The first step of change is to have hope but as within the community of perfectly imperfect things, not all of the pieces in the process are beautiful nor do they always make sense in the storytelling of our very own art.
And when we turn around to look into all the hope that we have held onto on our travels, we are caught in the undertow of the losses because the home language of hope is about getting what we want not about what happens along the path towards it.
Hope, though, is much bigger and often what we forget are the things that are meant to nourish us on the longer journey of getting to the other side of a dream as well as all of the future ones.
So how would you feel if you were only a couple of steps ahead of the place that some idea of different was created from moments and emotions picked up along the way?
Would your thoughts say to that wish “here I come” or would that point still be far enough away from what you want that you would slowly begin to breathe in maybe?
If you knew that part of the details of hope is staying in one spot or others for longer than desired, would you still believe that you are losing or would you remind yourself to just hold on because most hope requires a long game?
Can you find a way to put down any doubt that whispers but still lean into the reminder that you are possible with or without the proof that you will get there?
What would you change about your wishes and thoughts if you were aware that the reality of hope on the outside has the ability to stretch thin the delicate ones that live on the inside and that it has nothing to do with who you are?
Our norm has been to add unmaterialized hope onto our pages as the loud grief of defeat, however hope is not really an item or location but rather a quiet connection between where we are and the next version of ourselves that we get to create over time.
This is me and what my greatest loss of hope has to say is that to dream about what was so uncertain was powerful, especially in the presence of dragons, and even though it didn’t make sense nor was it beautiful, it was the moving towards that idea that grew strength not what ended up happening.
It would be a shame to let go of hope in the conditions of a bit of a rough patch because within the pieces of the very community that lives in our homes, we can have losses right alongside our gains and still be all right with our artistry.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
All around us the magic of hope is the exploration of cutting a new path through the familiar by venturing into the soil of determination to test whether the vulnerability that change brings will allow us to flourish or leave us wandering in some other kind of different.
There are times when that possibility is so powerful that we are warriors bent on moving mountains and others that are just simple changes but mixed in with the ideas of hope are the shadows of the thoughts about how we should have already done what we should have known to do all along.
The more we respond to that discomfort dancing across our pages, the more particular lines are written, creating a narrative of doubt that makes it easier to meet the dark even when there’s light and we are hopeful.
Hope means different things in different moments, and it can show up to feel like anything or nothing because it isn’t an advancement to wishes coming true but an understanding that regardless of what happens, what we take from it must be sorted through as well.
As I turn around to look at a lifetime of artistry, I can see where hope was gently planted, jammed into the soil and flourished as imagined or not as every single detail and feeling is where I have lived.
All of it kept me going and waited patiently while I grieved because despite the outcomes, the determination to hold possibilities was behind every hope and the uncomfortableness of feeling weak was being supported by the quiet strength of trying to move even if I didn’t know how to.
The weight has shifted as I have chosen to show up to see what else existed in the past and how in this very moment, whether right or wrong, I can do it better for myself.
A little at a time what’s in my hope is expanding so that if it is lost, the communication isn’t that I am not enough but that there is more potential to be had and that I will eventually find it.
A story, piece by piece through the eyes of hope, unfolds like the life cycles of a garden where periods of barrenness and debris and weeds aren’t necessarily beautiful or wanted but the answers that come from them are in their own stages and time.
Take the lead in understanding how you are living the hope because even when it loses its appeal from being perfectly imperfect, the magic can cut a new view through yesterday’s familiar making it harder for the dark to enfold you in the unknowns of the tomorrows.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Hope is a creative way to twist options into the ideas of our art that we listen to because, after all, things do suppress us, and we can’t always imagine ourselves differently while carrying the weight of what has formed on our pages.
Sometimes, hope is our vague strength that pulls us along because we don’t know how to keep moving and in other moments it’s a cliff of optimism between the scenery of our layered pain and the view of the better that isn’t detectable yet.
Sometimes it’s the negotiator between the fears that pop up to darken pages and the voice that is trying to light the way with words that aren’t always being understood and at other times it is a gentle nod to the uncomfortable realness that we are really hoping to share and to receive.
So, we hold it hoping that possible isn’t just an idea but will be the proof that safety is not a temporary state in our perfectly imperfect stories, and happiness will be a welcoming spot in our gardens where even sadness and anger are greeted with the strength of the hug that they need.
And we also let it go because we can’t ride it like we used to, or it’s being replaced by another hope that might be nourished by the soil-work that exists within us or it’s set to the side as something whose beacon has gone out, but we will always longingly look at how it once held the world in the palm of its design.
Hope, though, is a strange thing in that it’s born from our standing in the shade and yet until it actually becomes an observable form, our dreams remain in the state of just being a possibility and so do we as well.
But as hope wanders our moments, wins also don’t always appear as imagined and when we look for specifics, the dark stays as a recognizable character that we grip until we loosen our hands to connect with what unfolds instead of staying stuck in expectations.
The right answer begins in the moment that we recognize a dragon, a grief on our pages and we reach to add color to the black and white feelings of its pain, but hope can’t remove that mental load without our thinking about what else we can do.
Some days that target will be to simply acknowledge that the weather can be nice on the outside while it’s storming on the inside and that is enough because that is our vague strength showing up.
Sometimes it will be that the corners of our mouths turn up slightly as we practice breathing in the spot in our gardens where hugs aren’t just for being happy.
And in other moments more is simply turning around to see that we have come so far because we have called hope and believed in our possibilities up to this very moment despite the dragons and poor lighting.
