#breakopen

[thepoetrystore]

LAST WEEK OF THIS SERIES! LESS THAN 40 LEFT! . shop link in bio or visit @secessionsf this saturday noon-5pm. . get yours before they’re gone! . #art #artistsoninstagram #sfartist #limitededition #breakopen #secession #silvialcivar #thepoetrystore #poetry #poet #poetsofinstagram #writersofinstagram #writingcommunity https://www.instagram.com/p/CM0pFZDhyil/?igshid=pzazg32exgg5

[andrewkaminskiart]

This photo is part of an epic #instagrid layout. Please visit my profile to get the actual experience. Honestly, I don't have a clue how this is going to be taken. I made this image out of commitment to continue to create every day. It's sometimes ugly what we create, especially when it's raw, but it's more honest. I can't monitor and censor what I create just because I want to be nice, or take political sides, or even make it look "perfect." I'm just going to express. Just because it's spontaneous doesn't mean it doesn't have some thought to it. At first, I constructed a mountain filled with white, smiling faces. Corporate faces. Cookie cutter faces. Something dead inside behind that smile, but comfortable. The picture below in the grid show brown-skinned fists holding up pillars. It means that without the strength of black and brown populations, there would be no smiling white faces. I lived in Harlem from 2012 to 2014. Even though it had been gentrifying, I was undeniably an outsider. My whiteness was put in my face. I felt lame. My clothes were awkward. My dancing was weird. I felt like I had material comfort, but as far as a soul to express, I felt like I always had to prove myself. I remember one time, a group of black guys saw me, and said I dropped my swag. I made that fragile awkward face, and they cracked up. I laughed uncomfortably next to the girl I was walking with. Then, this vision of a chameleon came to mind. To be white to me means we smile when we are supposed to. Show up on time. Be polite. Wear acceptable clothes that society permits in order to make paycheck. The pink elephant is stepping on my forehead, opening up knowledge of a bigger point of view. That's all for now. If you want to support the art, share or leave a comment, or visit my etsy, and make a purchase. Link in bio. #instagramartists #whiteness #whiteprivilege #breakopen #andrewkaminskiart #knowing #trustyourself #surrender #expresseverything #100dayartchallenge #dailyart https://www.instagram.com/p/CBPYeRXDb2y/?igshid=rmnryvny07fz

[nancydeandrade]

Sometimes you need to talk to someone who won’t judge you, who asks the right questions that opens the flood gates of your innermost sorrows. Someone to witness your pain so you know that you are not crazy for feeling your feelings. Someone to hold the space for you to break down without feeling pity for you or see you as less capable just because you opened up, because you put the load you’ve been carrying down to break open. Sometimes you need someone who won’t try to fix you or stop you from feeling because they are uncomfortable, but who will hold a safe space for you to be vulnerable. We can’t continue pretending that we can do it all, that we are always strong and in control, that we are not bothered by the back-breaking struggles we face in this life. We know there are solutions but can’t see them because they hide underneath those unshed tears. If you find someone you can talk to like that, hold on to them, they don’t come around very often. . . . . #poetry #unshedtears #counseling #vulnerability #breakopen #breakdown #trust https://www.instagram.com/p/BuexftynXc3/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1iaw62jnsuc8q

[moonleaflove]

Sigmund Freud wrote, “Out of your vulnerabilities will come your strength.” #breakopen and #bloom #outofyourvulnerabilitieswillcomeyourstrength 🍃☀️🍃

[fmadera]

Even when it's hard, there's always room for expansion. #lessonsfromnature #breakopen #higherself #eucalyptustree #madera #infiniteintelligence #Harmonyum #NaamYoga

[recalled-to-life-blog]

We Can Worry

He went to war in a time when it was voluntary.  He left for many reasons – some he packed into his suitcase.  Others he left behind.  Mainly, he just left.  

His mother paced at the moment of his departure.  In turns, she held her breath and then she sucked the air out of the room.  She scolded others for worrying and then she dropped her tears on the wood floor.  

He was gone for years. And, the love that went unspoken when they had shared space spilled palpably into the letters they exchanged.

The first letters carried on like life does when we are familiar: “Dear Son: The weather here is turning cold…”

But, over time, they shifted to messages shared between the loved, but separated.  

“Dear Mom: There was a time when I was afraid to leave the house…”

“Dear Son: I was harder on you than I should have been…”

Then, his letters became revealing.

“Dear Mom: I used to wear your dresses…”

“Dear Son: I spend so much time worrying that you won’t come back…”

Then, his letters turned to the future.

“Dear Mom: When I get back, I would love to see the Grand Canyon….”

“Dear Son: I live in constant fear that you won’t come home…”

He dodged bullets and she dodged worries.  

Eventually, his letters became historical documents.

“Dear Mom: I celebrated Christmas alone.  But, I don’t mind.  There was a cease fire and I could pretend there was a song in the air.”

“Dear Son: Christmas wasn’t the same without you.  The entire family was on edge and nobody could celebrate.”

Then, “Dear Son: I don’t sleep.”  

“Dear Son: I spend my days consumed with anxiety about your wellbeing.”

“Dear Son: I am so afraid to receive a letter with bad news…”

Then, the dreaded letter did come.  

She had died in her sleep.

A few months later he returned home.  

We can worry.

But, nonetheless some of us live forever in a war zone.  

And some of us die safe in our beds.