Rearportrait

found in a decaying wood. a fragile flowering fern. with outstanding foliage. whose rare redness isolates her from the forest. a perennial. secluded in arboreous shelter. overshadowed by the crowded canopy. engulfed. but continues colorful emissions. a persistent breed. that in spite of her bristly circumstance. she remains. tucked away. finding respite in empty hollows. and anticipating the next creative bloom.

only the courageous dare. to rebelliously defy the expectations of others. dodge shift and twist reality to their own. reshape what is and what can be. while daring to dream of the impossible. whimsical. manifesters who creatively play with the notion what’s next. and spin in dawning light. for in sunny side beams. on unexpectedly good days. their visions are born.

know the arc is repetitive. in this pendulum of life. with highs and lows. swinging to and fro. and all the points in between. when gravity pulls back down. dips. threatens to stall. one can find momentum in the downdrafts. swing. forward into those uplifts. those euphoric elevations. until thrust is achieved. and lift off into the stratosphere. to fly free.

that moment when the arc of completion drops. a brief rush of relief. quickly followed by the messy emotional cocktail found at the end of a laborious rainbow. finish. with a lackluster pot of gold. dulled by the stress of reaching here. bittersweet. glinting flecks of accomplishment reflect efforts made. while the heavier nuggets nag with the endless question. what now.

the manic crests and crashes of life. produce fluctuating moods. but when warmer updrafts prevail. latch on. ride that bundle of balloons. their colorful flurry of fun uplifting you to lighter elevations. to moments outside the madness. and when the gravitational pull of reality feels too strong. know. one can always find simple spheres to elevate. and help you feel free.

there’s this thing called hope. we all get it on occasion. comes out of a kind gesture, word, or view. sinks its unrealistic teeth into one’s subconscious. and leaves its rosy residue behind. embedding. waiting until reality resumes to rekindle that optimistic flame. fire. that burns ahead. alight with potential. promising fortunate futures. for those willing to mix hope with action.

first light of a new year washes ashore. paints my world in blues and golds. dawning. it warms the air, the earth, the developing days. cascadesĀ its promising power over this solitary start. where a release from before. and a welcome to the now. collide under cotton puffed skies. present. in the 2017 dawn. i vow to embrace every day to come.

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a raw open nerve. pulsing. every thought of self-doubt amplified by the echo of negative affirmations. the never, no, not nonsense taking too much time. energy. depleting my core of can, will, and do. orchestrating a struggle for reminders of the high notes. one finds in imperfect life. some days it’s difficult to see beyond the mesh. the barrier. of insecurity.

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a darkness is spreading. but with a turn you hit me. consume every space. around in and through me. my celestial obsession. reminder of hope. you golden goddess who breathes energy into wilting wintry souls. i hear you. and fear nothing. armored with the knowledge that your courageous rays rise daily. we will resist this ugliness. band together. and create anew.