Expose(d).
Living in SoCal, I have the great pleasure to visit the Earth's most powerful force of nature, the salty sea. I sit my bum on the sand to feel it exfoliate my skin, fill the in-betweens of my toes, and act as a canvas to my finger painted art work. The sea salt leaves my body feeling like glue as the sand adheres to me like confetti stuck to the floor on New Years Eve. When I’m fed up with my new sandy coat, I head for the water. My heartbeats begin to accelerate, feelings of thrill and terror overwhelming me in concert. See, the ocean is my greatest fear & deepest love. It absolutely frightens me yet instantly soothes my anxious heart. I think God uses influences in nature to metaphorically resemble situations in our lives. Do you ever notice that when a wave rip curls, it unveils the translucent water rising from the deep blue that you can almost see through to the other side? How lovely, that at its most vulnerable part, it is truly crystal. How can something that delicate and that pure be so powerful when it's exposed?
And then, it hit me... Yes the wave, but this too.
Build, build, build...It’s what we do day in, day out. Stack, stack, stack… it’s how we reach higher ground. Pile, pack, pyramid… senselessly augmenting ourselves. I think we have this immaculate ability, healthy or not, to amplify who we are. Like dressing for winter to fight the elements, we just need that extra layer. Adding a dash of this here, and a splash of that there. These edits are quickly switching from just highlights to transforming into complete saturations. Sometimes life feels like an enigma. Once you feel like you've figured it out, the world, amused by your efforts, washes you back up on shore and tells you to try again. It's Ludacris. When I thought I took the right train, I got derailed and had to carve a new path on foot. Not sure if I’m sustaining or crumbling I keep going. I may lose a bead of sweat here and a few tears there. But I keep going. Thinking to my self, how many enhancements demand my craftsmanship? Can my efforts be enough, will I hit the bullseye this time? What more must I refurbish? Do I need to add more or do I simply stop.
I've been doing some thinking lately, shocker I know... My thoughts have been tending to imitate driftwood. Sometimes I'm not completely sure where they came from and I'm not sure I even care about their destination. I just want to get to that thought stream; floating the tide to the refuge that curbs my round the clock mind. No compass. For a few moments, the cloud of blue melancholy had been brooding overhead, unwarranted every time. But that didn’t stop her from sticking around... No matter my efforts, my joy didn’t seem to return unless that blue cloud was replaced by a blue moon. Seldom joy is the worst kind, who knew it could wear so many different hats? Instead of standing firm on the bridge over my troubled waters, I somehow ended up caught in the riptide. Lost, like I forgot how to swim. I felt anchored to the bottom of the ocean’s floor bobbing up and down along the surface stationed like a buoy. I tried kicking free, exhausting all my energies on breaking free. I just wanted relief. Fighting the fear of feeling until my strength wasn't enough. So fear was winning & I began weathering away.. I wasn't the only one to notice. Vulnerable... Uncovered, unprotected... Bare, skin deep...
I stopped trying to kick free of the anchor tied to my ankle. I sank myself down to the bottom of MY sea of thought. Reading between my own lines, I saw...me. I became a native to my skin.. my bones.
I became real. undone and undressed. I uncorked all of my bottles keeping my message unread and untouched. I opened myself up & allowed my chapters to be read, even the unlovely passages. I used to think that it mattered who read my book. I've been a runner for most of my life, fleeing problems, people and places when the reader was an uncommon bookworm. I didn't see them as the avid enthusiasts they were, I saw them as editors. One's with opinions critiquing my literary life. Waiting to ink up and mark down my pages with dripping distain for what they analyzed. Offering up changes and upgrades. Feeling misinterpreted, I used to slam the book shut, no book mark... You've just lost your place.
Yet, I was missing the point all along. They weren't the editors, I was.
I am.
Recent revelations are transpiring gratitude from my pores. I've had the privilege (and I say this with confidence) to be exposed. I am the one with corrections to incorporate. I am the one to accept that change matters and I must allow change to matter. You must allow "your messes to matter, and your chaos to count". I’ve known this for some time now, but misery and sadness can fog your vision, it did mine. Blinders laid over my eyes shielding me from the good feelings. The joyous feelings, the happy feelings.
It's a movement within yourself to permit change to lay a new foundation you can stand upon, observing from a new vantage point. But, instead of looking down, you're looking within. Take a look at what you've become: Are you honest, palpable, solid, content? Or are you misleading, concealed, flimsy, hurting? If you've found yourself choosing the latter, please remember this:
You are organically grown. You've been planted by Another’s hand.
