In stories with frames filled with pain, that disquieting art needs the safety to just be the colors on canvases and the words on pages that life is still able to come from.
Because despite not liking their crushing messages or where they come from, neglecting the existence of our communities is like building a system where happiness is denied if it doesn’t arrive in the right package.
And then our parts that have survived temporary moments in very permanent ways will continue to appear as enemies with voices in our very own homes.
And since old feels do replay regardless of desires, the shade that is thrown upon tomorrow’s journeys will feel like the certainty that our gardens must not be the happy kind.
And yet beyond our memorized hope are the soft identities of what is sown in small bands that at a deeper level are better able to nourish our being happy than specific outcomes do.
Sometimes it’s seeing that in the famine of words, colors guide us through what became that we thought would never be.
Sometimes it’s reassuring ourselves every time the shadows of frustration and suffering show up.
Sometimes it is simply having survived because that will always be a big win.
Sometimes it’s recognizing that we aren’t overreacting to our pain but believing in ourselves means making friends with our dragons and what they say that triggers us.
Sometimes it’s having the patience to try and fail because its really the movement along the way that is the all.
Sometimes it’s forgiveness for the overwhelmingly perfectly imperfect because regret means that we are watching for different, but we haven’t recognized it yet.
Sometimes it’s noticing the blue of the sky and smiling because other things hold that same hue, and safety can be found in those places on stormy days.
Sometimes it’s embracing goodbyes that hurt because what begins must end just as a sun sets after it has risen.
Sometimes it’s allowing the rain to flow because flowers exist with its presence and a good cry means that we see that in our real selves as well.
And sometimes it’s the joy of being sometime warriors in what appears to be ordinary stories while knowing that we have everything that it takes to makes epic tales bigger.
Small things are waiting to be found, but our propensity has been to oppose anything whose engagement isn’t the right kind of happiness.
So go ahead and carve out space for that color, those tears, that smile, that surviving, that run, that blah because that is what we did in the very same places that we have felt fear, screamed, suffered, felt weak, failed or whatever.
Keep believing in hope, in change and in yourself but more importantly be determined to find different in all the frames that have kept you feeling unsafe and on the edge of happiness for far too long.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Every day is a colors day and within all of those pigments are the echos of the shadows, the shouts of light and the uneasy answer that we must somehow find safety on pages where the artwork doesn’t only communicate happy or helpful.
So, we welcome hope because we can’t wait to be free of what we wish to leave behind as if somehow those previous frames never happened and we don’t still feel them.
And yet what follows is that the idea of different crosses paths with a community of established emotions that don’t let go and confidence is surrendered to the existence of being just a backstage character who only shows up once in a while.
So, we find ourselves in between an abundance of repetitive words and colors and the half-truth that hope’s possibilities may be dreamed of but not truly experienced.
And then slowly, the revitalizing relief that came from envisioning change begins to wind down in such a way that we don’t realize that it is being reframed into yet another memory that will also travel along with us.
And because that waiting for things to fade has kept us lost and insecure in a life filled with colors that haven’t made any sense, we still won’t have permission to stride into happiness.
And those days that have stepped on us and inspired the thoughts of being gardens that contain a beauty that is safe from debris won’t be separated from us even by distance or time.
But in the patterns of silence and pauses that follow that vocal litter are the spaces that we can do a little better than yesterday in what’s been the least suitable to imagine developing our artwork in.
The past shares its messages with today and the tomorrows will receive what has been distracting us now but what covers us doesn’t have to feel the same even when we turn to look at what has already been.
Hope is the blue of a storm-free day and anger is the red that comes from the devastating loss of a dream but then there is also purple that blends the hurt with the love that grew beside it so that they won’t be framed as strangers while existing together on our pages.
Happiness isn’t the absence of pain but the safety to be grieving while also beaming.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
One of the hardest things about change is the way that colors that don’t fit the idea of potential land on the artwork obtusely composing a story one frame at a time.
Sometimes those forms resonate with the grief while in others, the lack of depth is the silent tribute to the doubt that has been a constant companion over the years.
And still more where the hues are dabbed on with an unsureness that they are enough to express what home really feels like in some moment.
Then there are soft and strong touches of the consistency of perceived flaws and scenery that darkens even in the light.
As well as outlined pieces that were begun but ended up feeling unimportant or perhaps took shape on a day where hope waned, so they remain incomplete.
There are components whose bold pigments are charged by fear and anger that distract from the blues that celebrate the beauty of the sky from start to finish.
And greenery that display the very thoughts of uncomfortable things that quickly cover a garden with their need for solutions, changing the course of desired blooms more often than not.
And the shadows showing the influence of the love/hate storytelling that personal experiences have upon dreams, dimming the value of one try and one smile at a time.
And of course, there are the fluctuations in decisions made from the varying choices woken up with on each traversed line of stillness and chaos.
The body of the negatives complicates the view of colors and the role that each play in bringing to life real feelings that we can’t always find the words to express.
We are not broken simply because their existence dances across our pages, but by residing in our homes, we have the opportunity to examine closely every form that has been shaping the realities that we have been hoping to get away from.
