Story Start – She Is

She did not like to say life was hard, because she recognized everyone had challenges, problems, struggles. Adding her bit to the misery did not seem right. She ate her consternation, her pain, along with what she collected from others. She tried to sample them only in privacy.

She found herself continuously resorting to prayer as she knew no other way to deal with such a multitude of troubles.

Sitting alone in this blindingly white room on perfectly cornered snowy linen in a gown that was allowing the air to nip at her back and behind, she felt more vulnerable than she liked. Her mind would drift into fear, and she would call it back like a hyperactive unleashed dog. Sometimes it obeyed, and she could bring it to heel, sometimes not.

The battle she faced was not unlike others, where her life was invaded. The trick was always finding a way to continue, overcome, survive. She snatched up her smile, painted it in permanent pigments, trusted her prayers, were continually heard, and chose joy over doubt. She might be weak, her weapons dull, but love was strong and capable. Even something life-threatening could not keep her down.

Seraphina would be okay, whatever befell, she determined to go bravely with a pleasant countenance and a spirit yielded to God.

The Journal Habit

If you are dealing with doubt, fear, worry, loss of sleep, any sort of stress, unresolved feelings, anxiety, or mental disturbance, I recommend journal writing. When we journal, it is a form of personal therapy as well as creative expression. It can be highly effective and most inexpensive. There is no need for referrals and insurance approval.

When we work in journals, there are no rules. We bring whatever manifests in our attention to the page. It is beneficial if there is excessive turmoil in life to do a brain dump where all the negativity is lanced and released. A twenty-minute session of free writing with the option to go longer is often helpful.

Beyond the initial purge, a journal can be a proving ground for ideas and other types of creative expression. A journal is simple; we bring who we are to it. We may choose to share or make it a very private space. We use journals to cover seasons of our lives like school, college, jobs, relocating, love affairs, marriage, pregnancy, a new baby, journeys, and everything else. We can claim journals for any time, occasion, event, place, or emotion.

When we read old journals, we progressions and can congratulate ourselves on how we evolved and what we achieved. We find we have many victories. A journal is there as needed. It does not have to capture writing every day, though it can as required.

Journals are like friends who take your thoughts and allow you to explore and reflect on them without judgment, solutions, or criticism. We are allowed space to develop our own best conclusions. This is the beauty of a journal. It can be anything we need and morph into something else as required. We give it value as we choose to use it, and it becomes a reflection of ourselves.

I recommend everyone journal as they will.

This was handwritten in my journal. I encouraged someone with sleep issues to journal and see if it helped. Journal writing is one of the ways I care for myself, I have done it since childhood with long skips at times. I see the website and my previous blog as extensions of my journal, where I choose to share. Creativity and living more comfortably in the world with love are my hopes for my readers.

Short Story: Unexpectedly Gone

Married to an ex-military man who was crawling back from the abyss of a previous divorce with alimony and lots of child-support. His rising star was Maitlyn’s favorite creation. She invested in all the programs to teach him coding and hardware to help him become an expert with networking and computer maintenance.

Her aversion to being away so long from her little one, she swallowed along with her anger over unmercifully long hours and no corporate support. It had to be okay because, for the first time in her life, she was a runaway success with money in excess.

Sometimes she wished there was time for guitar practice, small jams, photoshoots, and writing more than grocery orders and inventory counts. Making a good life for those she loved was a dream, though, and she held it in her hands. No sacrifice, no fulfilling extraordinary demands, one could not expect plans to bring hopes to fruition. Maitlyn knew from experience everything could suddenly crumple like notebook paper and catch afire, burning totally away as if none of it ever existed.

At moments she felt like a mouse on a wire-wheel chasing forever faster to catch a tablet-sized cheese, which was inevitably beyond her reach. She wanted a quiet life where items could be alphabetized and checked off the list, where nothing was impossible, and joy was ever-present.

Climbing the ranks had been a vertical ascension, always giving more, reaching higher. It amazed her, but the shadow, she was consistently aware of how quickly one could fall from the heights.

She had seniority and was vested, but there came a time when she had to manage several weeks short-staffed working fifteen to eighteen hours in a row. She called her supervisor for assistance, he offered none. One night around 3am, she crawled into bed. At 5am when she tried to get up, she no longer connected with the world.

Logan called the district manager, her supervisor, he explained that she was sick and he was taking her to the hospital. The DM said if she failed to come in, she was fired. Logan kept her home and took her to the hospital, where she was admitted for an extended stay.

Sweet dreams often end precariously.

Two Poems

Reasons Why

Oh, to be the instrument
That encodes the words, sentences,
Opening minds to experience
Places, plans, things visited
Between the magic covers
Where printed pages live
To give their secrets away to those
Who invest the time to comprehend
Every carefully written line
This the poet, author’s fondest hope
To bring stories, wisdom to life
Helping others conquer the most
Difficult moments encountered in time.

Tracks Cleared

The winding paths sought
By hearts afire with passion
A merry chase may lead
Taking prisoner those who
Never dream again, freedom
To be more precious
Than love, if it should succeed,
Even faults and flaws
Forgiven, overlooked, when
Overwhelmed by devotion.

Again

Sometimes the smiles drop,
Belief in love falls limp, strays,
What is left is dismal, drear,
So the smiles get pasted back on,
Nagging doubts are swept off, away.
Even if we pretend,
Eventually, we see
Love staring, sharing,
Toward us generously;
Imagination becomes
A positive proof
No one can refute, deny,
It is plain as reality,
Love chases us down
Coopts our days, fills us completely
Will never give up, cannot stop
Until it proves us precious
Beyond logical understanding;
Love is who we are, what is meant
To be in every event, situation, thing,
We cannot outrun or misguide it
Love knows us intimately,
It brought us alive,
Is throughout our living,
When fear, doubt, tear us apart
Love pick us up, straightens our smile,
Sets us firmly upon our feet,
Whispers, “I am with you, go again!”