, fearing pity or judgment for my impotence to take charge of my own life.  Afraid to speak my own name { out loud } 


But this is not the same old ground.  Not the same old fears.

Fear, my darling, is a choice.

 

In choosing a life full of love comes an acceptance, a full acquiescence to the magnitude of my potential. In whatever shape or form my soul moves me.  Happily, I surrender control of what that may look like on the outside.  No matter how much I want to blow the thing up, that fishbowl will always be there.


These are my new aspirations:

 

I will sing my amphibious song, my opera, at the top of my lungs.
I will wear stripey socks and my toes will dance inside my shoes while I drive.
I will paint your walls with wind and sunlight.
I will rewrite your love songs.
I will hold the mirror while you shave.
I will knit you a superhero cape, if you like, with crochet hearts and flowers.
I will thank you for thanking me.
I will breathe my fire, unapologetically.  Unreservedly.

Because grace is the flow.   And I am deep in it.  
The water she rushes uphill.

“Grace is wild. Grace unsettles everything. Grace overflows the banks. Grace messes up your hair. Grace is not tame.” — Doug Wilson

Confidence in every deliberate movement. With faith, I paint my world in ecstasy, out loud, with the colors past pain.  Don't expect me to be sane anymore.

{wish you were here.}