The Web

 
Blinded by the glaring sun
Tangled in a web, beautifully spun
Trying to release myself from its hold
It grabs on tighter, intending I fold
And so I let my resistance go
Explore this web, dive to the unknown
I find myself holding its strings
As if I was broken with clipped wings
I know very well I may fly away
But the tangled mess invites me to stay

Lost in Translation

 

Spoken words provides a tone
Which written words may lack.
But it is in the written words
Where essence lives in black
And only those with a guiding light
Are invited on to the stage
“The honesty in each word I write
The life beyond the page…”
And those who may not see the stage
Are confused by this creation
Or it may be the words I wrote
Were just lost in translation

“Life Is Only a Reflection of What We Allow Ourselves to See” – Trudy Symeonakis Vesotsky

Written for and Published in The Seeds 4 Life

What kind of lens are you seeing life through?

Is it the lens of bitterness? Reflecting a life of resentment and disappointments? Where anger bubbles on the surface and keeps your heart hardened?  

Is it the lens of contentment? Reflecting a life of joy and progress? Accepting this beautiful gift that’s life and extending your hand to journey with it?

Is it the lens of fear?
Reflecting a life of living so far from the edge, you can’t even feel the breeze of possibilities?

Is it the lens of courage?
Reflecting a life of opportunities taken and the growth experienced from jumping into faith?

Is it the lens of victimization?
Reflecting a life of pointing the finger at everyone and everything you have convinced yourself is at fault for where you are?

Is it the lens of love?
Reflecting a life of complete compassion? Compassion for yourself? Compassion for others?

I ask you again? What kind of lens are you seeing life through? If it is one that is not fueling the constructive evolution of your being, change the lens.

You hold the power in the vision and how life reflects back what you allow yourself to see.

Romanticism

surreal-paintings03s

“Satire is people as they are; romanticism, people as they would like to be; realism, people as they seem with their insides left out.” Dawn Powell

“…Romanticism is people as they would like to be….” to add, romanticism is people as others would like them to be, events as people would like them to be, things as people would like them to be.

In the end, the people, event, and thing never are what it is wished to be. So why do we romanticize all of them as such? Maybe we should blame our creativity? Our endless imagination which can dive into whichever abyss it desires to get lost in…usually triggered by what the heart wants to feel.

Maybe we should blame music and movies, which give the impression to be written just for us. From music lyrics that invade our mental state and flirt with our feelings, to film’s  happy or heartbreak endings, fit to validate our mood.

Besides people and things, we also romanticize our past. To bring realism to light, hindsight is 20/20 with a slight case of amnesia. Enter romanticism and we romanticize our past based on how we feel about our present. Lack of contentment can send a person lurking in the past, romanticizing the loneliest days as one of their best; romanticizing a love that evaporated to the love that got away; romanticizing sleepless exhausting nights with a crying baby as sleepless nights of bonding with the new love of their life.

It is a cruel game, this game of romanticism. Even more cruel is if we give into it and assume romanticism as satire (or as people, events, things as they are), only to realize that romanticism took advantage of our naïvety and pulled us in and spit us out with the disappointments of failed expectations.

But, there is beauty in the intoxication of romanticism. This beauty lives in the inspiration it gives us, the inspiration to create. That love, that person, that event, that past, we romanticize and we create beautiful music, beautiful paintings, beautiful poems…beautiful art. Romanticism LIVES in art…no matter the satire.

Muddy Waters

When rivers that flow welcome the rain,

Awaken what’s dormant,

Muddy Waters remain….

In these muddy waters, reflections change.

Distortion stares back.

What was known, now strange.

For muddy waters, which lack clarity,

Hide under the surface

A profound austerity.

And these muddy waters, give nothing away.

No sign of life

Which may breathe beneath its sway.

But look a bit closer, and notice its crow.

Under murkiness of water,

There’s a current that flows.

The beauty is evident, in these waters so dark.

The pleasure of the unknown,

The imagination’s….spark.