We can easily speak the narratives as to why we can’t be happy in the standing room only of parts of our stories.
There are moments when the pain has been written as a dull ache behind a smile and others where colors replaced suffocating words.
And still other unscripted parts that our grief leaked onto, leaving no doubt of our existence on their lines and in the spaces between them.
Images of suffering that mean discussions are over and that we can only nod our heads in a familiar agreement to the presence of the mixed-in grief of our homes.
And it has been both frightening and comforting bringing along those hard-earned emotions page after page.
Thinking to ourselves that all of those feelings complete us as if there is some rule that says that we have to take beliefs and turn them into thoughts of truth as we write.
As if data can’t be challenged or that conversations can’t still be had that make it more likely for us to carry the weight in a different manner.
But of course, the state of things has been that happy spots are celebrated, and the undesirable most certainly can’t be a part of a better story.
And still those emotions are not our co-authors but instead different levels of feels that we count, reinforcing going forward with hope and also stripping the light from the tomorrows.
But there is more than that to talk about, more that can penetrate to remove the beliefs that no longer serve us and art that points out other things in what can’t be let go of.
This is me and once upon a time I held hope while unhappy multiplied and happy felt lonely in what should have been safe for laughter.
Then hope left and in its place unhappy painted itself with the darkness of disbelief, anger and despair while happy quietly moved backwards.
The cause and effect were that my artwork was defined by all sorts of surviving in spaces that I was actually lost in.
And nodding my head in agreement with the pain of what was never going to be changed was all that was possible.
The weight of those days has shifted, not because there isn’t any shade, but because joy has put the light back into discussions, allowing for laughter to follow the pauses and the tears.
Hope, love and art exist in celebrated spots, but better stories hold images of those things reminding us of how we always belong with them even as we are enduring.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
We have all felt the need for places to find happiness in, but that concept has merely given us reasons for why the landscape is more important than we are and why our homes are so unfriendly to live in.
And that has been our knowing, where shooting our shot at being happy requires following the right path to prove that it has been earned otherwise, we must continue to live without it.
And yet, just because the word “no” has found itself as a prominent character, over-talking our art, it has never meant that we should hold tightly to its shape-shifting testimonies.
But then, it is far easier to be clear about the upside found at the completion of change then it is to envision living through a journey that also contains the honesty of agony in getting there.
We know that we are wounded but it’s how we show up with our belief systems in those spots that impedes our vision of being worthy just because we are not because we do.
So, when we say happy, how we feel we belong with it significantly impacts understanding yesterday’s narratives and whether we give up before we have even discovered what’s possible in today’s wisdom.
Without our ability to put life into it, happiness is simply another word waiting for our individual art to define it and when we are overwhelmed, it remains in readiness until the water recedes from our storms.
And the very same can be said about unhappiness and how it exists because we are the ones that bring it into being with the details of what hasn’t been pretended, no matter how many times we have paused to wish that it had been.
Something we don’t normally do on our pages is give ourselves a chance to be the light in the dark, more important than marks of the past, the colors when words fail and to be comfortable with looking at both sides of our homes.
It starts with hope, the middle is improvised, and the end is never promised but every step is our shot at flooding our stories with what we really look like in happiness as well as sorrow.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Hope is ours to dance new lines onto the pages of the tomorrows but sometimes the past poetry on the inside comes along to say that we are deceiving ourselves and so we find that:
We can’t change the shape of our homes because there is no retirement for the lack of forgiveness and fragile-ness that’s growing there.
We can’t convince ourselves to not think about the losses or the pain because we still feel so small in comparison to what is implied about flowers.
We can’t imagine having a whole lot of joy because that kind of smile has been mostly absent in the yesterdays.
We can’t feel safe and sound because we are still holding onto deals that hide the colors in our art.
We can’t get validation for how we came out on the other side because definitions, seemingly belonging to others, are included while our own words are tempered with denigration.
But even though we can’t doubt the details of distractions, the vibe behind things that are forever more was never meant to assert that we weren’t equipped to be all right all along so let’s just say that:
Better stories come from reintroducing the bravery that we built in the losses.
Much needed chances come from believing in us within the colors even if that means failing together periodically.
It’s never too late for the truth that there are multiple ways to get where we want to be and we can try them all.
Our job is not to be devoted to being happy but to be dedicated to being real in all of our experiences that also include joy.
Becoming the friend that loves us in unlikable moments means that being alone does not feel lonely.
Ultimately, having something to go forward with comes from letting go of not past poetry, but the set of rules that have been used to design page after page as if we are hard to work with just because of some moments.
Our ability to put life into words is always better than what we believe to be possible, and we can always get what is needed from them whether flowers grow or not.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
For flowers, the path from seeds to sprouts to blooms to seeds and then debris, is the nature of their stories that never hold the promise of becoming.
They push through the resistance of the soil and ever-changing weather as well as the possibility of being defeated by what couldn’t be considered wherever they are.
