There are spots in our gardens that sink from the weight of the word known as heroic.
That touch the power of loneliness in being strong.
Remember the uncertainty caused by weakness standing in the same room as bravery.
Switch into smiles so as not to ruin courage basking in the light of moments.
Breathe in the burden of helping elsewhere and not being real in needing support.
And write paragraphs about it.
Because while heroic's artistry looks right on the surface, the inside says what it wants too anyways.
Conversations about messy lists that go on and on.
Talk trickling down like the tears from the label of sadness.
Whispers building connection with other murmurs.
Speeches about what's rejectable.
Comments about what is relevant.
And even other stuff calling for bravery's name to be pushed to the side.
Because while heroic's artistry looks like a yes, all the time, that isn't how that companionship is packed within us.
Rolled along every time.
Agreed with, in all moments.
Operating in the heart.
Hearing other stories.
Made into flowers.
And fixed in colors.
Because while heroic's artistry looks good amongst the details, it doesn't guarantee where it stays.
Promise that there won't be more conflicts.
Engage with reasons to dream.
Erase fear or sadness.
Assure success in feeling valued.
Commit to happiness.
And joke about anger's live performances.
Because while heroic's artistry looks like it just rules in the upheaval, it can also make changes where gentle is the way.
There's nothing quite like heroic when it feels right but then there's nothing quite like it when we follow that belief away from seeing it in survival, the quiet and needing support.
When the sometime warrior in us doesn't recognize that we deserve to be rallied for as well.
And when strong does everything it thinks it should but still doesn't know how to love us in the weeds.
For if we do a color check, heroic may settle into colors we like however it also isn't shy about breaking down into some of the bluest of blues.
Have the best day, POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
To roll along the lines coloring happiness along the way.
And it does until it doesn't.
Not because it wavers but because we do.
Not because it's heavy but because our own weight remains.
Not because it's easy but because it's easy to hold it over us.
Heroic is a particular word.
The kind that feels good.
A truth that can be seen.
A standing out and also a fitting in.
A validation that works.
And it does until it doesn't.
Not because its evidence fades, but because stories curve away.
Not because it isn't right for us but because there's still unfinished business within us.
Not because the moments aren't ours but because there are uncharted ones ahead.
Heroic is a particular word.
The kind that's easier to understand elsewhere.
A version that's feels misleading within our own dialogues.
The type that's easily ignored when there are budget cuts.
Something unknowingly leaned upon in survival.
And it is until it isn't.
Not because it changed but because allowing us to be is changing.
Not because it's perfected but because we don't need the details to be just right.
Not because it's wearing our best but because consistency shows our strength.
Heroic is a particular word.
The kind that isn't certified as valuable.
A smaller image that's overlooked.
As a quiet and almost silent campaign.
As a contributor whose meaning feels dull.
And it is until it isn't.
Not because the light was turned up but because our views are adjusting to the lighting.
Not because it's no longer whispering but because our shows are worth leaning in to hear.
Not because it's now holds confidence but because we can embrace shaky input.
Heroic is a particular word whose recordable events have been normalized by certain details.
But if we define our gardens with the edges from other gardeners, the tour dates of our brave will be in the dark.
If the flower fits over there, then it fits over here too because even when we are stuck with flickering lights and weak points, resilience continues to bloom in our homes.
Heroic is a particular word, but in stories crowded with moments, it isn't the only one.
Have the best day, POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Moments appearing that make sense and others that never will.
The sound of knocking from what desires to speak to us.
Certainty clasped tightly to the edges expressing limitations.
Turns out to be a heroic story nonetheless.
Spaces with silence, loudness and composure.
Unsure ground in the dark and the light.
Certainty standing within the hand-outs of familiarity.
Turns out to be a heroic story even so.
Places with gusts from the past, the present, and the hope for tomorrow.
Muddiness impacting a lot of the steps.
Certainty open or closed depending upon the day or the moment.
Turns out to be a heroic story anyways.
The details haven't been forgotten.
The thoughts haven't been forgotten.
The feelings haven't been forgotten.
Turns out to be a heroic story all the same.
Mistakes have anchored along the way.
Storms have entered and left piles of debris.
Words have been spoken, heard, and believed.
Turns out to be a heroic story regardless.
Right and wrong moves that have been made.
Half songs that have been sung half-heartedly.
Smiles that have come from the happy side too.
Turns out to be a heroic story anyhow.
It's easy to believe that we don't have anything in common with courage.
To still be together with pieces blending seamlessly into the same locations.
And to be disheartened by the stuff that's been going around forever.
For what we have done with one, we have continued with the rest.
But strength is attached to us, not the details.
Our perseverance sets the tone, not how the days look.
And brave focuses on what we have and sometimes that's simply a familiar blue.
Tears live here because the connection between laughter and pain is heroic, but we can't feel that if we are writing plans within the imaginary edges of happy and unhappy.
Have the best day, POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
The side we've come to know is the one whose instructions we have been letting.
Giving the framework for the words that we affirm it with.
The art that connects the rain.
The shaking that we lean on.
And the smallness that grips lonely.
Not from some echoing moment still burning inside.
Nor from the influence of a funny kind of color.
Or from a plot twist.
But from an entire world walking behind the label that has felt enough.
For the journey that rose up to meet us.
For the mistakes that remain public.
For all the right, that still didn't work in the garden.
For the meaning built to fill in missing meanings.
Because taking care of us has been what we have been letting.
But then, that stuff is indeed ours.
In the form of the storms that have come, some without reason.
As the weeds that have choked out the flowers.
As what has been that cannot be undone.
And the love me nots that slowly climbed on board.
But just because things remain, it doesn't mean that they have to stay as what we have been letting.
That we can't remember that we are here despite the weight over there.
That safety can't be sung as loud as fumbled melodies.
And that we are not homes to be moved under the label of words but homes where words can and are moved around in.
Because on the other side of what we have been letting is still us.
The us not prepared for thorns or weeds but figured out surviving anyways.
The us drifting through the fear and sorrow in the soil and showing up to hug the versions hurting there.
The us, not sure about anything, but holding space to grieve and be happy within the same step.
Because what we have been letting isn't here to be escaped but for us to change how we go through it.
To sign our name to experiences and decide for ourselves what we are going to do with them.
To upgrade the flow of feelings, without being stuck in the heartache of having them.
To let love be the bridge for the artwork pooled in what doesn't look good.
And to agree to missing the sun but never us.
Moments are the place holders of where we have been, but what comes after is our collaboration with the strong message of fear to figure out where love needs to land.
This little flower nurtures a garden, not because it's easy to grow, but because what we have been letting has already mulched the other side.
Have the best day, POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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