Our stories are important for existence...
Now I begin to recapture, as the lunar eclipse grows near.
My story is one of creative endeavors, expressions of concern for life on the planet... never one of black and white but all that exists in-between.
I have never been able to pinpoint my creative style: my use of shapes, form, colors and line. I just create from my soul... sometimes picking up tidbits of floating ideas, thoughts and energy that appears within my grasp.
My story was always a search, a longing to fit in: of which I discovered (often too late) fitting in was not the key... discovering my soul was key. Given but one mind, one body and one soul I wasted much time trying to become instead of breathing with what is.
Now treasuring life, others...treasuring my gifts by helping others. I still search for how to use these gifts. Marketing the gifts has left a huge hole within my soul. Our pain upon this earth is based upon pleasing the mores of our given communities. I have never quite risen to fit these norms. I would like to use these gifts of mine to sooth others pain, to recapture Mother Earth as I sense her and leave these jewels scattered to the wind and love of others.
This leaves my story unfunded... how does one survive.
Down the rabbit hole I plunge once again. Try as I must to fit in with my odd ways.
My story led me to family, two children, many grandchildren, friends, acquaintances, my love...now my husband.
My story takes on a new name, a new chapter.... do I let go of the old one? Changing name which is never easy. Watching the movie "Outlander" as the character Claire takes on 2 husbands in different time warps, 2 names or the combination therefor... never losing her identity but trying to make sense of her destiny and searching for her own soul along the way. Perhaps the largest cancer of our world is our discontent with life in stead of the relish for what is.
I felt a disconnect with blood family... loving them, but not understanding their rhythms or thoughts which seem so very far removed from my own. Now at 61, I realize the differences are not as important as the gratitude for being brought into the world... grateful for the start as Annie.
My story, as important as everyone's story...
scattered like dust in the wind for lack of better cliche'
"At times it seems to me that I am living my life backwards, and that at the
approach of old age my real youth will begin. My soul was born covered
with wrinkles — wrinkles my ancestors and parents most assiduously put
there and that I had the greatest trouble removing."
– André Gide