#sidrobinson

[preps2pro]

[dirtysouthredemption-blog]

The Lighter Side of Thoughts

She woke up this morning and saw, plain as day that her life was a monument to her thoughts. Suddenly, she could see it all so clearly. And it was all building up to a dead-end. There was merit in it; it wasn’t all bad. In the end though, it was square, heavy, and gray. Imagine her surprise, that she had built her own cage. But here’s the thing about thoughts, while they manifest like brick and mortar, they begin lighter than air. She changed her mind, and let it all go. What if I don’t worry about all these things anymore? What if I mind my own business and let everyone go free? The grey, square, imposing life dissolved, and she was left with a sunny vista and a sky so blue it made her heart ache with joy. All her friends were there smiling; she had let herself out of jail. Everyone around her breathed a sigh of relief. It hurts to watch someone suffer, even when she’s oblivious to it. On this day, she decided to wear life like a soft pink dress. She spent more of her day laughing, playing and dancing. Why did she ever take it all so seriously? Generations watched from a distance in grim sepia toned disapproval. But isn’t this what they had worked so hard for after all? She arrived just in time, to take life lightly, just for today. Sid Robinson **And here's the thing about having lived through, or in, hell--we have to practice presence to notice when we are no longer there. I've been there. I don't have to fashion my thoughts, and my life, around the memory. That's true freedom.**

[dirtysouthredemption-blog]

The Vastness of a Broken Heart

I come from a heart broken open— refracting light through the cracks, as spacious and deep as the blue sky. I come from faded gentility— old south, long-lost descendants of the Windsors and Charlemagne. I come from biker bars where temporary relief was served up in shot glasses and amber vials. I come from an aching lament that no one could hear— my belly full of loneliness and pain. I come from the stars— wisdom that guides me and reminds me who I really am. I come from red dirt and broken dreams and I’ve survived it— a testament to strength. I come from women who dreamed of better days— times like these, so I dust off and begin again. I come from farmland grit and sweat— folks with steely eyes, rough hands, and even harder determination. I come from my Grandmother’s warmth— her big, powerful love that holds me long years after her death. I come from perfect imperfection— always more to forgive, to work on, and let go of in myself. I come from a heart broken open— big enough to wrap around all that I am, and all that you are, in fierce and tender love. Sid Robinson