A Pocket Flower
I let my senses roam wild as imagination rushes from my head like water. Flooding my view with bountiful ideas. I see titans clashing, gods fighting, I see mysteries lingering in the lonely mist. I see monsters creeping from the distant moons and music flow gently from the darkened woods.
I watch golden leaves fall as the sun begins to rise. The soft tone of frozen grass begins to sparkle. I see birds thrust from their nests and chirp to the vast outreaches of nature. I am overwhelmed by what I see, and I smile.
I breathe again upon the cold morning glass. But this time, I draw a single heart held together. I let it fade as the last, but this time I breathe upon the glass once more. I observe the heart I drew with much thought, much intrigue.
I ask myself, "Why is something so small, so powerful? Why do we so easily forget it is there and ignore its constant beating. It keeps us alive as does the lungs, the minds and all the organs combined. But why does this one hold such emotion, such sway upon the soul?"
I cannot answer these as my eyes veer to the edge of what I see. I feel a sense of comfort take me. I feel my heart beat as if I am in command of its rhythm. And as this feeling washes over me like the gentle mist from a crashing wave. I see that it is me who is in control of this piece of art, this perfect architecture of the body.
I see that as I adore the beauty that lays abreast upon this spinning stone among vast blankness. I see that what I view, as wonderful, as plentiful in goodness in the simplest thing, brings my heart to ease. See, I am often stricken with anxious thoughts.
My head, rattling with worries that I know I should not think nor feel so affectionately for, but I do. I am often exhausted from the daily trials of the day and the colliding of energy of others, good and bad. Which is why I have brought myself to this small cabin in the far country plains.
Like many, I needed a reset, not a vacation, for there is nothing in my life I wish to run from, escape from. But rather, space to rejuvenate my numbing and toiled heart. So here I am, envisioning what I love most. Ideas, dreams into reality, picking stories from the smallest most often ignored things in the world.
I brought myself here to reopen that which I shut and to confront the fear of my vulnerability. My constant need to stand as if I am stone and nothing shall break me but the passing of time. I rest my elbows on the edge of the window taking in a deep breath.
I release it steadily as I keep my eyes shut and focus on the crisp air that delicately presses against the window. I can feel the earth breathing upon my cheeks. I smile once more and let my breath subside and my heart settle.
I continue to watch nature unfold as I begin to write myself upon a few empty pages as I intend what I see to be another story. But instead of a story to be told. Today, shall be a time to reflect the broken bones I have yet to mend and the echoes I have yet answer.
I cast my pencil upon the tinge yellow pieces of paper and begin to write. As I do, everything begins to pour out. I am suddenly taken by a force I have not felt ever. I am writing things I ignored and writing things I never thought I could.
Forgiveness spreads across these pages. Hope springs from my heart and remedy ascends from my mind. I feel chains break from my arms, ropes loosen and fall from my neck and anguish freeze, and shatter like ice against brick.
We should never live in our shadows, we should never be frightened of our past for the future has yet to come. Today, upon these voiceless pages and from the depth of this broken heart. I write myself to be free of things that I have allowed to hold me.
To abuse me like a caged animal to the appetite of a poacher. I am no perfect being, as are none. But I am one who is not looking to vanish without faith in myself and peace in my heart. My words have been written and never shall I erase them.
I place the pages upon a wooded chair next to me. I walk to the front door of the cabin and place on my shoes. Descending the cabin steps, the cold winter air hugs me, I breathe it in and step further into it. I step upon the frozen grass, listening to it crunch beneath my feet.
Walking toward the woods I see a patch of dying flowers. Looking to them with a feeling of serenity, I pluck one and place it in my pocket allowing the withering petals to rest near the warmth of my body. As a symbol of my dying self as I pass through the frigid season before me. Pressing onward into the brightness of summer.
I lay down upon my back letting the cold soil shock my body. I breathe in once more then release it into the misting are as I close my eyes. Settling my thoughts to my breaths as winter holds me in its morning grasp.
We all need time to reset, rejuvenate, when was the last time you did that?
When was the last time you really listened to yourself and let things fall where they were?
It should never be about escaping, but overcoming, A Man's Traveled Heart
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