Everyone is livin’. Everyone is dyin’. When will you expose yourself just enough to reveal what you're not brave enough to extract just yet? How will you peel back the layers you’ve wrapped around yourself? How do you dig up the hatchet you’ve buried? When will you loosen the nails in the boards of the walls you’ve built to protect you? How will you become that sparkling and powerful wave rising in your clarity harmoniously crashing into your strength?
Tend to your garden and don't neglect those buds on the threshold of bloom, you're almost there. Just as Spring brings about new life and renascence, every season has it’s transfiguration.
Fall is right around the corner. The crunching sounds patiently waiting, lying just beneath our feet. Crisp air preparing to fill our lungs. Healthy foliage detaching & abandoning their branches, leaving them exposed. Just like the clear waters peak at the top of a wave, branches withstand the harshest of winters rooted in their strength and standing tall in their bareness. I truly believe your power comes from being vulnerable. Please don’t coat what you uncover once you decide to shed those layers.
I won't speak for you but if this speaks to you, just hear me out. Your book is worthy of being read. Someone, a few someone's for that matter, are going to enjoy reading line by line. Some will speed read thinking they already know what’s to come, others may stop halfway and put you down, in more ways than one. That's okay. Tip your hat and keep writing. I think you are valiant for just being your authentic you. So just be. Others interpretations don’t have to define your understanding of your story. You are constantly changing & ever growing & so am I. There are people in this world that do understand that. You're a novelty with your own volumes and editions. Don't shy from the light of life and the joy of juxta positioning yourself with others for fear of being known.
Don't be an unopened book collecting dust on the shelf. Don’t be your own worst enemy. We can become the biggest stranger we’ve ever met. There have been times when that stranger has been standing in front of my reflection in the mirror. All I could recognize was my red hair. I couldn’t see through her but everybody else could. If your lucky enough, you’ll have angels called friends and family to help adjust your lens for your own self discovery. If you're even luckier, you'll meet kindred spirits along your journey who do more because they help you believe in humanity again. We are all teachers and students of one another.
So go publish and tell your story. Go teach. Expose your pages, bent corners and all. Be discovered.
Only you have the power to unlock the chest to all of your cultivated treasures; Ironically it seems they enrich your life the most.
-jlou
Living in SoCal, I have the great pleasure to visit the Earth's most powerful force of nature, the salty sea. I sit my bum on the sand to feel it exfoliate my skin, fill the in-betweens of my toes, and act as a canvas to my finger painted art work. The sea salt leaves my body feeling like glue as the sand adheres to me like confetti stuck to the floor on New Years Eve. When I’m fed up with my new sandy coat, I head for the water. My heartbeats begin to accelerate, feelings of thrill and terror overwhelming me in concert. See, the ocean is my greatest fear & deepest love. It absolutely frightens me yet instantly soothes my anxious heart. I think God uses influences in nature to metaphorically resemble situations in our lives. Do you ever notice that when a wave rip curls, it unveils the translucent water rising from the deep blue that you can almost see through to the other side? How lovely, that at its most vulnerable part, it is truly crystal. How can something that delicate and that pure be so powerful when it's exposed?
And then, it hit me... Yes the wave, but this too.
Build, build, build...It’s what we do day in, day out. Stack, stack, stack… it’s how we reach higher ground. Pile, pack, pyramid… senselessly augmenting ourselves. I think we have this immaculate ability, healthy or not, to amplify who we are. Like dressing for winter to fight the elements, we just need that extra layer. Adding a dash of this here, and a splash of that there. These edits are quickly switching from just highlights to transforming into complete saturations. Sometimes life feels like an enigma. Once you feel like you've figured it out, the world, amused by your efforts, washes you back up on shore and tells you to try again. It's Ludacris. When I thought I took the right train, I got derailed and had to carve a new path on foot. Not sure if I’m sustaining or crumbling I keep going. I may lose a bead of sweat here and a few tears there. But I keep going. Thinking to my self, how many enhancements demand my craftsmanship? Can my efforts be enough, will I hit the bullseye this time? What more must I refurbish? Do I need to add more or do I simply stop.
