Two Shades of Red

Agonizing pain as I coughed, turning the snow red as I spat.  Not an appealing memory, not one you care to share with children. Yet somehow I find it frustrating that my story goes unheard thanks to the unpleasant feelings and imagery it causes every day folk to experience.  What a dispiriting thought, you all know me and not one has cared to listen of why I am.  Naturally heart wrenching isn't it?

Ah yes, now I see the intriguing gaze in you, that intense stare you are giving me.  Come now, sit down, I will inform you on how the most horrific childhood granted me capacity to make dreams come true.

If my life were a canvas it would be red.  Nothing more.  No fancy art. Just red.  Red is a horrific color, yet all the while it can be quite a happy one.  Blood is red, fire is red. Destruction. Death.  Yet hearts are red, and my clothes, they are red.  Mercy. Memories.  Quite the contrast I might say.  A childhood full of darkness and difficulty; despair.  Now I am merry and motivated; magical.

The coals glowed a dim white and red on the gray dismal street corner.  My pale face blackened like that of a coal miner's after a days work.  My tar and soot covered body burned in agony from the biting wind as the dimming fire failed to warm yet a tip of a finger.  I began to wander off in my mind, an attempt to ignore my mortal pains.  In spite of a powerless effort, my mind declined me any peace; for as I escaped the physical battering, I entered into a mental torture.

Okay people... Not sure how I'm feeling about this, I'm sure you can see where it's going.

I'm still working on it, but I don't know if I want to make it blog worthy.

If you want me to, just comment below.

And yes "In spite of a powerless effort" is intended to be a little ironic.  I like how it sounds. It seems to add hope to hopelessness. 

Soggy Pages

Dear Diary,

Tears wetting paper, it doesn't happen often. So when it does, nothing's going well.  It's all wrong. I'm not okay.

So why am I telling you all of this?  Well, it isn't my fault you picked up my journal now is it?  Read on, or don't.  Not that I care.

Cold.  Today there was this agonizing cold that made my hands quiver; cracked and bleeding, my hands aren't responding.  It wasn't coming from the air around me.  No snow, hail, rain, not even wind.  But my heart, it made me feel as if I were being pressed into a crystallized coke can that someone had left in the freezer much too long.  I feel like it's time for the can to explode outward. Who am I kidding, that just makes more of a mess doesn't it?  As if it could get any worse. 

The boy threw down his book. "Why am I here!?" His eyes were a forest fire; bloodshot, the red overtaking the gracious green which would regularly brighten someone's day. He thrust his pen into the wall, black ink erupting from it as the plastic shattered and the boy was sprayed with the debri. He began to wail a grisly sound and buried his face into his soft, tear soaked, pillow.

A phone ringing broke the sudden silence.  "Hello?"  he awaited an answer, "You won't get in trouble for calling?" his grumbly voice returned to the choked and teary mess it had been moments earlier as the girl attempted to sooth his strife.  Then tears of trouble dried and laughter replaced the grumbles. "I Love you, goodnight."

Paper's dry, that was quick.  So I guess everything is going well.  Everything's fantastic.  I'm going to be okay.

If you happened upon my Journal, I hope you made it this far.  Please, read on. I'm sorry for the inconsistency in the color of ink, there was an... accident... Hehe ;)

Warmth.  Love fills my heart.  It gets better.

Love,

Me

thanks for reading!

here's a sunrise for you n_n

Thoughts on the Alchemist

Hey Everyone!

I'm attempting to be more active on my blog, it's a personal goal of mine.  Today I wanted to share some thoughts on a book I read a few weeks ago.

Recently I was a recommended the Alchemist (Paulo Coelho) by a friend who seemed very sure that it was one of the greatest books ever.  So I decided I would find it and read it.  Needless to say I couldn't put it down.  Sure, it only took me an hour or so to read, but in that short time period, it was the only thing I could focus on.

