I am a goddess. So is she, she and she. I would like to be as Persephone was. Needed for all seasons. Valued and loved. Longed for in my absences. The very thought leaching warmth from you that only my return can bring back.
I think maybe I am mistaken for Hera, to be held at a distance and taken for granted. That I will endure anything for the sake of the fallacy you call love. Maybe once when I was young and foolish. Filled with a different kind of hope.
But that is not who Hera was, who Persephone was, who I am. I am as eternal as the goddesses that came before. But I am my own. There are haunting galaxies in my eyes, hard fought for love written in my bones, and a soul that is a vast flame in my body.
I shelter these things close. For very few have been able to survive even a hint of them. I treasure those that have. Will cherish them long past my youth. I wait for the one that joyously accepts all the growing parts of me.
I cannot be as Persephone or even Hera was. But I can learn from them. As I learn from others. I am a goddess. So is she, she and she.
How tired you make me.
I grow weary and old when I am supposed to be young and full of dreams.
I feel as if I have lived a hundred years, so exhausted does my soul and heart bear down on me.
But I have not even truly lived yet in this one life.
There has been no grand love or even grander adventure.
There has been no freedom from this pain and heartbreak.
Only this staid life in exchange for a paycheck I have been told is what brings happiness.
And I…I have been to scared to seek more because of the whispers that scream I’ll fail.
Because of the screams from those that failed that whisper back I am not enough.
It feels as if my soul has been bleeding out for eternity, a slow and painful death.
Until I am gasping for air out loud because I cannot hold it back.
My heart beating louder with each breath, a faint ringing in my ears over and over. Each beat the same set of words of living with hopes of peace and freedom.
I cannot go on as I have any longer. I must let go of what was and instead carve out a life that is mine in every way. I must be be young even though I am old. And old even while I am young.
How many seeds have others planted in my unwilling mind and body? Seeds of doubt, fear, pain, anger, and endless insecurities.
They grow like ivy, until it feels like I am consumed by them. Every inch covered in a deceptively beautiful but choking shroud of greenery.
But what of the others planted willingly and sometimes unknowingly? The seeds of laughter, love, safety, and small kindnesses.
Buried beneath the ivy, waiting to bloom in full vivid color. Until my mind and body is not a shroud of clinging ivy, but an ever changing garden that welcomes my soul and those I love with joyous abandon.
Until the vines are not suffocating or bleeding me dry. But breathing new life and passion into each day. Ivy will always remain in my garden, I cannot undo all that has been done or what will come.
But I will continue learning to no longer build a house from it. Rather tend the seeds in my garden that create more freedom and happiness. That lessen each breaths pressure and give way to peace and joy.
Life is filled with different seasons, the ups and downs, moments-good and bad. That make up our lives and daily interactions. I’m always amazed when I see how far an artist goes for their work. Especially photographers. Laying in the mud, in freezing or blistering conditions, for that one perfect shot. That one perfect moment they can wait hours to capture. This image they have in their head that shapes the way they view things.
Artists have such a unique perspective of the world. Whether you’re a writer, a painter, a photographer, a sculptor. Or any combination of thousands of different talents that make you the artist and person you are. So full of life and willing to share with others, while still keeping a part of themselves unknown. Leaving their work open for the masses or the few to be viewed. For someone else’s perception of their personal work to become what it means to them as the viewer and not what it means to the artist.
Perspective in life, in whatever season you are in. Whatever artistic talent you do or do not possess is what shapes your actions and your reactions. Artist’s are all about changing perspective. Theirs and yours. When you find yourself in a season of change or maybe hardship, be like an artist, look for the best in what you see and if all else fails, change your perspective.
When the brightness of day gives way to a luminous night, the moons rays fall across her weary face.
She is at once the Maiden, Mother, and Crone of the old tales. Shining with an inner radiance you can see rippling across the surface of her skin.
As the worries of the day fade, the laugh lines around her eyes come out to play. The moon rises ever higher above her as she tosses her head back.
It’s light shines fully over her face and down her neck covering her body as she screams like a banshee of legends gone by, fully embracing her whole self.
In that one perfect moment, all else is forgotten except the oneness of moon and female brought together by the darkness of night and that which resides in her.
