At the start of a hope, desire mixes excitement and expectations along with dashes of doubt and fear to lift us from the limitations of what is into the safe space of imagination of the different that we have never been.
Those imagined places give us the freedom to see ourselves in the best light while being the main characters in stories where the weather always hits us and dragons keep us unbalanced with their noises.
But even though we have a long history of engaging with much-needed dreams as some sort of location to get to, over time, the vulnerability of yet to be realized hopes shape-shifts us back into a feeling of nothingness.
And so, we are unkind to ourselves by letting go of a little more of our beliefs in our possibilities as if the original inspiration had only been a borrowed feature and time was up on its participation on our pages.
But what hope is intended for isn’t necessarily the beacon that our gaze has been upon, and it would be a shame for us to surround our ideas of it with the same limitations that we have been dreaming of getting away from.
No matter what we do, unsuccessful hope will imprint on us, but within that profound silence is the magic of the nourishment of how it all went despite a failure to bloom.
This is me, and I know now that my greatest loss of hope will always exist within my home but that there is also joy in that suffering by having shown up in my perfectly imperfect sometime warrior ways without the promise of my dream being able to come true.
So today, with the possibilities of some future hope also failing, I take my weather with me because it connects me to all the spaces of my life, for they are who I am from happiness to grief and back again, sometimes all day long.
It takes imagination to hope, courage to fail and time to locate unseen wins in the losses so move onto the next one, because you deserve to find comfort in an open hope instead of being confined within the lines of just right.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
What is hope for if not to imagine a better tomorrow from the space that we are but what if that change is about finding who we really are in the reflection of who we think we are not?
What if our hope is a flower created from the unwanted and it isn’t ever empty even when it doesn’t happen?
What if our hope is about recognizing that we do advance in some manner regardless of missteps or preconceived ideas?
What if our hope’s purpose is to quietly pour nourishment into our soil so that we can invite flowers to bloom but still be all right if they don’t?
What if our hope is telling us that our own tight boundaries haven’t been letting light in?
What if our hope is reminding us that we are assuming that the weight of yesterday’s sorrow must be carried the same way into the tomorrows?
What if our hope is really our courage in disguise but we haven’t had the confidence to define it in our stories like that?
What if our hope balances all that we are against the noise of the dragons that tell us all that we are not?
What if our hope is the magic in the dark that is meant to be held in our hearts and not always in our hands?
What if our hope’s value as a tool in our artwork is most often expressed in ordinary moments?
What if our hope controls the space of the best days and otherwise, articulating the beauty that exists wherever we are?
What if our hope always brings what we need even though what it gives back isn’t always what we imagined we wanted?
When we haven’t heard from our hope, we get through it by opening it up so that it may move on our pages, turning past marks on the walls and captions into trustworthy steps whether wishes would come true or not.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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
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