All narratives, written and lived, are not just about the flowers because as works of art they are the stories of the highs and the lows that challenge us to understand that life is really just like the painful and yet rewarding process of creating a bed of roses as well as a wished-for place in the sun that feels out of reach when the view of it is from the midst of our messes. Even those authentic “mystical creatures” that appear to be an impasse on our journeys are a particular of the pitch that slows us down in the weeds so that we may discover that the pursuit of happiness is not merely a place to arrive at but one that lives along the way in the sweet blooms that grow from the things that we never ever imagined could hug our hearts or cause us to cry tears from laughing until our stomachs hurt. It’s hard, though, to imagine let alone see all the details that it takes to be all right wherever you are when the appearance of a finished product or a goal has us believing that we are left empty-handed if we don’t have it or we take too long to get to it. There is an object in my home that is a visual representative of my safe-enough and fear invoking rollercoaster ride as the mother of an addict but to most people, its image is just of an inanimate item used to cover food. The definition of that device is understood but the emotions that are connected to what’s there are where it becomes so very personal. What would you think and feel if you had seen me in the yesterdays collapsed on the floor crying hysterically while holding the empty box of what is meant to be used for enclosing food? Would you have perceived of the summary that it shared about just a part of the whole of Ryan’s life? Would you have been able to sit with me while I “flipped out” even if you didn’t feel the same way about that product or what it represented? The thing about those prickles, or dragons or weeds or triggers or whatever word you want to use, is that they are filled with the unseen distinctive details of our stories that pierce us until our pain and fear finds any kind of voice to express what our hearts need to be heard. Funny thing about those very same prickles is that eventually its possible for them to turn and become the reason for the boxes of tissues that we wipe our tears away with as our pain blooms into the funny memories that we presently laugh about. If you look through those different but still real truths about sharp-pointed outgrowths or pain, it’s the place that you are at that determines which one you are seeing and feeling but it doesn’t mean it’s the only position that you will ever hold. Even now as I reach for that inanimate object, with a smile on my face and in my heart, I loudly announce, “There better be foil in the pantry Ryan!” knowing that wherever he is, he’s smiling with his twinkling blue eyes while yelling back “There is today, Mom!” just as the last year and a half of his life had been, but I also laugh because if it’s not there, I am the reason for it. Once in a while I also pause to think about the yesterdays and how the absence of that food cover had the strength to push me off of a cliff even when the last piece covered our leftovers or how for some time seeing it brought me to my knees with the reminder of the loss of him. I never imagined that such a simple item could become a part of the weight of the world for so long and the problem wasn’t what it was, but rather what it had become on the inside of each of us until that long process that works of art go through changed it again. Now, just a glimpse of it on the shelf reminds me that together we gave everything to battle and slay so many dragons in our epic tale where the sometime warriors in the story fell down a lot while learning that there are always details that we can’t see about each other that lead to the different truths and the understandings that take a word like impossible and rearrange it into the ability to breathe while on a trail in hell. After all, a food covering is just a finished product until we give it power with our emotions that come from our pain as well as our fear. What about those prickles of yours? Have you found any blooms amongst them? What do those look like? Or do you need a moment to just sit with you? Have the best day POSSIBLE for you because it’s most definitely about those prickles and the happiness that can be found as you go through them on your way to wherever your wished-for place in the light is. Love Always, Heavell. Seriously though, Love Always, Heaven and Hell
Have you ever thought about the phrase “life isn’t exactly a bed of roses” and how it’s frequent use is for the purpose of implying that to be able to lay on the soft aromatic petals from those inspiring flowers would be an indication of an existence that was easy and desirable? The fact is that those blooms from those plants are indeed a wonder of color for the eye to see, and their sweet fragrance that permeates the air does entice us to lean in to smell them but what about why they have prickles that protrude from their stems? Or what of the balanced environment that those works of art require to grow in let alone produce their blossoms in comparison to other far more comfortable and yet still awe-inspiring greenery that are more flexible with what’s available to thrive in? Or what about the number of petals that it would take just to make a bed that was soft enough to want to rest there? In other words, it seems that a way of living would be pleasant if it were to only hold the ease of exactly what we hope for as well as our goals, but the real truth is that there is a lot of effort involved, as well as pain just from those sharp-pointed outgrowths, that has to be done to have that desirable place to lay. If we had to repeatedly do that work, over time wouldn’t we become tired of the stress of those flowers while no longer seeing their beauty and reaching to cover our noses to prevent their sweet but now pungent aroma from entering our nostrils? Wouldn’t their value fall and we would begin to wish for something else with the idea that life is unfortunately exactly like a bed of roses? Perhaps those plants