When color watching, a sense of well-being isn’t just in the frames of happiness but rather in the wholeness of our being we the colors in any and all given situations.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
As hope goes before us, it appears as a place of celebration in the distance, but the magic of it is rooted in the colors that we express from what it does for us along the way.
It’s a vision of the change that we are attempting to conceptualize as well as feel on the pages of our stories.
It’s an expression of the need for healing from the grief that competes with happiness for our attention.
It’s a quiet idea of what strength will look like in our reflections in the mirror.
It’s a whispered encouragement that we deserve to invest in ourselves with a bit of this and some of that from our perfectly imperfect art.
It’s an act of determination to move forward in yet another chance of getting comfortable with unrehearsed moments.
It’s a breeze that breaks open the clouds of doubt so that we may see beyond them.
It’s a hint of the lightness that our laughter grabs ahold of to express itself.
It’s a reshuffle of the words that flow with warmth that aren’t just visitors in our gardens.
It’s a key that just right is the planting of a whole lot of seeds of trying simply because we don’t know where tomorrow is going.
It’s an observation that we do wish to believe in our former and future selves.
It’s a gentle embrace that reminds us that no matter what it feels like in a room full of people, we are not alone.
It’s a friend that brings a different response into the familiarity of thoughts and feelings.
It’s a smile that illuminates the point closest to us and then the one after that and so on.
It’s a touch of kindness that adds color in the time and spaces that have been seen as well as those that have yet to be.
It’s a break from the voices of the dragons that we listen to but still misunderstand what the noise is all about.
It’s a plan that shows the possibilities even when it fades from view on long and weary journeys.
It’s an adjustment of what we have picked up because letting go of yesterday’s parts isn’t always possible.
It’s a simple thing that has no specific details because sometimes we just need to be able to breathe in the place that we are.
It’s a tune that our hearts can hum even when we can’t find the lyrics to make it a complete song.
Whether hope blooms or not, what will never change is that the magic of it lives in the meeting of we the colors, in ways that we have never before known to believe in.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Once upon a time, the plot of hope led to a happiness on the other side of suffering but what if that gate keeping has unconsciously prevented experiencing happily ever after in the colors of the moments of the places where we really need it?
It was inevitable that our stories would contain hopes that were lost, and that our way of thinking would not run out of unhappy responses to cover and shrink the creativity that follows in our works of art.
And of course, nothing of ours has felt more isolating than the imprints of what cannot be unseen mixed in with the fear of the tomorrows that would also surely sing loudly about what we still don’t see eye to eye with.
And since we have never had any other kind of relationship with the vulnerability of our grief, endings have overshadowed any progress, and silence has bloomed from the nourishment of darkness before any questions could ever begin to bud.
But the truth is that even when we are on a path that appears to be the right one, there will still be many days that include disappointment and exhaustion from all the trying as well as plans that don’t work out.
But regardless of the presence of any storms, we can’t let the propagating keepsakes that distract us from finding what’s winsome in the unlikable, fool us into believing that happiness isn’t valuable unless everything is just so.
Not every hope will end in enjoyment but because we contain too much to stay in the conditions of some dream, joy wordlessly hovers underneath the surface, quietly waiting to feed at least a smile and at most laughter that makes our stomachs hurt.
I don’t know if I would have done anything different if I had had a glimpse that the hello of the greatest hope that I have ever held would end up being the biggest good-bye in my life.
But in comparing where I am now with those once upon a time pages, the diversity of the symphony of colors that make my feelings not just felt but seen, is revealing the intricate parts of happily ever after in the unhappiness of what devastatingly didn’t work out.
There is no doubt that we have happiness on our minds but it’s time to take it out of the view of a plot that would have us thinking that there is only one conception of it and expand it into one in which its made up of a bit of this as well as some of that.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Through the process where not everything works out, a flower soaks up what is useful so that all of its petals may unfold their way to its beauty and while not all plants will end up blooming, there’s room for possibilities.
For in those that are lost, there’s still the content of what’s useful, what isn’t and what is ours to take forward as nourishment for the next quests.
To give ourselves everything that we need so that we may embrace the journey instead of never recovering from being stuck on what didn’t exactly bloom along it.
And how that hope is spoken into our stories either shifts it into a travel companion that paints outside of the lines or keeps it spinning from the noise of dragons.
And we don’t have to seek out that despair because we carry it so very easily while attaching hope to balance out what hasn’t worked for us.
But wanting more from a hope that we haven’t really understood as it relates to our stories almost ensures that it remains closed, and rubble is found in the potential that failed to unfold in its own unique way.
Because we are not used to holding hope open so that it may be closer to us through the flow of details that touch our gardens without a promised win that would prevent being unkind in our very own homes.
Hope allows us to see ourselves from a perspective that is different from the art that has conditioned us through that which has already been ours.
But open hope holds the opportunity to find that we did do some things well in the marks that have made it inconvenient and difficult to believe and value ourselves.
Up until now, we have supported the thought that hope is about envisioning better but on journeys where not everything works out, a step ahead is often merely choosing the content of what’s useful to comfort and nourish the unknowns of our very real lives.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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