Restore Unto Me

(My studio washed in hot pink LED lights)

Morality is something individuals develop over time and as life adds experiences on top of experiences, our moral compass bobs to and fro according to the metaphysical pull of circumstance. We are all born with an inner guidance system, however sophisticated. Based on personal observations, it appears as though my fellow human beings are every bit as ensnared in their own versions of reality as I am. Perhaps surviving on stories doesn't make me unique at all, though I was sure it did not too long ago. With this in mind, I have been practicing the fine art of letting my guard down because what's the point of having one if everyone else has one too? And though it's not been entirely successful, I have come to terms with the notion that some of us just do better than others on our own. 

Failed attempts at finding my tribe, so they say, have lead me to realize solitude is not the worst fate a person can experience. It is worse by far being in proximity of other people who expect me to be something other than who I am when I am alone. It's a strange paradox, or perhaps its more of a trade-off. I love to have swaths of time where I am able to allow my thoughts to meander. I love the luxury of silence. 

I have learned a variety of valuable lessons about the world and the people therein through various channels these last several years and I feel like I've just survived a battle for my life. I feel like I may have actually broke free of the undertow that was trying to pull me asunder and I am now treading calmer waters. I look around me and I like what I see. I like how I feel. 

I have been brim-full with grief and sadness over the breakdown of my family, more so than any of the masks I wear could possibly convey. I let it rip me practically in half, in fact. I bet you didn't know, did you? This is a symptom of the larger problem and that larger problem is these glass walls I've nurtured and designed with precision. It's all these masks I wear. They exist all around me, like a glass dome. But rather than view them as obstacles, lately I see they may actually represent boundaries in the same way a greenhouse window represents a barrier between the elements and a temperate room ideal for growing things. Instead of viewing my heart as a vessel, perhaps I need to see it as more of a garden, and a secret garden at that–I have had a successful season of growing roses this summer. Things aren't so bad. 

Of all the priceless things I have learned these last few years, as aforementioned, there is one defining lesson that stands above the rest and it is the dangers of leaving your heart open for others to feed upon. My life has been an open book, for whatever reason, and I've worn my heart on my sleeve often. I've also hid my heart away in lieu of a sharp tongue and harsh temper. BUT, regardless of how I choose to see it, or use it, or know it, or ignore it–it is mine to do so. My heart belongs to me. Period. I will never attempt to share it with someone else in haste, ever again. This is the consequence of severe heartbreak. So be it. 

There is no part of me that is the entitlement of another and vice versa. We are all our own beings. So I wanted to take the time to remark upon the shifting of mindset I have adopted as of late. I see my heart within this glass dome, planted firmly in the soil, with new life springing up, all around. Things will begin to grow and life will take on a brand new meaning. It is the end of an era, the closing of a chapter, the slamming of a door, somewhere. Yet, no door ever closes but another opens. 

Winds change. People do too. And then again, sometimes they don't. 

I tried really hard to show people what it is like to live inside my mind. As much as I have complained about losing this and that since the horrors of 2020 unfolded for me, I have stopped telling a tale of woe. I have not said anything at all about most of the things that are really bothering me lately, believe it or not, and though my best intentions towards others somehow became poisoned, misconstrued, and regurgitated back to me in the form of grated metal, shards of barbed wire and a hell of a lot of senseless pain, I cannot complain at all. Why, you ask? Well, because I had simple prayers way back when. I had simple desires. I had simple wants and simple needs. I wanted to live a good life, I wanted to be loved, I wanted to have passion and beauty and freedom and meaning. I wanted to save the whole world. Then the metaphorical bottom fell out of my life. I hit a free-fall. 

Everyone is afraid to hit rock-bottom, but rocks make good foundations. A breakdown is something you can actually build upon, if you do it properly. Somewhere within that metaphorical garden surrounding my heart, I feel the gentle warming glow of the sunshine above me. I feel movement in the soil beneath. I hear birdsong off in the distance. And as I looked around me a few nights ago, I realized I've regained at least a few dreams since I crashed and burned. My studio space, for example, is even lovelier than the one I had before. I did not see that coming, I must admit. Some aspects of future tense are hidden from me, blissfully. Nevertheless, this is an answered prayer. 

In this new space, I feel completely in control of my environment. It is calm, quiet, managable. Simple. This is what I asked for. I have to stop and acknowledge it. I take nothing for granted and as I bear witness to the manifestation of a whispered prayer, where I called on the name of Jesus Christ long ago, in tears and emotional anguish, because I didn't know what else to do, but the gears seemed to set themselves in motion as soon as the words fell from my lips, no matter how quietly. A force so powerful started to move in my life like a torrent, making it impossible for me to remain where I used to be. The misery I endured seems like a bad dream, washed away and somehow made brand new. A sort of restoration has occurred within my soul and I have no choice but to believe this will be reflected outwardly in a more pronounced way, as time goes on. I am fortunate–no, let me correct myself, I am blessed to have survived this era unscathed. A new chapter begins this very night.