i feel the tearing of the seams.
the pulling on my heart strings.
the stories that bind us up,
that unfurl onto the pages,
enthralling ourselves into disillusionment, when we have come so far. allowing the stories to take us away. from where we stand today.
pain of generations and yet they are so rich in us, that we can not see what is ours and what is theirs.
i see my family in this photo.
my mom above and my dad below. jen above me, as i lean over the boundary of where my dad resides. it’s hard to not intertwine the story of his becoming with my own. all that he had to offer the world, and his roots telling him, he was nothing. although, that was never my own story, by him not sharing his, i felt in the absence of his words, doubt and imperfection.
jen and i being parents to one another, to ensure that our story was our own. holding onto the memories of our mother and the legacy, she left behind.
amongst the rubble of past and pain in present, through the years, turning over all that i could, to find myself amongst it all.
as i stumble and doubt and overthink far too much, i must remember the doubts are mine, as i feel them, and yet they are not mine at all.
that i can choose to live and breathe, my fullest potential right now. i have the opportunity in every moment, to choose again, to begin again and again and return to the my true essence, love.
by expressing and revealing the fruits of my labor, i am vulnerable and yet i am free. by living in my authentic truth, i set past generations free.
by throwing myself into the world of creativity, i am living in an awakened dream. any doubts that come my way, i feel my dads spoken words, go, do, be.
i hear my own heartbeat. how and what makes it tick. when i truly listen, the twitterpation of past and present, to fully be in this moment, and express my love.
art by john william waterhouse. diogenes. 1882
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