would even eventually be perceived of as dreaded weeds? That particular phrase focuses on the beauty of a finished product as proof of a desired existence while leaving out the details that each bloom is merely the silent celebration of the challenging tempo and yet often inconspicuous journey of the whole rose bush that has prickles as a part of its story. Over the years of Ryan’s substance use, I had the strong desire to get to that particular part of my trail where life would be like laying on a bed of rose petals and the more it eluded me, the more desperate I felt to get there and the unhappier I became. Some of my “flipping out” back then was a result of that need as well as my limiting belief that happiness is the absence of problems or challenges and a place where breathing is never ever difficult. I thought that a mess couldn’t hold within it the key to finding different truths that lead to those out of the blue wins so closing the door was a better choice. In essence, I wanted the ease of a finished product without understanding the flexibility and patience required to achieve that while at the same time expecting Ryan not to fall when the prickles or the chaos pierced him. As I pass this way again, I imagine that he also had desired the celebration that is found at the end of a pathway but not the work that was and always will be required to get there. Happiness is what then? Is it a place in the sunlight that you think you see but it’s just out of your reach because you are surrounded by rose bushes that use prickles to clamber over everything in their path in order to get there for six to eight hours a day and don’t care if you get punctured in the process? Is it something that only happens when you can cry the kind of tears that come from laughing until your stomach hurts? Or is it that happiness is not the perfect environment but rather the showing up for you as you treat yourself to the experience of all of you? It’s taken a long time for me to perceive that Ryan’s words of “be grateful for the tough lessons mom” meant that happiness breathes wherever we are, but we have to look both ways in order to admire the beauty of the flowers as well as the sharp-pointed protrusions that pierce us. Happiness, for me, is not a destination but what anything can become if we adjust as we go along especially when in the weeds. I am five days away from the third anniversary of his death and I would happily go through every single dreaded “f” moment again just to see his smile and to feel his hug because our happiness lived as a part of the series of movements of our journey rather than the finished product seen at the end. After all, if you look through, you can see that it is most definitely not just about the flowers because it takes a lot of things just for a plant to even produce a single bud. Have the best day POSSIBLE for you as you discover what happiness is in all the ways you live your so very heavell life. Love Always, Heavell
Words are merely letters that have been placed in a particular order to create a term that represents someone or something, and while they seem powerful, they are not until we ourselves give them their strengths and weaknesses through our experiences as well as our emotions that we attach to them. The term dragon, for instance, in one epic tale can be defined as the evil force that needs to be defeated while in another it is the symbolism of a protection that just happens to fly through the sky. Both types can have us on the edge of our seats, and we can either hate them or cheer for them depending on the story that each resides in and what we feel a connection to. Of course, our encounters with those mystical creatures are through things like novels and movies so how is it possible for us to react so passionately about them? In other words what makes them feel authentic in our hearts when we have never actually encountered one? Perhaps it is because the things that do happen in any kind of life can make it seem as if we are surrounded by fire-breathing giant reptiles who know everywhere we try to hide even in the places in our hearts. Over the past month, I have been dealing with quickly losing a very important person in my life as well as experiencing the pain from the loss of Ryan as we approach the three-year mark of his death. As I assured that significant individual that it was okay to let go, I offered up that tale of a smile on my face that is my symbolism of a protective dragon even though I wasn’t necessarily feeling that way. That particular moment even held the familiarity of one that occurred three years ago, a trigger of sorts, where I also reassured Ryan that I would be all right if he died. In the use of simple words that offer encouragement or being positive or even in having flowers, everything sounds good and seems possible but when our chaos holds painful feelings that express their voices through raging dragons, what’s there can cause us to fall hard as well as burn “a whole city down” because it is difficult to breath and think in the midst of a mess. Once I was away from needing the appearance of that grin, I had a few “flipping out” moments that I had to apologize for because while it has always been easier to excuse our behaviors through the justification of what we are feeling or going through, nothing will ever change until we look through to understand how yesterday is still serving a purpose in us today particularly if that form is causing us to walk in circles by remaining the same. What dragons are you battling on your journey? Are you afraid of them because they feel so powerful or is it what they represent in you that you hate? Is there one that is your symbolism of protection? Is it really an expression of your strength or only the appearance of one, such as in the tale of a smile, so that others think you are all right? Words, just like musical notes, are placed in an order that are as strong or as weak as you decide they are based upon your encounters and emotions and while fire-breathing dragons may be the mystical creatures that are used to represent evil and good in grand stories, they can also be found in all the ways