Spaces

\'spas\ n.  2.  b : an extent set apart or available

I had to make some spaces for myself,

to use the minutes I have here and there

to write, to collage, to journal.

These spaces had to be practical,

places that are among the day's activity,

where I am accessible to my children

and able to stand when I find the moments

to work on a few things.

Here above the dishwasher, next to the stove

an arm's length from the kitchen sink,

is refuge on a square countertop,

where I have hung a picture to encourage me

a vase to add beauty and collect things in

among the tissues and piles that I work to sweep clean,

providing a surface to spread out

journals, glue, and materials for collaging.

Here I am able to be among everything

as I grab hold of moments

that nourish me

through the busy days.

Above the microwave, too,

where I have my daily planner,

listing grocery needs, meal ideas,

schedule items, and to-do things,

I placed a magnet that hovers like a prayer

and my little journal, Abstract Reality,

which brings smiles with its word jottings.

These small spaces encourage and nourish me.

Like the counter above my kitchen sink,

they have become surfaces to fill

with inspirations that embolden, 

 soul nourish, and stimulate my spirit

throughout the days.

Do you have accessible spaces in your home for soul nourishing?

Where can you grab hold of a spot to call your own?

How can you make it yours and use it as a place to find peace?

Be Yourself

On the door of a bathroom stall at a favorite cafe,

there is this message, pictured above.

I had been trying on lots of labels for a while,

thinking that I needed to be this way or that way

in order to live rightly.

The Spirit intervened and has been redeeming:

redeeming me, and who I've always been,

redeeming who I need to be,

the real me

hidden beneath all the layers,

coming back to life again.

Again, I read the message, clearly

plain and simply stated,

on the wall of another bathroom

at a new favorite place

where my kids and I rollerskated

and they bounced on inflatables

and we all had fun, such fun.

And the vision is of me

and these layers being peeled off

of the masks I tried on for a while,

and underneath is me,

head tilted back

waterfall rushing over,

and I am at peace.

There is more writing on the wall

at this favorite cafe

a Dr. Seuss reminder:

"Today is your day!

Your mountain is waiting.

So...  get on your way!"

And I am utterly convinced

that I need to be myself,

and that you need to be yourself...

that every single person needs to be Who They Are,

and that we need each other to be unique

because there are things that only we can see

and experiences that only we can live,

and we need each other desperately

to bring forth into the world

what individual gifts

have been crafted into us only.

Be yourself -

you're the only you there is,

and I am the only me.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull

Have you ever read Jonathan Livingston Seagull, a story by Richard Bach?  It is one of my all time favorite books, and there is a story attached to how I received my copy.  I wrote about how it came into my possession in pencil on its inside cover.  I'll just retype exactly what I wrote, rather than edit myself.

"i was meant to have this book.  near the end of my senior year in high school, i was walking up the stairs of the 500 wing.  i saw this book on the stairs, but i didn't take it.  this book had just become one of my favorite books a week or two before this, after borrowing it from tara (my sister).  i thought someone would come back for it, maybe.  later that day me & my friends went outside the doors of that same stairwell to just sit and chill.  it was by where we were painting our mural.  not many people go there.  and what did i see but this book, lying on the grass.  so it's mine now.  it was obviously meant for me."

I remember sharing that with someone at some point and the comment I got was something along the lines of "wow, you're really weird."  I laugh at that comment now as I type this, but for a while it made me self-conscious of such occurences, so I've kept them to myself. 

It's almost 15 years now since I've acquired this book, and I hadn't reread it until this week.  The message within it began to come back to me after I made that Seagull Collage, because I started to think about seagulls again and Jonathan Livingston popped into my head, and I went to go find quotes from the book to write on the back of the collage.  It also occurred to me that I used a seagull picture for the front of my Freedom Journal, with the quote "You Were Meant For The Sea". 

So I went into the bin in our crawl space that holds many of our books, due to the fact that we are only just now acquiring bookcases and getting our gems out of bins and back onto shelves.  I dug out Jonathan Livingston Seagull, reread it, and here's what happened:

I think I will entitle this "Fly Off the Page" and I need to get more canvas and paint to make more of these.  Friends, if you want one, tell me?  I will paint a "Fly Off the Page" series and it will encourage me.  On the counter to the left of my sink, I will find freedom and experience peace, as I paint for you and for me. 

Tying up this week's theme, which happened unintentionally by me, but must've been planned by Someone Greater, Who gives me a loving wink....  and my heart flutters with praises...

(from pg. 30 of Jonathan Livingston Seagull): 

" 'When they hear of it,' he thought, 'of the Breakthrough, they'll be wild with joy!' "

(from pg.30-31):

"...there's a reason to life!

... we can be free!  we can learn to fly!"

Read the book.  I dare you!  ;-)

Free, Now & Then

page from current Freedom Journal

and poem found in an old journal that fit perfectly with the picture

Free

She stands…
A lone figure on the distant horizon.
Her soft voice is carried by the breeze -
She sings her song of freedom,
Of the eagle that soars high and proud,
Of the wolf, brave and triumphant,
Of creatures big and small,
Of herself,
She is free.

                                                         ~Brianne, 1997