Archive for the ‘Inspiration’ Category

Hope floats, right?


Or is it that we float on hope? Do we need to search for it? Call it? Or does it just know where we are? Does hope simply show up at the door…ring the bell? Grab our hands and take us for a spin?


I don’t think hope is as lighthearted as that.


I do think it finds us. Yes. But it finds us because it’s looking very hard. Looking for the ones who will take it seriously. That won’t waste what it has to offer. That will use its power for good. Hop on its back and have faith that they’ll be in the right place when next their feet touch the soil.


I think hope is still.


And heavy. A good heavy. An anchor. And that once we manage to grab hold, it weights us. Makes us stable. Gives refuge to wait out the storm. And lets its optimism shower down from a star-studded sky.


I think hope is like an Orchid.


It’s looking for the people who are willing to turn the crap life has handed them into mulch. Cultivate its roots. And still…still have hope that hope will believe in them. People who trust that if it’s well looked after. Nurtured. Respected. And truly happy.

That they’ll be blessed with living alongside its bloom more often than once a year.


Read Full Post »

It’s raining tonight.


And I don’t mind.


In fact, normally, I find beautiful things in the rain. The way the shrubs and trees and grass burst with luscious life. They way they pop with extra vibrancy against their bleak grey backdrop.


The fresh smell of things revived.


The moist in the air that feels like it’s good for my skin. The jewelish patterns it leaves on the windowpanes. The sound of it panging the roof.


And hey, I’m always wanting a valid reason for a roaring fire.


But tonight, I feel sad listening to the pitter of raindrops smacking on the outside shell of my world. For whatever reason, this night is not one of those nights that I’m willing to search for brightness amongst the streaky, cellophaned streets or the drippy ink sky.


No. Tonight, I just want to be sad.


And that’s alright. Because sadness is poetic. We are lucky to live the sad moments. And rarely do we stay sad forever, right?


Sad is not the enemy.


Because being completely sad is, after all, the very thing that allows us to know when we are completely happy.


And we know this, because our hearts tell us. And so does the wise Louis CK…


Read Full Post »

I was told the other day, that this blog. My blog. Helps people. That it’s inspirational. And that it stirs people to do the things they want to do. To change their paths. To go and be whatever it is they might want to be.


And I have to say I’ve never really thought of this blog. My blog. That way.


So, I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out what it is that that person saw as inspiring. What about my waterfall of thoughts would engage people in a positive way? What would motivate change in them? Make them think they could follow their dreams?


After all, it’s just me. Perched on my chair. Hitting the keys and letting it all fall out. And not all of it is pleasant. Or happy. Or spirit-lifting. So it can be difficult to see the light through the dark sometimes and it’s nice when someone else cares enough to flip the switch on for me.


At times I’m aware of an audience and other times, the likes or comments come as a jarring reminder that I am, in fact, allowing other people into my chaotic, disheveled mind.


Even more surprising for me, was that this comment came on the heels of my last post which was one of my darkest to date. A post that caused me pause. It was one of those times I did remember my audience and hovered over that pulsing publish button a while before pressing it.


I thought it might be too much. Too overwhelming. I worried it wasn’t “Hazy” enough. That I’d gone outside my brand. (No sniggering over the fact that it’s impossible to go outside a brand that only promises mere moments of clarity!)


So I read it back. And then I read several other posts. Just to compare. And then a few more. And I started to see something. The Darkest Side is not all that different from my standard scribblings. I mean, yes, it’s maybe a little sadder. Gloomier.


But, it’s real.


And that, I believe, is what’s inspiring.


Without sugarcoating, I always talk myself into believing there’s a little bright side to everything. And whether I need to gauge my readers or forget they’re there in order to write whatever it is I want to get out, I stay real.


Every time.


And we’ll keep this part our little secret. That this blog is also about me doing what I want to do. Changing my path. Being whatever it is I long for…think about…and am becoming.


And, I dunno. Maybe people like that too.








Read Full Post »

My darkness is a blanket, but I find it hard to pull around you. It seems it would be easy enough. I could just clutch the two corners and wrap them ‘round your shoulders until they tie together.


Knotted, in the middle of your chest.


And there they’d hang, the blanket’s twisted ends, weighty over your heart.


It’s tempting.


I could pull it over your head. Cover your eyes with it. Stop you from seeing me.


From seeing anything.


Because it’s not one of those thin blankets. The kind that grant grainy particles of light. No peeking through to the other side.


Not with this one.


Once you’re in it, it’s thick. And heavy.




You won’t see hazy silhouettes through it. No subtle motion. Once you’re under it, it’s black. Bleak.




No light. No movement. No hope.