that you live your authentic epic narrative. It’s just that their form is seen in pain or fear or anger or addiction or even in the tears that come from laughing until your stomach hurts. This is me, a work of art in progress, and this is also you as you look through. The most important flowers that we will ever hold come from the out of the blue wins that are found in our presence in the weeds because that is where we take each challenging moment and slowly change what’s there into a strength by showing up to learn about who and why we are. Grab some tissues as you look through and may your tears also include the joy of loving you the way you are in a so very heavell life. After all, it is always all right to not always be all right, some dragons are just that fierce, but the power can’t remain the same when we expand our field of view in order to redefine what has been into what will now be. I will start by admitting that my smile, a simple flower of sorts, has definitely been a way for me to avoid dealing with my pain. What are you willing to say, even if only to yourself in the mirror, is the way that you have been keeping your pain at arm’s length even though that dragon always knows where to find you just like mine does in me? I will also acknowledge that at times I express myself through strong emotional terms rather than use the words that would help others to understand me better despite it not being in my best interest nor for anyone else for me to do that. When you look through, is that how you have expected to be heard? What would happen if we just sat down with ourselves in that moment and leaned in to hear what our hearts are really trying to tell us rather than allowing a raging dragon to speak on our behalf? I am going to have to keep trying to do this better especially after I have fallen or even thrown myself off of a cliff. Have the best day POSSIBLE for you as you battle some of your dragons and find safety amongst the rest. Oh hell, it’s definitely not about the flowers unless of course they are the ones that started as weeds, then it is always about those kinds. Love Always, Heavell
In order to tell a story through words, an author places terms in such a way that it allows us to visualize the experiences of the characters even when we cannot see what is happening. To do that very same thing through songs, the sounds of the instruments as well as the vocals unite to create a theme that gives a voice to the emotions that have been or are being felt from an encounter in life. Accompanying those forms of sharing an account is also the utilization of various mediums in order to reproduce a person’s view onto canvases or sculptors that express the color, beauty and powerful emotions seen in people, places and things. We are the readers, the listeners and the admirers of those finished products but as with everything, there are unseen details that surround the creator of each narrative that plays a role in bringing life to those venues. Have you ever thought about what it takes to complete the journey of a work of art or even the context of what the author of it may have been carrying for it to become the authentic interpretation that it did? Or have you thought about how a rapper uses words in a rapid rhythmic way when talking about a pounding heart while an orchestra employs intensified sounds to express that exact feeling of palpitation? There are a multitude of ways to say the very same things but what changes our perception of each expression is how a work of art is emitted, whether we are able to connect to that way or not and the value that we place on it based upon our own beliefs. In your epic tale that is being uttered through your feelings, terms and actions, are you able to find the worth, those out of the blue wins, in how you are expressing yourself even if those things have not been in the best interest of your work of art? In other words, the fear, anger, addiction, grief and “flipping out” are the visuals and the voices of your particular narrative that needs you to sit down with it and if your focus is on the detail of how yours is being emitted, especially in contrast to someone else’s, you won’t be able to hear what your heart is really trying to say. Imagine if a flower could only be painted in a particular style with one color or that all songs were played on one instrument with the same vocalist singing the words or all epic tales could only be about an exact kind of mystical creature or that the story of a field meant only one product ever grew or that the word beauty was defined by a single detail. If life were like that it would appear to make everything easier but then there also wouldn’t be any reason for us to be on the edge of our seats or to admire a work of art or to have hope and goals or to believe in the value of who we each are. Learning to perceive that my grief over the loss of Ryan doesn’t always show up in the tears that require tissues but can also be felt in my laughing until my stomach hurts has helped me to understand that the tale of a smile doesn’t just mean someone feels joy and that the tears that come from breaking a glass cup occur because the door to pain decided it was the perfect moment to throw itself open rather than that the broken object mattered. Even the pitch of a moment or a day can turn the word impossible into “I’m possible” and then force those letters back together again to form impossible in the next moment or day but the more you have knowledge on what your work of art carries for you, the more you will understand what brings life to all the ways you feel and live each and every day. After all, the art of living in heavell isn’t just about the flowers but rather about how you sit with yourself in the weeds while looking in the mirror and giving yourself that reassuring smile that you so easily give to others. Have the best day POSSIBLE for you as you lean in to hear you. Love Always, Heavell