For those of you who haven't read the book:

The Alchemist is the story of a poor shepherd boy who one day has a dream, and he continues to have this same dream several times.  So he decides he must follow it.  The boy is quite the decided one, and does not give up.  I wont give up the rest of the story (you'll just have to read it), but I must say I was touched.  The boy's determination led me to over think my goals in life, and my desires as a human being.  Whether you are religious or not, the Alchemist, can have a large impact on your vision of what the future holds for you.  I know that it most certainly did for me.

"'I guess you don't believe that a king would talk to someone like me, a shepherd,' he said, wanting to end the conversation.
'Not at all. It was shepherds who were the first to recognize a king that the rest of the world refused to acknowledge. So, it's not surprising that kings would talk to shepherds.'" Page 69

This is a beautiful truth, and brings me peace. Social classes don't have all that much importance when it comes down to it.  The boy Santiago didn't allow his social class to hold him back. In fact he was magnificent and very proud of his life as a shepherd boy. As should we be of our own lives and personal accomplishments. 

"We are afraid of losing what we have, whether it's our life or our possessions and property. But this fear evaporates when we understand that our life stories and the history of the world were written by the same hand." Page 76

Take a look at that beautiful truth. Not to mention the luxurious way in which it is placed upon paper (or in this case the internet).  Love for my Father in Heaven grew as I read this book and realized the incredible life we can have thanks to him.  Dealing with Dad's cancer, that has been hard; but as I read this book, it gave me that hope.  Santiago, received that same hope throughout his life story.

"Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has suffered when it goes in pursuit of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity." Page 130

Why fear something to come?  Why can't we just live life where we currently are, roll with the punches. Steady as she goes right?  If we really strive to meet our life Dreams, God will be by us every step of the way, and that is what matters.  Which reminds me of a beautiful poem I once heard:

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.

In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, other times there was one only.

This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life, when I was suffering from anguish, sorrow or defeat, I could see only one set of footprints, so I said to the Lord,

“You promised me Lord,

that if I followed you, you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life there has only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?”

The Lord replied, “The years when you have seen only one set of footprints, my child, is when I carried you.”

Mary Stevenson, 1936

So I hope you enjoy that poem, and I hope, if you haven't already, go find the Alchemist by Paulo Coelho and read it.

Have a wonderful thanksgiving!

Love,

Me

Seasons

Hey everyone! I'm back on here finally. I'm really rusty but hopefully you all still enjoy this :)

I hate crunchy leaves. That sound they make under people's feet; repulsive. Joyful people of all shapes and sizes, sickly smiling as they clear lawns and orchards ignoring the naked skeletons left behind. Making piles of orange, red, and yellow; and then, playing in what isn't theirs to touch.  Maybe it has its beauty; however, it only means death is near.  I cry for them, for the trees that is. Think of it! Stripped bare, tortured and left alone only to then watch humans play amongst what was once a part of them. I always leave before it worsens. Those gray and dismal days are irritating. As if mother nature herself were frowning at all the death she takes in with each year when Winter comes biting at the heels of life. The sun hides, the bear sleeps and the trees, the flowers, the bees. They all nearly die! Winter, he is a sick thing. Now, you may think I have something against my dear girls Autumn and Summer but it's not their fault. Not really. They are nearly the same way with the leaves, the trees, the humans. But there is one more thing that us three share. One person I should say. That little blonde fellow. He always helps us to see Winters' beauty. And Summer, Autumn, and I do our best to get along with Winter. We really do, and thanks to the boy, even on the darkest day his bright green eyes light up anothers day and warms their frozen hearts. And then, all of a sudden, all of that death and gray sky isn't so heavy. Bring life and color to Winter's gray and dismal work, it's what I do. Summer makes life warm and flavorful, and Autumn she let's all go in the most beautiful way possible. Yet Winter, he does us no good. The one sliver of hope left for Winter is such a human as the bright eyed boy I mentioned, as well as you. So what will you give this Winter? Will you make this world a better place? Will you prove us seasons wrong?