There is nothing more alive than rising through ash. Isn’t that what life about? Overcoming. Many days life leaves me pondering. Though today I understand what keeps my heart wondering. The strength in each and every person to rise above. Finding that place where we take a moment to pull away. To allow our mind to calm. Allowing our souls to succumb to a moment of a strength that is peace. Motivation to be more than a stereotype.
My thoughts on drama is ‘I hate it.’ Finding peace is a discovery not a choice because the cold world hides the things that make you smile just because. Softening tension starts with finding a quiet moment. Allowing yourself to let go. There is no better way to describe other than allow what is calm to flow from your head to your toes. We can become better. We can become faster. Smarter, Wiser, more leveled in our actions.
With the practice of limiting distractions and pulling inspiration from overcomers who made it happen. Reading ‘My Life With Martin’ by Coretta Scott King revealed to me the literal person not figure or reenactments but the person Martin was, is what gained and still gives traction. His story is watered down to one sentence “I had a dream” but after learning his wherewithal that line is not even a fraction.
Martin taught me this year that I don’t have to fight every battle, only the ones that make a better world. Some call him the King of Love. He wanted to change the world with love. Many don’t know that his home was bombed with his wife and child inside. Martin’s response was bigger than him, bigger than human, though he was only human. He led the people away from the bait of a riot. In his times of trouble, he inspired.
I need a world with some love in it. What is a life based on control and strife? It is Not the kind of life that love survives. I pull strength from the Most High as he reminds me to keep my heart in line with the loving kind.
In this new generation I just try to mind mines. We live in different times. Not lessening my admiration of those holding the strength to lead the blind. I understand that I don’t hold the power to remind. With my portion I respect each person while also never using my scissors with a motive to cut another’s vine. Although I don’t lead the way and maybe most good hearts have gone astray. I still want to see the day when the good is heavier in weight.
The disappointment I once had for an evil display, now I expect, so I keep my hopes for a better humanity on my mirror, my face, my actions, ‘what I do’ is where my hopes now lay. I can only control what my hands create or break. How I feel about it all is red ink written on every corner with the entirety being covered in red paint. Though we all still pick up our red ink pens and write. On top of the red canvas that remains covering the original inks remains.
While new stories appear as scratches in the paint. Continuing to walk through what is believed to be wear and tear, unaware, we draw the same layers on top of the scratches we see as bare. Believing that no one understands, we draw our pain in the same place of another’s despair. Another’s hope. Another person being cornered while believing their situation is rare. Another’s love shared. In that place we pull strength to care. Placing a scratch of my own proving that I too was there. Me too.