Her fury and wisdom are given free reign, not even the soreness of her throat or the tears on her reddened cheeks can disturb the peace found in the moons caress.
Maiden, Mother and Crone, a banshee of legend, she is everything you think she is not and nothing like you think she is.
She does not ask your permission for the space she inhabits. Only that you do not unwisely stray onto her path, less she takes herself from the peace of the moon and gives you the fire of the sun.
If she was a universe, then he was the earth.
His eyes warm and determined like the soil. Always changing, yet at the core steady and solid, waiting and watchful.
His mouth was like water, able to burn or soothe with every word and movement. Life changing like ocean waves that wrapped around his lover and rocked them even after parting.
His hands were like vines. Whip strong, weathered and calloused from his work. Showing what built him and what he would become.
His body was a shelter from every storm known to man, calling his companion back home after every wandering adventure.
His mind was a mine, filled with untold treasures and long forgotten tales, ones he revealed slowly to those who were patient enough to listen. It was endless tunnels and resting places.
He was like the earth.
Intelligent, stunning, full of mystery and care. He walked like there was always a destination. Rooted in the ground, with eyes up towards the sky.
You could see it, around the edges I mean.
The never-ending grief.
The brokenness that couldn’t be repaired.
The heartache that just never went away.
Sometimes an odd look would cross over their face.
Totally blank, but somehow it made you uncomfortable just seeing it. The glazed eyes, the tight mouth, the stress lines more pronounced. You had to wonder at how deep it went.
Then like the sun from behind a cloud they were back. Maybe you only imagined it after all. Look at how happy they appeared. It puzzled you because you didn’t know what caused it.
Ah! There it was at the eyes again. Just a slip, a small dip in their smile and an untrue pitch to their laugh. No, it wasn’t your imagination. Oh, but darling, if only they knew. The darkness was inside of you too.
The past six months have been crazy and my posting schedule has been completely off to say the least. I appreciate all the new follows and those that have stuck with me. I’ve been busy working on new pieces and trying some new things with my writing. Despite not having posted as much. I will be starting a three part series today and getting back to a more frequent schedule.
Universe: Her, is the start of this new series. About what people are to each other and how they come together. Sometimes vastly different but connected in ways that make the differences matter less for what they do for you and more importantly what you give to them. I hope you enjoy it or find something that you recognize from the relationships you’ve experienced. I love to hear from my readers. So feel free to leave a comment with any of my work on the piece, photo, or just what you’d like to see more of in the future. I promise I read all the comments!
Thank you again for your support and time when it comes to my art!
Falling slowly apart so you wouldn’t notice. Then all at once, like a tsunami, it rolled over me. The cracks in my foundation grew. I fell apart at the seams.
Silly that, isn’t it? How can a person fall apart at the seams? What sews them together to begin with? Is it love? Their history? Their dreams? Their regrets?
Maybe it’s everything rolled into one brilliant, blinding universe inside someone. So that when I was done falling apart, when my foundation cracked and the tsunami rolled over me.
I fractured at the seams of whatever had deigned to hold me together this long. Rising up from my feet, rolling under my skin, until the moon, stars and black holes of my universe burst through.
Settling on my skin like dust. That I slowly inhale as I pull the seams of myself back together each time. Now it twinkles on my skin, this fine shimmer against the darkness. The cracks filled with molten lava.
Silly that, isn’t it? To think of a person as if they had a universe inside of them? One made up of love, history, dreams and regrets. That spills over every time they come apart at the seams. Spilling onto each those around them. Tying us all together, piece by piece.
Love like love is me mapping the stars across your body with my fingers and mouth. Connecting your unique scars and marks into a new pattern every night.
Love like love is me draped over your body or you draped over mine. Soft hands gliding over skin and dragging through hair to soothe away whatever came before.
Love like love is me catching your laugh in my mouth just to taste your happiness because there’s nothing more stunning than that moment of joy with you.
Love like love is my lips skating over your cheeks to whisk away your tears. Wishing I could take all your pain and carry it until you regained your strength.
Love like love is how you know the little things like how I take my coffee and how I drink my scotch. Because they fit the bigger picture of you loving me while I’m loving you.