Whenever characters are triumphant, we are drawn into their celebrations, feeling the same relief and happiness that they do, as if we were observers within the stories rather than an audience reading narratives that were created specifically to hold those details. The same can be said about the emotions that we experience when the parts of those accounts leave the individuals feeling unsure of their abilities to go through and overwhelmed by the thought that they won’t make it, as well as when they lose one or more of their friends on the journeys where the pitch changes into what feels impossible. These are stories where a turn of the page or the next scene or a plot twist is merely a moment before courage will be found through something as simple as one of the characters having a calming smile that reminds the others to believe, but it is also an action that reaches out to nudge our own hearts with the unspoken and yet reassuring sense that we too can overcome even the scariest of dragons or hell in our lives. Grins like that are the type that feel like a giant hug in your heart that you can lean safely into the arms of or the sun that breaks through the clouds streaming warmth and light upon your face on a bitter cold day reminding you that change will eventually enfold you because after all, smiles are never ever just a facial expression or a word on a page. Those looks are a part of what makes a character authentic for us, but it’s the gift of the feeling that we get from them that can also be found in our lives at times from the very people who are in need of that heart touch themselves. In the tale of a smile, the story is about one such powerful and compassionate feature that was often found resting comfortably on the face of an individual named Brian. His smile was the open door to a sensitive person who always had the time and the desire to hear the needs of others. That particular aspect of his helped individuals to lean in and feel at home before he even said a word but when he did speak, his words held the encouragement that his grin had implied lived there. Even his passion for music, his artistic abilities and his love of cars and the repairing of them were things where his realness was able to show through as an invitation for others to join him and to freely express themselves as well. But as we know with all things, a part never equals a whole, there is always a different truth to be viewed, and a smile is never just a smile because within it is the ability to express joy from the inside to the outside or to be used to lift others up or it can be the tool used to hide the pain of the one wearing a grin that so easily puts others at ease. In some ways life is a “show” in which it is far easier to be an observer who cheers and reassures or judges from the side lines, as we do when watching movies, than it is to actually be the character in an epic tale where the details of things like finding strength, overcoming what appears to be a weakness and needing help cannot be located by turning a page or sitting on the edge of your seat until the next scene brings that wished for sigh of relief. It is also harder to perceive, when we are not the one in the midst of it, that a smile or words of encouragement from an individual are not an indication or proof that the person who can share those things with others isn’t also struggling to show up for his or herself. Perhaps it is the vulnerability and the fear of the view into all that we are, especially our messes, that makes it so hard to seek support or maybe it’s those things as well as the thought that to need help is the same as being a failure since we are not those authentic and beloved personas in a novel or the observers of a so very heavell life. Or just maybe it’s that the pitch has yet to throw us off the cliff into the darkness and we are scared we might never get out of that place if we fall. During Ryan’s three-week battle for his life, a nurse used the word stoic to describe me while speaking to others. During that time, I was able to smile and to say encouraging words, especially as I held Ryan’s hand and whispered what I thought he needed to hear into his ear, but there was also a conflict raging in my mind and heart that only I was really aware of. Everything I did at that time was intended to help Ryan and to keep him calm but once he left this world that loud, chaotic and angry wildfire sprang to life leaving me speechless for months as well as unable to seek some sort of support to get through. There were those during that time who periodically touched my heart with quiet and simple words or a text emoji or a smile but most of all it was their patience, as if they were sitting with me, as they waited for me to speak again that helped me to be all right with not being all right. There were also those who pressured me to move on quickly from what hurt, and those actions felt like the expectation that I should close the door on my pain when the real truth is that strength has never been found in the hiding or the denying of what we are experiencing especially since that suffering will always find a way to be heard regardless of what we may use to keep it quiet. In your tale of a smile, are you able to feel the hug of your reassuring grin that you are able to give to others? How does it feel when you sit with that door open to your messes? Sometimes we have to pass this way again and again and again to find the right person, tool, words or smile in order to get all right with not being all right. Be kind and be loud in your tale of a smile especially for yourself. Have the best day POSSIBLE for you and if you or anyone you know could use a reminder to believe along any kind of journey, the National Suicide Prevention Hotline number is 1-800-273-8255 or the NAMI Mental Health Help Line is 1-800-950-6264. Every dream matters whether here or not. Love Always, Heavell
To Amanda and Jason. Thank you for leaving room to be curious about yourself and others because “The Tale of a Smile” was the results of a conversation that began about tattoos. Your love of Brian and his grin continues on in your memories of him as you share what he will always mean to you and others as well as in the music that you listen to because of him and your love of cars, where being real was a place you all felt safe in. We are so very sorry for your loss.