Hope is a perfectly imperfect word, and the task is to let its care of us dance through every moment so that piece by piece its structure is slowly nourished because its purpose isn’t to give us exact wins but rather to help us find all right in the uncomfortable realness of our own art.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Moments upon moments have drifted onto our pages, forming an inside community whose inhabitants use our feelings to move around the meanings of our words and even though some of our terms are thought to be bright, not all of their energy prevents storms from bumping us into the shadows.
Sometimes hope hurts because dragons lean close to whisper about all the past ones that didn’t go as planned and how we are still grieving those times.
Sometimes hope hurts because we are confident about yesterday’s stumbles and unsure of the possibilities in an unknown tomorrow.
Sometimes hope hurts because desires are things that we make up as we go along but expectations lack the nourishment that imagination needs in order to make those seeds grow.
Sometimes hope hurts because whether it goes as we wish or not, we still won’t have figured out how to be easy with ourselves.
Sometimes hope hurts because there’s something about giving our all and not being sure that our all prepares us enough if dreams were to show up.
Sometimes hope hurts because we want change, but the weather of our emotions and thoughts sees value in our playing it safe regardless of how clear the path ahead may be.
Sometimes hope hurts because there are so many ways to be lost in the noise of the crowd that it’s hard to recognize that even weeds in a garden line the way for wishes.
Sometimes hope hurts because in wanting different today, there’s a vulnerability in acknowledging that we probably still haven’t forgiven ourselves for being in the same spot in another location on a separate day.
Sometimes hope hurts because we aren’t just reading our stories, we are also writing them and up until this very moment, our artistry seems to have snuffed out the light and muddied the colors.
Sometimes hope hurts because while it’s filled with the beauty of optimism, its impermanence means that it has to keep being redefined as life does its life-ing thing and our communities hold even longer lists.
This is me and even though hope looks the same when we talk about it, the energy of the inside community plans whether tears fall because sometimes hope hurts or that there will be drops of moisture nourished by a laughter that is as warm and bright as the sun.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
There are many days when we lean more towards a certain way of feeling and thinking for reasons that take up more space than any other possibilities that could also show up to clasp our hand.
And in going the distance that we do with what bumps us into the darkness, silence about the weariness of our journeys becomes a form of survival when in the presence of those who don’t seem to live with noises as loud as we do.
Because trying to make sense of the chaos by hanging on to what others have come to know in their lives leaves us unable to know how we could possibly hold ourselves safely in what actually exists while also wishing for just one more moment of noiselessness.
We have, after all, felt the destruction and painstakingly labeled ourselves with what was left on the inside, including the energy of each fallen tear from unwanted things.
But even though we have proven to have a proficiency for doing it with the shadows that moved in and never left, it hasn’t meant that there is something wrong, only that we haven’t learned to trust that we have been facing it all with a durability that is our own.
Long ago, my strength was hanging from a tree and having the scrapes to prove that it had been done.
Later on, some type of messy resilience appeared as fear screamed as hard as it could on the inside at the challenges that were before me on the outside.
After that, my toughness was trying not to spill onto anyone other than myself the level of anger that I felt but of course that never truly worked.
Then that power showed up as I stood alone as grief brutally enfolded me from a loss that others didn’t understand and even though I wanted them to feel me, they never could in a manner that would lighten the load that had become mine to have and to hold.
Force, then propped me up because while life went on around me, I was leaning heavily into the torn pieces of my home that were too big to be fixed with hugs and the kind of band-aids that skinned knees can be.
But now I have a friend that knew me when trees were an easy display of strength and over the years of being sculpted by debris and dragons, and not once has it cared how I looked while doing any of it, only that I would eventually realize that it was all being done with a durability that is mine alone to define.
This is me and I am slowly meeting the blooming meanings behind every one of my words and the scariest as well as the brightest part is that my artistry is unlike any other despite any similarities and that is how I am learning to build the term safety within my own home.
It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed by the community that has been planted underneath the surface, but we are strong enough to decide where what exists in the soil of what happened and what didn’t, grows from here.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
We are each in the company of words that have been turned inside out by details that often don’t agree with the evaluations of life as others have perceived it, and that difference makes understanding how to survive our own weather appear to only be a dream.
So instead of developing better relationships with our things, doubt and fear lead us to find the way out by abandoning ourselves in order to try and fit in with that which has been created in gardens elsewhere.
But we are the ones who give meaning to every single thing that lives in our stories, so despite our attempts to hide what’s there, the synchronicities of our thoughts and feelings never moves away from focusing on the obstacles and the pain.
And although not every thought is really worth our taking the time to think about it, on paths littered with the graffiti of our debris and dragons that demand conversations about the terms of our line of thinking, sorrow is what we have come to know intimately.
That grief then takes up so much space that the proof of the past leans in to become the foundations of tomorrow’s lighting and our hearts have all of the emotions that it needs to support its actions.
So, we hold the hope that someday we will be able to let go, and yet the purpose of our minds is to exude the perception of our travels and telling them not to think about those things only makes them want to focus harder on them.
The challenge, then, is to be amongst the memories and the feels that are attached to us while finding a way to be detached from them so that their roles are merely ingredients enfolded along the process of creating works of art that are sometimes very messy.
Within the darkness of what can’t be undone, are other details to be noticed that allow us to breathe a little easier, and even if it’s only a splash of color that has been left behind, we can focus on that.
On this day, just because our grief is unalike others, it doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t honor what has been built within us because, after all, being happy happens when we take care of who we are in all of the places that we are.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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