There is something that feels so safe for us when we stay in the familiarity of who we are while also dreaming of the goal that we will be able to find ourselves on a different trail where transformation appears to be a warm and enfolding hug. That steady presence is like a shelter that we can retreat into even though we know it leaks in a chance of storms, encourages us to keep our eyes on recognizable views and the weight of it is exhausting. We endure carrying that intimacy with each step because it’s what we know, while attempting to visualize what renovations look like is really a vague concept in our constant and yet still hopeful state. Just the idea of revising ourselves produces anxiety and when our movements turn a yearning into something that we need to do, our thoughts alter that necessity into the verification that we are flawed, making trust in our ability to reshape ourselves show up as a vote of confidence on the impossible page. What we think about change and how it’s defined in our stories determines whether we acknowledge modification as an improbable project each time we pass by on our rides or as one where, eventually, we start adding different things to our seeds of trying to help them bloom. We don’t have to let go of the hand of fear in order to hold the supportive hand of courage because we can move forward while feeling both and know that each nourishes parts of us in different ways in the same manner that wanted and unwanted moments do. In other words, happiness isn’t a life where darkness and weeds are never found but rather the bringing along of a safeguard that prompts us to believe that the sun will greet us again with a hello once the rain moves on. Even blunders are not proof that amendments are out of the question but instead hold the connection that a measurement of discombobulated mistakes have been made during the trial, error and development of the making of a work of art. Remember, it wasn’t even possible to imagine what you would look like in this very moment from a position in the yesterdays, and even with a goal, envisioning yourself in the tomorrows is what is nearly impossible not that you are. Pleasant changes can feel uncomfortable and painful transformations are downright scary but if you can slowly add a word, a note or a color that you feel into its definition to make it your own, that particular dragon will lose its magical powers and bit by bit your walk will take you further than your continuous self could have ever planned or hoped for. Be in your heart journey because the strongest aspect of beauty is its gentle reminder that progress is messy and drawn-out, but every mark of its evolution is the creator of why it’s seen as a vision of loveliness. Where you have been was the best of you at the time, so carry that in a warm and enveloping hug for the reason that change isn’t about letting go of that comfortable black and white version of yourself, however it is about taking your time to expand it.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
What is it about flowers that draws us towards those prizes? Is it the certainty of their inspiring beauty that encourages us to want to be within their sight or to be able to hold them as our own? Or is it that they remind us to believe that a thing called hope is everlasting despite the chances of storms that stay for far longer than they should and the vivid dragons that tell us that we are indeed impossible? Or perhaps it’s that they intrigue us by finding ways to harmoniously intertwine within some terrains but then fail to thrive in other locations that could also benefit from their survival. Or just maybe the reason why we are so taken by colorful trophies is because the process of their weediness and withering is effortlessly ignored while the same kinds of notes are overly represented in the beats of ourselves and at times in what we perceive of others. It is easy for the voice of grace to shout for the things that will unquestionably transform into something that we yearn for and difficult for it to grow above a murmur in the midst of the weeds that latch on. It’s as if we have forgotten how essential the rain as well as the accumulation of debris is in nourishing every bloom but then appreciating the steps and the time that it takes for buds to develop isn’t something we have a lot of courtesy for. About a flower ago, my pulsations reminded me to take notice of the marks on my plots in order to get a glimpse of the value of what has been and how slowly, all of it has fertilized the new beginnings that have taken root in replace of them. Around one, two, three or many shadows before, your movements began to beat in tune with the types of tempos that silenced your words, stole your voice, altered your hues and closed the door to the place in your heart where you keep your dreams. You then began collecting your misfiring moments and surrounded them with the undesirable emotions whose rhythms accepted the roaring that said you were incapable. For every one of those sensitive heartaches, though, there were seeds of trying planted and while their sprouts are waiting for those fields to become welcoming, in this present moment they are standing by as the paused flowers that are hoping to bloom just for you. Remember, a smile isn’t only a grin, anger is merely one emotion that makes us see red and beauty has never cared if the sun is shining so keep moving your perception until your view discovers that both dragons and weeds lose their magic when fondness for yourself encircles them. Take this one word, one color and one beat at a time as your story goes.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
It’s the beats of our hearts that we feel and at times the tempos bloom with the sharp compositions of our rides while in other moments the rhythms reflect the soft notes that can also be found along the way. When the thorny sentiments climb, blocking the others from our view, they write in the colors that best represent what needs to be heard by us. Our minds will try to locate the words that make sense of those challenging harmonies, but they can’t really describe what our hearts carry nor the impression that those things leave upon us. By deconstructing our feelings with the terms that tend to underrate their importance to us, those personal reactions are encouraged to continue to hold onto our hearts and to get louder. As our sadness and doubt rise in that position, the phrases that emphasize that we are indeed impossible flow easily into our thoughts which in turn, translates into our feeling unsafe within ourselves. Fear has a way of convincing us that falling occurs because we lack the necessary tools to go forward but collapsing happens as a result of our inability to sit with our antagonizing emotions as they fluctuate with the pulse of their memories. In other words, we hold a thing called hope and we usually have some kind of plan, but our belief in ourselves is continually under attack by the perfectly imperfect feelings, another dragon of sorts, that we think define us rather than the missteps that we actually make. Those complex and colorful beats will remain in their fire-breathing state until we reshape them into either the supporting characters that light our way or the personas that merely fade into the background with the loss of their truth. Our epic tales contain every mark upon our hearts and minds, all the words that we have said and heard, each color that speaks for the palette of our emotions, every single note that has played when terms have failed us as well as any mystical beasts that we have slayed or are still battling. Whatever is on the next page or around the bend or in a bush with a thousand prickles or in a blunder along the journey, will be another beat in our hearts that expresses how we feel about that particular moment, and it can only become a weed when we offer that entry the magical power to decide who we are.