TRUE YOU, SHINE THROUGH
As I reorganize my own self-worth and reclaim my quantum power, I re-establish my dignity as a person.
Traveling back in time to the various points of departure, I, like nature, attempt to remember what I was trying to evolve into. The twisting lines of grassy dill, swirl around in a basket, like thick flowing locks of unkempt green hair. Nature’s fragrant fur taking shape over millions of years to be what it was meant to be.
I believe I was meant to wander and see beauty in the mundane. At least that’s one of my destinies where I got detoured; surrendering my creative power in exchange for something else I thought I wanted more.
The power of pushing into existence the creation of my thoughts, the coincidence of where I might be or of what I might overhear by accident. While others see a deal on lettuce, I see the contoured outlines mapping our world. I see the geography of countries and the boundaries of continents. I see the coastlines curling around endless harbors as viewed from high above.
Walking slowly. Barely a step faster than standing still. Light magenta stretch marks on celebrity heads, with a fancy green hat tilted off to the side. Like purple faces in a crowd, way in the back by the black, I recognize a sharp one.
Corn like nature’s rows of yellow Berber. Kernels of what might end up popped in a theater. Witty dialog between dashing stars delivers corny lines and bad puns. Old movies that were once the rage seem barely watchable now, in comparison to gripping images and powerful production values of today’s Hollywood hypnosis. Who was I before all that happened, made me not want to think about anything and just watch movies and TV? What makes us want to turn off, shut down and get lost?
A fellow traveler stops to pet a dog. We all bow down to bow wows. She wanders the streets carrying her possessions in a wooden fruit box, resting on a disabled person’s walker. Like a status label for the homeless, she shows off her stuffed bunny rabbit poised in her Vera Bradley knock off. Today she feels fancy and decides to put her hair in pig tails. How was I meant to look? Skinny and wild like a rock star? Chubby and well-groomed? Where was I before things started happening to make me feel bad, which made me want to eat to feel better, which ended up making me feel worse? Way back, did I eat because I was hungry or because it was time to have a meal? What would I rather do than eat?
Did I ever want to be beautiful to others? Or was I molded by the ridicule of others like that grandmother in Greece, N.Y. who walked away with $750,000 because those typical kids on the bus made fun of her age and weight? Can I breathe to nurture my body and reward it? I can let it sweat and push out the shapes, colors and textures that have always wanted to come out. I can fold myself back and forth and push the ground down to let out the shape it wants to be. I can run to that place where the breeze cools my face and find the next place where my mind departs from the body that runs without tire. What rippling muscles will sprout from me this time.
Shining pretty my flower gets stared at. The illusion of control dissolves and the power of real choice is revealed. In a world completely out of our control, just a few things we can command. Be bold, be purple. Flap that emerald neck tie loose. Get stared at and let them wonder. Where was I before Oreos made me happy? Who was I before the stretching cheese on pizza triangles seduced me? When did I start thinking I got my bright colors from eating a Cheese Danish?
I love to wear cowboy boots. I love the smell and feel of soft thick leather. I love when the puffy swollen pillows under my eyes vanish as the fat and sugar gets burned and is exhaled from my body. I love the power that comes from just choosing an apple for lunch on a Tuesday. I love wearing colorful scarfs and seeing my bones.
Nothing tastes as good as fresh water when you’re thirsty. When did we forget that water was fine?
This past weekend I felt myself pass through, churn up old useless anchors and let them blow away in the storm. This past weekend I was blasted with refreshment, color and the reminders of my core. The essentials of procreation, the rewards of jobs done well, the gifts that come from authentic and undiluted love. Pounding on the dance floor like a tribe around the fire, I sweat and splashed and smiled.
All of us dancing in our tribe. Drums beating, war paint on. We circled and shouted and sang like our ancestors and our ancestors before them. And slowly, everyone started to shine. Everyone started to glow. We could all see the light of each and every one of us and who we were meant to be, shine through the fuzzy madness of our every day illusion. The light grew brighter and brighter as the waters parted, turned to mist and bumped into the sky.
At this moment, we were all in the same place, thinking the same thing. We all rode the same energy wave.
And when it was all over, we swam away transformed, as the bright colorful beings we were always meant to be. All of us reset, the result of being surrounded by love.
Barry Stein's Blog 
I love the drinking dog.
Oh Laurie. So I take a bunch of pictures that I like and put them up and write words in between them. I wonder if I’ve once again revealed the musings of a madman. Till someone validates my thoughts. Yes. I like the drinking dog too. 😉
I just had a slice of the cheese pyramids 😦 but I like apples too. Your blog is an oasis, a place where thirsty writers can go & recharge their batteries. You are a combination of two of my favorite writers: Thoreau & Dickens. The introspective way you describe & interact with nature is amazing. I think there is a point in every writer’s life that one has to die and allow the writing to live (metaphorically speaking) because I love life…Thanks for sharing & NO you are not a madman. Your muse is rather charming. Never stop sharing. Writers & artists that don’t share die within & without…Hopefully there will come a point in your life that your body will become ink & impregnate each page of your life. Then & only then you’ll stop…
Thanks Mr/Mrs Anonymous. 😉 For your kind words and validating my thought flood. I was just about to delete the post because I thought it was too far out there and your insightful appreciation means more than you can know. I agree, sharing creative is life and breath. Disappearing all but the ink is a wonderful zen. Thank you again.