They even welcome the dark to grow their roots as much as they embrace the light in the order of their existence.
And when comparing that understanding to the rules of wishes in our building more, the process is similar except we are far more fragile within the conditions of our own minds and hearts than a single seed is in the harshest of environments in its cycle.
Even tomorrow’s games feel rigged by captured things telling us what to think and feel while we hope that a likeable feeling about ourselves will somehow come along to change tears of pain into those that fall from laughter.
And yet here we are, having learned to survive, making us so capable of bringing through a perspective beyond what has, so far, been the normal in our gardens.
And although those shadows and darkness seem contrary to growth, we did not get to this spot on our journeys to not now choose loving and being kind to ourselves.
Because building upon the wisdom of yesterday’s experiences, even when the bottom layer is regret, moves us a step closer to the place where we find shelter in our weather.
And since we have already tried reciprocating the debris of defeating moments, we might as well renegotiate who we are in a manner that bolsters our homes with gains that remain.
So, in the frames that hurt, there is at least one detail that will let us into joy for as long as we need to be.
Sometimes that bloom is simply that we got up, or sadness was distracted by fun, or that we believe just a little more in dreams than limitations but whatever it is, it is enough to ever so slightly shift what weighs us down.
But it’s a decision that we have to make as many times as we can to ease the conditions in our homes and to break the cycle of accumulated moments.
Sometimes hope doesn’t look like hope because its processes trigger everything from inspiration to perceived defeat and grief, however the better story isn’t the dream but rather meeting ourselves along the way.
There are so many layers to works of art and the price that we have paid hasn’t just been in captured things but in reading them in black and white and it’s time to find us in the other colors.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always Heavell
It’s different reading in black and white and living in colorful frames.
It’s different being bound for hope and stopping because it looks dissimilar.
It’s different being in this moment and aligned with where time has stood still.
It’s different needing the biggest hug and not wanting to be seen.
It’s different being blinded by the sun and simultaneously existing in a storm.
It’s different sowing seeds in the trenches and just experiencing the debris.
It’s different hiding tears on the outside and crying on the inside.
It’s different holding the same words page after page and being the writer.
It’s different being a forest and making it irrelevant because of some trees.
It’s different disliking the artwork and grabbing the same colors.
And it’s different listening intently to fear’s communications and ignoring bravery’s quieter voice.
But just because we have spent a lot of time stumbling in that different, as if we are suitable with it, it doesn’t mean that we must continue to accept it’s offers.
We can study the ambiguous nature of our frames.
We can get a better look at loving ourselves on journeys where hope fails.
We can pause to take the deep breath that suspended moments left out.
We can be a friendly face to the person in the mirror.
We can be both happy and sad at the same time.
We can notice that flowers welcome even the messiest of nourishment.
We can accept that tears on the inside are a valid response on the outside.
We can view that a word is only a word until our puzzle pieces create what it means in us.
We can commend the rest of our home while caring for the hell that lives there too.
We can start tomorrow’s art by practicing we the colors and styles.
And we can take different steps in response to the old obstacles that we hear from dragons.
There is a pattern of speech that keeps us unknowingly loyal to exactly what we don’t want by having us believe that we are compatible with what came to be.
And yet acknowledging the emotions that dwell behind our smiles isn’t the same as being those unlikable moments for we are individuals worthy of the space to be loved in and out of the fray of our stories.
The walk is long, but it gets easier when the build-up of that different moves out of the way for the talk that encourages works of art to listen to their hearts.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Somewhere in yesterday’s air lives the voice of the unkindness that brings with it all that is gray, all that wasn’t, all that is regret and all that is war no matter where we roam.
It uses sabotaging language to keep our bags overflowing.
It turns tries into days of failure.
It blasts hope’s breath away.
It marks new spaces as inadequate for a friendship with ourselves.
It maps happiness as something we will never find.
It keeps the materials that have been made with effect as our go to style.
And yet the more we stay connected to the easy pickings of that believed certainty:
The more we don’t know what is important about our thoughts and feelings.
The more pain is included in events even when there isn’t any suffering.
The more safety seems like a fantasy.
The more stability is about not trying.
The more we are bound to storms including on sunny days.
The more we tell ourselves that we are not what we should be.
And yet in the fear of the unpredictable that can be found around each of tomorrows bends:
We fear gray because we have to practice hugging it with works of art in progress.
We fear exhaustion because it comes from being brave and scared at the same time.
We fear strength because its building blocks are forged from suffering.
We fear tears because we know they come most often from pain.
We fear sometime warriors because they show up to fight wars and battle dragons.
We fear enough because it explains that in unlikeable moments, messy is always loveable.
And still on the other side of all that conflict is the truth that the bravery needed for the unforeseeable is actually exposed in surviving the reliability of suffering and doubt.
In the art by uncertainty, there is magic in expanding the balancing of the light with the dark and relief in letting go of the control of certainty.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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