All epic tales and journeys are about a person or group who wants and is going through something while carrying the hope that their desire will be achieved. The paths in those stories pass through situations where the highs and the lows create emotionally charged responses authenticating our feelings that help to keep us on the edge of our seats with the intensity of a scene and by bringing a sigh of relief from the moments where being safe provides the opportunity to breathe before beginning again. Even the musical scores of those narratives raise and lower us through the notes and tempos that encourage a nervous response when they represent the fear and danger of a situation as well as when the sound is changed in order to take a triumph in a story and transport the feeling of it into our hearts where we are able to use our voices to express the realness and power of what had merely been a word in a novel. Our emotional responses to things like grand stories or music are authentic because what’s there also lives in all of our moments as we experience a variety of feelings with different levels of intensity based on what we are going through and the place that we happen to be at on the inside while experiencing it. In other words, the pitch that we are at as well as the situation can raise or lower us which can then make us, or the encounter feel like a defining “f” moment or just a part of a whole story. There are times when the memories of Ryan make my heart ache and bring tears of despair and then those same thoughts in another moment will have tears streaming down my face as I laugh until my stomach hurts. Both of those can be considered to be highs because of the intensity that I feel them although one is also a low because of the pain that takes ahold of my heart. Why is it possible for me to feel both ways about the same things and need boxes of tissues in either position? In part it is because of the pitch, or which place I am leaning towards. For instance, if my guilt and regret has decided to show up because it still needs to be heard or it’s been a challenging week in the weeds, then I am bent in one direction and when a different truth makes those tough lessons seem hysterical as the ridiculous pieces of our epic tale then I am sloped in the opposite way. In both positions my field of view is able to bring forth Ryan’s twinkling blue eyes and huge smile as if he had just flashed them at me a second ago and while it always feels like a bear hug in my heart, it can either make me smile or plummet me off a cliff into the darkness. What things can make you feel both ways? Have you noticed that your triggers feel more powerful at certain times than they do in other ones? Do you believe that it defines you as being impossible or are you able to view that your pitch and the one of the situations is what gives the appearance of that making going through or staying sober even more challenging? Or how about the fact and the opinion that flowers and the achievement of a goal can fade from the light when the intensity of the pitch is overwhelming? One of the things that I have learned from Ryan’s years of substance use and especially from his death is that it is always all right for me not to be all right but it’s what I do in whichever place I am in that determines how this is going to go as well as the time I am going to stay there. Being able to understand that about myself has helped me to perceive of how challenging and painful not only Ryan’s substance use was but his sobriety as well because this is life with the pitch that has all the authentic highs and lows that live in and outside the lines. Leave room within yourself to be curious about why you are feeling as you do because when you lean into the pitch, the power of it becomes yours to decide rather than the situations or even the intense emotions that are breathing there. There will always be moments where you “flip out” in your way, so hear and feel that. There will also be ones, even the very same ones, where you will be able to laugh until your stomach hurts from the entertaining scenarios in your kind of life. So, pardon the weeds because the pitch keeps us on the edge of our seats, makes things as well as us feel impossible but also allows us to breathe before beginning again. Have the best day POSSIBLE and be kind to the sometime warrior who is battling mystical creatures in an epic tale where it’s definitely not just about the flowers. Love Always, Heavell
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