made. on this day. 1985. three plus decades have shaped her figure. chiseled away the extraneous to reveal highlights. taken from lovely bits of different landscapes, faces, and times. sculpting a morphing form. but harbors two constant threads. woven throughout this creature’s composition. a ferocious craving of curiosity. that keeps her exploring more. and gratefulness for the gems discovered along the way.
years result in a breathing sculpture. chiseled from fibrous inflammation. torn. achy. swollen with the juices of fulfillment. every twinge a reminder. a demand. to rest. but that shadowy temptress of fun keeps calling. with her hypnotic patterns. and high flying tricks. she wont be denied. she knows the rhythm of more. so feign reluctance. give in. and rest another day.
flanked by blues and gold. a filter crisscrossed with course lines. stretched to reach. to touch. skin. connective tissue encapsulating a dispersed world. sectioning life landscapes. a screen transparent. semi. built to diffuse. responsibilities for tomorrow. soften contorted figurines. distance alluring curious minds to enter. invite. immerse in the glow provided by now. and dare to discover behind the luminous wall.
too much. out of. bound by. time. it’s that ever-ticking of hands that wind too tightly around life. meddlesome metronome reminders during procrastination periods. and slog ceaselessly in the slow respites of never ending. it comes in without warning to trample all over the now. mask the notion of tomorrow. and run away with years. try avoiding its call, but time is an inescapable lover. indifferent. and filled with endless nouns to experience.
under these shadows lie forms more beautiful than any mask displayed. a true human intricate with patterns of peculiarity. yet we hide. behind make up. behind enhancements. behind personas. our nature cloaked in layers of little lies. buried under competing glamor. ourselves forgotten. all for better views. we glorify the fake. so that in a world of unattainable, natural becomes novel.
awake to the life of illusions. walls shrinking around. sky a tempting hue. i grow taller. dominate my domain. scour over streets below. limited options present themselves. be crushed. suffocate under blank walls. or take flight. and discover vibrancy in an endless sky. accepting the terms. a time has come for escape.
Adaptation is designed for the betterment of the creature. Yet this creature feels my newly advanced sense of emotional control has the opposite affect. Or at least I didn’t realize just how highly tuned my feeling stomping skills had become. While locking down frantic irrational reactions during a highly stressful time of crisis is valuable in that moment; it is not a technique I wish to employ to every situation. But it seems to have become the default state. Like poor posture my emotional core has learned the habitual nature of tabling, or even glossing over entirely, emotional responses. As with most practices, I have perfected the art of not feeling. And though growth is inevitable in life, it doesn’t have to come at the cost of my being. I need to stem from the adaptation phase into a refined evolution — one where I can dispense my cool-calm-collected skill when needed, but not allow it to be automatic.
Opening my heart this flamin friday. Trying to remind myself that through the act of living, I am learning to love myself. When faced with unanswered questions, remember that I don’t have to harbor all the answers. Just be open to the possibilities ahead. See them as a new opportunity for a deeper understanding of me. And when tears come, to let them. It’s okay to cry. Okay to feel. To love and cut one’s self some slack. After all, it is easier to be kind and accepting of others than of myself. Kindness doesn’t have to just be for the rest of the world. It can be directed inward. Softening any negatives that may be found there. Knowing that is the first step to living on a path of self acceptance. Until then, I’ll continue to offer kindness to others and perhaps that daily practice will teach my heart how to love itself.
Some days I just want to channel my spirit animal — the cat. Lapping up the little pinpricks of light found in darkened rooms. Excessive carpet rolling leading to a force field of static. Skirting all responsibility (and clothing items). Artfully ignoring the calls of others to take charge of complicated situations. A day spent on grooming the soul. Instead of such a blissfully lazy day, this flamin friday I have been successful in ticking down my to-do list. Pretending that I know how to wear my adult hat. While dreaming of a cat day. One where I could linger longer in this dimming sun spot.