First off, I’d like to introduce you to Kaelin, born Wednesday, October 6, 2010. She is my eighth grandchild and my daughter Jessica and hubby Tim’s first child. Long anticipated and joyfully received and welcomed to, and by, all of her family.
Today’s prompt is from Writer’s Island prompt #24 Envision
Wouldn’t it be great
if it was just that easy?
Drape sky over clothesline,
keep it in place with a few
well placed clothespins,
beat it on occasion
with a dust-buster
to freshen it, remove
the gray staleness
of depression, sadness, sorrow,
and all their clinging little
sisters. And when
storm clouds might appear
on distant horizon, just skip
outside, lift it’s satin hem
and there, behold a brand new
cerulean blue existence?
I just went back and read my very first blog post on WordPress, dated August 8, 2008. I have no idea what I envisioned at that time, maybe a few visitors who liked what I had to say and would join me on occasion to talk about life and its ongoing surprises and dealings. I certainly never thought that first blog would multiply into four, or that I would now be juggling all of these words, comments, and responses. But then, I never thought I would be the grandmother of eight beautiful grandchildren. Life is full of surprises.
This particular blog is aimed at helping people to enhance their intuitive and imaginative faculties. And I often write how if one can see a thing (envision it), then it is possible. One of the things I have learned here, is that we are very often stingy with our visions. Like the individual in the above image, we only lift a corner, take a quick peek, and then drop that hem of present day sky and walk away. What we can see scares us.
Had I known what that first short essay would give birth to, I might never have written it. So, maybe it’s a good thing I only took a bit of a peek and then wrote the essay and crossed my fingers. Yesterday, as I traveled through my blogs, responding to comments left by various visitors, I found a rather wonderful quote left by one of them. The quote is by Vaclar Havel:
Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.
Two years ago, it made sense to me to write about writing and the value it holds in my personal landscape. It was what I had been teaching for ten years, and it was something I had a great deal of knowledge about. I had no idea what the outcome would be, but I had definitely lifted that satin hem and caught that glimpse of bluer than blue sky.
Was I scared? You bet I was. I could have easily stopped myself right there. What if no one wanted to hear what I had to say? What if no one ever showed up and read it? What if someone did find it and commented on how stupid, or silly it was to even put down those particular words? Doubt steps in so fast to convince us that we may have caught that glimpse of blue, but was that particular shade even real or worse, not meant for us at all and just a tease that would end poorly, or worse?
And there we go, jumping the gun, running out in front of ourselves, waving caution flags before we’ve even let that hue really settle in and make itself known. How do I know this? Because I’ve been watching myself do just that for the past week.
Have watched myself wait until dusk, because at dusk although one can still see, chances are one might not be seen. Watched myself slowly creep outside to where I have hung my particular blanket of sky, carefully and quietly approach what I have draped over that clothesline and pinned in place and defined as my future. Pinch it between two trembling fingers and lift it slowly, then drop it fast and run like hell back to the safety of my bedroom and its familiar, thus comforting shadows.
And now here I am, taking the first step toward what I saw when I lifted that satin hem. It wasn’t new, not totally or completely. It was definitely a brighter shade of blue and blue is the color of knowledge and wisdom. But, I did see it, and now am writing about it. That means, although I’m questioning, and even scared, I’m committing myself to these words on the page.
No, I don’t know what it means, but I do know that it makes sense. I don’t know where it will take me or might end up, but I’ve been in this place before (just over two years ago), and can only follow the signs that have been placed in my path. A path that has slowly unfolded because I caught that glimpse two years ago and followed it, one step at a time.
Now, I am here, and have received a comment from someone I have never met face to face, but someone who cares enough to encourage me to continue by leaving me with a quote that is precisely what I needed to hear and to know at precisely this moment.
All because I dared to grasp that satin hem and lift it and hope that what made sense would come out somehow in the end. It did. So, I will do it again, no matter the voices of doubt, I have seen that cerulean blue in my future. Have you?