Do it or don't do it.

So there's this dude named Steven.

He wrote a book called "The War of Art."

He said "Most of us live two lives. The life we live and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands Resistance."

Word.

All my life I have believed one thing. I'm a writer. So what the hell is going on that I have allowed myself to veer so far off course? It's bad enough that I'm not fully living the way I should be but who do I think I am to ignore my calling in life? To hide from my gift? To let Resistance kick my ass the way that it has been? Something needs to be done. I'm the only one who has the power to change this. Writer's block has had it's way with me for far too long.

So I read his words that made me cry the first time I read them.

Are you a born writer? Were you put on earth to be a painter, a scientist, an apostle of peace? In the end the question can only be answered by action.
Do it or don't do it.

It may help to think of it this way. If you were meant to cure cancer or write a symphony or crack cold fusion and you don't do it, you not only hurt yourself, even destroy yourself. You hurt your children. You hurt me. You hurt the planet.

You shame the angels who watch over you and you spite the Almighty, who created you and only you with your unique gifts, for the sole purpose of nudging the human race one millimeter farther along its path back to God.

Creative work is not a selfish act or a bid for attention on the part of the actor. It's a gift to the world and every being in it. Don't cheat us of your contribution. Give us what you've got.

Can I get a hell yeah?

Life is so short, I need to start believing in my gifts. I want to write the story I know I have in me.

Do it or don't do it. 

I'm on it, Steven.

                                   

Catharsis

My heart has been a dark place this week.

The inner warrior unfurled her black wings, fierce and ready for battle. She could feel the girl inside, the one banished to the torch-lit corridors of her mind stirring to life. The script adorning her arms glowing in the candle light. His cross. Never hers. And yet she carried the weight. Never allowed to forget the pain inflicted upon her. Never able to heal, even decades later. He always resurfaces. His cruelty, his emotional warfare, his utter lack of remorse.

So...I go to the sea.

Cold, winter wind whips my hair. Brine fills my senses, the mermaid feels the pull to go home. Into the liquid quiet. Blue tranquility swallows her up, her cathartic release. I feel her frustration become entangled with mine. Instead we stare out to sea, disappearing into the song within our souls.

Do you think driftwood feels the pull of home too? It's fingers were reaching toward the ocean, longing to feel the caress of the waves. Just one more time. Like me.

I'll never know what compels him to hurt me time and time again. I'll never understand why after 12 longs years, he is unable to release me. Does the batterer inside him hunger for control over me still? Does the monster within devour him whole? Do his demons taunt him with how I was able to get away? Do they call him a failure and whisper inventive new ways how to cause me pain through our son?

Why will no one stop him?

The sea gives me no answers. Salty air ruffles the wings. Black feathers floating across the waves.

So today the sun came out but instead of bitter cold, the air was warm. The sea called me home.

For the first time, there were no snow banks to climb. I didn't need gloves. I walked onto the lonesome beach first, my heart becoming lighter with each step. Mussel shells crunched beneath my feet, they are so plentiful it's impossible to avoid crushing them.

This side is never as populated as the other. Just me and the seagulls. I walk across the stream, stopping to listen to the music of the water rippling across the rocks. It's beautiful..peaceful..balm for my stormy spirit. I enjoy every moment.

Before heading home, I travel to the other side of Mira Gut beach. There is a young couple holding hands as they walk their dog. I amble down the boardwalk, marvelling at the huge logs tossed all the way up here from the sea. The waves here seem so small...not mighty enough to hurl such strong logs upon the shore.

A little black and white dog runs up to me, his little face so filled with joy. So pure. Undiluted happiness. I rub his ears and talk to him a bit before thanking his owner for letting me pet him. She smiles and says, "isn't it SUCH a beautiful day?!!". I agree. Wholeheartedly.

A simple shell reminds of all that is lovely and amazing in my life. He can never take that from me. He has stolen pieces of me that I will never get back but he can't take my spirit. My warrior wings. My inner girl who embraces the scars and protects me.

I remember you. Your hand in mine, the way you pulled me close. Your smile, the way your love for me poured out of your eyes. I miss you. I close my eyes against the tears, turn my face to the sun and smile instead.