You’ll ask me to. Even tell me you want the darkness. You’ll beg to be wrapped in it, if you think it will help me. You’ll promise to be okay behind its all-encompassing eclipse.


You’d lie if you thought it would ease my burden.


I know better. I know what it will do to you. To your spirit. To your sensitive soul.


But in the end, I’ll share my blanket with you anyway.


Because I’m human. And I need you.







Read Full Post »

I wrote a post the other day. Yay, me! About a bird. Well, it seems it was about a bird, but to be honest, I rarely write in a literal sense. I’m just usually the last to know.


And people liked it. Oddly, I did too. And that’s a real rarity for me. Because sadly, though not surprisingly, I am plagued with the writer’s plight. One’s own work is never good. And even worse, it’s never enough. In fact, why am I even showing it to anyone, silly monkey! So, to feel like it passed muster is a true blessing indeed.


But…I need the formula. What was so likeable? Why did you like it? And the harder question – why did I?


It’s laced with attractive language. And a lightness that brings a certain prettiness to the page. It’s short. And sweet. Grammatically correct. And even though it might be what some would perhaps call, wandering, it still manages to be direct and to the point. When you believe I’m actually talking about a bird, that is.


And all those things are good. But I don’t think they’re the reasons we liked it, do you? If I had to guess, (which obviously I do because, for some reason, very few people ever actually comment on my posts) I’d say it’s because it’s mysterious. And moving. And metaphorical. Have I gone too far in patting myself on the back? Another thing about writers…most of us are delusional.




Mystery. Movement. Metaphors.


We usually like those three things the best, don’t we?




Read Full Post »

She flitted in. Almost darting between our gazes. Head bobbing with each move. And I couldn’t stop watching her. She was a delicate little thing. Small. Angular. But still somehow, swooping. Sinuous.


She’s out of her comfort zone. It’s easy to see. In certain moments, a colored blur of watery reflection. In others, a precise dot on the obscure background that is this depressing place. I can tell you though. She’s livened it up just by breezing through. A welcome whisk of vivacity. A thrill for a sad and sorry bunch.


A wonder.


She continues on. Stopping now and then. Fluttering in her light-tipped way, from this stoop to that. Ignoring the attentions of everyone else. Busying herself. Bending to pluck bits of litter from the floor. Smoothing her sides back down flat.


I take in her slender neck. Sloping toward her rounded behind and ending in a graceful point at the tip of her thighs. I put my finger out and trace over it in the air. All the way down to the end. Following her curve with my eye.


A sharp noise above the din around us jars her and she ruffles from head to toe. I take a breath, waiting for her to leave me, but she stays. Gathers herself. Keeps moving. Slowly. Delicately. Toward me. My heart skips when I realize how close she’s getting. So close that I can see myself in her pupils. So close that I can feel her warmth. So close that I can smell her scent. And my once skipping heart now batters against its cage.


I reach out. To protect. The instinct is strong. But I can’t touch her. She’s just beyond my grasp. I want to call out, but the usual cackles begin around us and she brings her shoulders up over the sides of her head.




All is concealed but her starry eyes. Their long fine lashes reaching for me. Almost past the crook of her bent, slight limb. And then, they flicker. Those eyes. Right across mine. And lock. Just for a second, mind you. But it’s magic.




Then, as quickly as she came, she’s gone. Off into her other world. And even though I knew she would eventually vanish, it breaks me. Instantly, I drain. Empty.


My mind.

My heart.

My soul.


As she drifts away into another place. Another time. I am left here.


Until her return.













Read Full Post »

Coming up with posts these days is hard. Yeah, it’s summer and the status quo is gone, but I don’t think that’s the sole reason it’s been tough.


And right about now, you probably think I’m going to tell you what I do feel is holding me back, right? I wish. Because honey, if I knew, I’d pick it up, take it outside and give it a thump.


It’s been a good summer. Wonderful, really. We were lucky enough to do a lot of traveling. We flew to Las Vegas and took our daughter. We traveled to Los Angeles and took our daughter. We ventured, once again, to the North of Ireland and managed to get, not only our daughter, but both our sons and one of their girlfriends to join us.


And, we were blessed to be able to do so. This summer in particular, needed to be busy. I needed the distraction and it was, in no uncertain terms, provided. Opportunities fell into our lap through work stints and whimsical excuses, and we pushed ourselves beyond what we really should of done.


And it was good.


Good to run get away. Away from the things that lurk in the night. The dark shadows behind closed curtains. Those monsters that breathe heavily beneath the bed.


And I drank it up.


The opportunity.


Yep. Swallowed it whole.


But as they say, what goes down, must come up. I dunno know. Maybe it’s the other way ‘round. Or perhaps I’m just upside down. Whatever the case may be, reality is back and it’s the one doing the thumping now.


Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: