Finding Flowers
A child's weed

A child’s weed

self entitlement

Self entitlement

I’m sitting on a small porch. It feels unnecessary to think about what I need to do. Not because I’m in a position to enjoy leisure, but rather because wants and needs are confusing my ability to move forward. It is human nature to be self serving. It could be selfish to want, and needs are at the center of self entitlement. I don’t want to feel entitled. Simplicity is necessary. The act of being truly grateful is empowering. A child finds the flower in a weed. We quickly appease, we appear to see the flower. Pretending to appreciate it as we view the weed, feeling nothing. Neither wanting or needing the flower.

Perception
photography

Curiosity is human nature, truth is a choice, forgiveness is a gift

Drawn to shadows that flicker through the window, I find time to appreciate the interruption. If I fixed the marks, anyone passing through would pay no mind to the perfectly painted ceiling. I however, would know.  There is no point in hiding away, and people are not books to be read.

The only truth I can be sure of is my own perception. Drawn to the window, in hopes the sun will confide… for what purpose builds a blanket of shadows? How dangerous it is, human nature to rush about covering truth.

Fading into the background, nature is cunning. I find relying on clouds insufficient, as an imperfect gift to the world. If rain does not fall, it is inevitable night will arrive.

The window is closer, I stop. I am well aware of the words that remain lying on my floor.. I try to remember where I misplaced trust. The window is lighting my curiosity, I move forward.

I reach the window, it is possible there is change. The gift of betrayal human nature gives, I choose to not return it. Understanding to move forward, every gift given to me, stays within me, and cannot be taken away.

Clockwork

 

photography

A child is everything I seek for my own heart to be

The poster seems irrelevant today, the marks on the ceiling left from the poster seem to consume the back of my mind. I’m outside, the wind is comforting.  How grateful the world should be for this simple gift, though it seems indifferent. The world around me is moving yet I remain. Feeling at any moment, I could break open. Vulnerable, to the habits that seem to consume the world in a perfectly silent storm. I imagine the marks that lie on my ceiling, sweeping the world with a phenomenon of utmost intelligence. Freeing the chains that seem to be obliviously content with destroying the child in each of us. Feeling wrong as the world seems right. I so desperately long for the perfect faith a child has. So freely a child can dream… after all they do have a whole life ahead. That thought doesn’t settle well, when does life really begin? After the marks fade away, or when you humble yourself as a child? When I close my eyes against the sun, I see the marks, like clockwork, I am left to remember why poster remains crumpled, face down on my bedroom floor.

Chipped Paint and Sticky Tape
Photography

We will be as happy as we allow ourselves to be

It is Sunday afternoon, I am laying on the bed staring at the ceiling. There are marks, some with chipped paint, and some with remnants of sticky tape. The marks form a perfect rectangle, in place of the poster that had once lain as a reminder.

The rectangle now seems as though it is a mirror, reflecting the dire state of what lays below it.  I want to reach up and pull more paint off, but it is already damaged. I want to fix it, but I don’t know how.

The marks remain untouched just as I remain reminded. The memory of carefully placing it above the bed, feelings of excitement and hope for the future. The small but very significant moment where dreams could be.

The poster lays forgotten, half crumpled, face down on the floor besides the bed. I feel heat growing over my cheek…The poster…. I know it’s there, next to me. I can sense its longing to be placed where it’s purpose can be fulfilled. Thinking of the poster’s purpose, I quietly grieve.