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Even when we can’t find the words to express how we feel about ourselves, we have the ability to fill in the blanks by visualizing the hues that best reflect the beats of the emotions that churn in our hearts and overwhelm our thoughts. A red stain can signify deep fondness in one position but in a different truth it also holds the intensity of anger. The softer blues of the forget-me-nots can be the reminders of sadness while also being steadfast in the out of the blue wins where we find something other than what we had originally hoped for. Yellow is believed to represent our sunlit moments but, in the darkness, it is also the light that illuminates what desperately needs to be seen in that cave. Black and white speaks for matters that are clearly defined but when we turn around, the use of those two colors implies that there is a void in the understanding of the shading that lives in and around all of our renderings. Even the pigment of the powerful phrase “I love you” fluctuates whether we are amongst the blush of the flowers that feel like a hug in our hearts, or we are moving through the foliage where a thousand brown thorns pierce us. Unfortunately, it’s far too easy for us to let go of our courage when the stamp of our fear bleeds into the colors of our dreams or to neglect our fondness when the parts that we hate muddy our palettes leaving us unable to see what we love in the mess. What’s there can take us anywhere but if our hearts ache from the flow of emotions, the dark hues will feel stronger than the aspects of the other possibilities that live within us as well. In essence, all of our expanding and contracting feelings, or at the very least their tints, travel together with us through our twisting journeys but they never promise to only show up in the moments that we want to feel. For instance, today I am feeling the blues from the memories that still need reshaping within me as well as the rosiness of the perfectly imperfect love that has been placed along my trail. As a masterpiece in the making, that look upon my story is why I need boxes of tissues to dab at the tears from the rich laughter that makes my stomach hurt and the ones that fall like a rain that slowly washes the opaque parts of me. Every piece of our stories will be decorated so we might as well take them by the hand and live in the truth of epic tales where there’s a kind of magic that knows how to use the staggering grassy weeds to form the most beautiful flowers and writing in our own colors is the key to defeating the dragons that plague us.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
When we believe in something that has been shoved into the shadows, we don’t look for a reason to trust what that voice has to say about us, we just do so without questioning it. However, when it comes to the things that should remind us that we are so very possible, the amount of proof that we carry never seems to be enough to nourish what we need in our hearts. It’s as if we think that what’s credible about ourselves as a whole is the loud vocalizations of a few parts that we never planned for in the first place and the words that should help us navigate that trickiness seem to speak far too softly within us. Perhaps our inability to really hear all of ourselves is why we think that happiness exclusively appears on the sunny and debris-free trails that others travel on. Or how our view implies that smiling faces are an indication that there are only sweet blooms on the inside of those who display them even though we, ourselves, also grin in order to hide what we don’t want to be seen on the outside as well. Is it really possible, then, for us to transform if our focus is on listening to the voices that threw us upon a rollercoaster ride where our own grief guarantees that it will plummet us regardless of the hope that the next time around will be different? We are the stories that contain a lot of details that we shouldn’t always carry with us, but we do so without periodically turning around to see if those unwanted items are ready to be used as tools rather than remain in the limitation of being the items that have been done that can’t be undone. After all, just because a moment or a feeling can’t be reversed, it doesn’t mean that it can’t be reshaped into something that moves us forward. Writing in color allows us to be home and to be safe in a life where what we have believed hasn’t always been what is in our best interest but then again dragons are only invincible when they are speaking their truth from a position in the darkness. Be loud, be kind and always be colorful as you fertilize what you plant in your heart, keep in your mind and say in your epic tale.
Today we are also including Julian Rosen’s video on “Survival” to illuminate what has been written in black and white for far longer than it should have been. Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Whatever is planted will bloom as it’s fertilized by the things that come to nourish it even when it has been pushed deep into the darkness to prevent its growth. It’s like the obscure marks upon a heart that tell a grand account although their existence can’t be seen from the outside. The lack of view makes the materials seem unimportant and yet they are so invaluable in the understanding of the direction that a narrative takes. Should a story be told, then, if what’s there doesn’t make sense or hold merit in another’s account? Beauty is a word that is defined by so many particulars that it would take thousands of books to hold all of the expressions that represent it but nonetheless it is often judged by a few pages. Should we only recognize the ones that we see and miss out on the rest as if the loveliness that flourishes all around us isn’t also worth our admiration? Grief is another term whose many angles are like the structure of a rollercoaster where we can perceive that we will plummet during the ride, but in our rush to get through the journey, we don’t notice that the weight of the world has the ability to mangle the whole system keeping us stuck in that cycle for far longer than we should be. As with all pain, we want to limit it to the path that goes directly into and then out of the weeds without the seeds of trauma attaching themselves and impeding our lives with their buds long after we have left those moments behind. There is also the idiom known as dragon and we believe in that made-up creature so much so that we love its terrorizing presence in epic tales, but we discredit its very real and menacing residence within ourselves as well as others because those specifics don’t fit what we think describes where a beast resides or what it can do. Is it possible, then, to live the life that we want, if what we hope for can only be clearly seen by showing up in the things that we don’t want for as long as it takes? It feels tricky navigating the content of our lives, but safety isn’t found in never encountering dragons or by defining our beauty through another person’s ideas on its existence or by timing out our grief because we are tired of hurting. Being home is established when we believe that we are the stories and that our details make us understandably the feature in the records that are experienced in our own hearts rather than what is fostered or blooms in someone else.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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