I've been doing some thinking lately, shocker I know... My thoughts have been tending to imitate driftwood. Sometimes I'm not completely sure where they came from and I'm not sure I even care about their destination. I just want to get to that thought stream; floating the tide to the refuge that curbs my round the clock mind. No compass. For a few moments, the cloud of blue melancholy had been brooding overhead, unwarranted every time. But that didn’t stop her from sticking around... No matter my efforts, my joy didn’t seem to return unless that blue cloud was replaced by a blue moon. Seldom joy is the worst kind, who knew it could wear so many different hats? Instead of standing firm on the bridge over my troubled waters, I somehow ended up caught in the riptide. Lost, like I forgot how to swim. I felt anchored to the bottom of the ocean’s floor bobbing up and down along the surface stationed like a buoy. I tried kicking free, exhausting all my energies on breaking free. I just wanted relief. Fighting the fear of feeling until my strength wasn't enough. So fear was winning & I began weathering away.. I wasn't the only one to notice. Vulnerable... Uncovered, unprotected... Bare, skin deep...
I stopped trying to kick free of the anchor tied to my ankle. I sank myself down to the bottom of MY sea of thought. Reading between my own lines, I saw...me. I became a native to my skin.. my bones.
I became real. undone and undressed. I uncorked all of my bottles keeping my message unread and untouched. I opened myself up & allowed my chapters to be read, even the unlovely passages. I used to think that it mattered who read my book. I've been a runner for most of my life, fleeing problems, people and places when the reader was an uncommon bookworm. I didn't see them as the avid enthusiasts they were, I saw them as editors. One's with opinions critiquing my literary life. Waiting to ink up and mark down my pages with dripping distain for what they analyzed. Offering up changes and upgrades. Feeling misinterpreted, I used to slam the book shut, no book mark... You've just lost your place.
Yet, I was missing the point all along. They weren't the editors, I was.
I am.
Recent revelations are transpiring gratitude from my pores. I've had the privilege (and I say this with confidence) to be exposed. I am the one with corrections to incorporate. I am the one to accept that change matters and I must allow change to matter. You must allow "your messes to matter, and your chaos to count". I’ve known this for some time now, but misery and sadness can fog your vision, it did mine. Blinders laid over my eyes shielding me from the good feelings. The joyous feelings, the happy feelings.
It's a movement within yourself to permit change to lay a new foundation you can stand upon, observing from a new vantage point. But, instead of looking down, you're looking within. Take a look at what you've become: Are you honest, palpable, solid, content? Or are you misleading, concealed, flimsy, hurting? If you've found yourself choosing the latter, please remember this:
You are organically grown. You've been planted by Another’s hand.
Everyone is livin’. Everyone is dyin’. When will you expose yourself just enough to reveal what you're not brave enough to extract just yet? How will you peel back the layers you’ve wrapped around yourself? How do you dig up the hatchet you’ve buried? When will you loosen the nails in the boards of the walls you’ve built to protect you? How will you become that sparkling and powerful wave rising in your clarity harmoniously crashing into your strength?
Tend to your garden and don't neglect those buds on the threshold of bloom, you're almost there. Just as Spring brings about new life and renascence, every season has it’s transfiguration.
Fall is right around the corner. The crunching sounds patiently waiting, lying just beneath our feet. Crisp air preparing to fill our lungs. Healthy foliage detaching & abandoning their branches, leaving them exposed. Just like the clear waters peak at the top of a wave, branches withstand the harshest of winters rooted in their strength and standing tall in their bareness. I truly believe your power comes from being vulnerable. Please don’t coat what you uncover once you decide to shed those layers.
I won't speak for you but if this speaks to you, just hear me out. Your book is worthy of being read. Someone, a few someone's for that matter, are going to enjoy reading line by line. Some will speed read thinking they already know what’s to come, others may stop halfway and put you down, in more ways than one. That's okay. Tip your hat and keep writing. I think you are valiant for just being your authentic you. So just be. Others interpretations don’t have to define your understanding of your story. You are constantly changing & ever growing & so am I. There are people in this world that do understand that. You're a novelty with your own volumes and editions. Don't shy from the light of life and the joy of juxta positioning yourself with others for fear of being known.
Don't be an unopened book collecting dust on the shelf. Don’t be your own worst enemy. We can become the biggest stranger we’ve ever met. There have been times when that stranger has been standing in front of my reflection in the mirror. All I could recognize was my red hair. I couldn’t see through her but everybody else could. If your lucky enough, you’ll have angels called friends and family to help adjust your lens for your own self discovery. If you're even luckier, you'll meet kindred spirits along your journey who do more because they help you believe in humanity again. We are all teachers and students of one another.
So go publish and tell your story. Go teach. Expose your pages, bent corners and all. Be discovered.
Only you have the power to unlock the chest to all of your cultivated treasures; Ironically it seems they enrich your life the most.
-jlou
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