We can easily speak the narratives as to why we can’t be happy in the standing room only of parts of our stories.
There are moments when the pain has been written as a dull ache behind a smile and others where colors replaced suffocating words.
And still other unscripted parts that our grief leaked onto, leaving no doubt of our existence on their lines and in the spaces between them.
Images of suffering that mean discussions are over and that we can only nod our heads in a familiar agreement to the presence of the mixed-in grief of our homes.
And it has been both frightening and comforting bringing along those hard-earned emotions page after page.
Thinking to ourselves that all of those feelings complete us as if there is some rule that says that we have to take beliefs and turn them into thoughts of truth as we write.
As if data can’t be challenged or that conversations can’t still be had that make it more likely for us to carry the weight in a different manner.
But of course, the state of things has been that happy spots are celebrated, and the undesirable most certainly can’t be a part of a better story.
And still those emotions are not our co-authors but instead different levels of feels that we count, reinforcing going forward with hope and also stripping the light from the tomorrows.
But there is more than that to talk about, more that can penetrate to remove the beliefs that no longer serve us and art that points out other things in what can’t be let go of.
This is me and once upon a time I held hope while unhappy multiplied and happy felt lonely in what should have been safe for laughter.
Then hope left and in its place unhappy painted itself with the darkness of disbelief, anger and despair while happy quietly moved backwards.
The cause and effect were that my artwork was defined by all sorts of surviving in spaces that I was actually lost in.
And nodding my head in agreement with the pain of what was never going to be changed was all that was possible.
The weight of those days has shifted, not because there isn’t any shade, but because joy has put the light back into discussions, allowing for laughter to follow the pauses and the tears.
Hope, love and art exist in celebrated spots, but better stories hold images of those things reminding us of how we always belong with them even as we are enduring.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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