out of the mud
it is only the lotus, through the strength of its stem,
that rises eight inches above water.
eight inches is alot of breathing room on a day like this.
we lose ourselves in chapter books each and every day. he asks for them, the story line drawing us back again and again. tonight we lay side by side and he listens to my voice reading words aloud. i wonder what he will remember of this, what i remember of my own bedtime stories as my imagination drew the pictures in my mind of worlds so full of wonder.
“this perfect lotus blossom grows from dark, thick mud, its beauty cannot live without its ugliness.”
the book is simple in plot and child friendly syntax. and yet it’s very fitting for both of us.
when you preserve graceful beauty you also preserve fierce savage strength. you cannot have one without the other. there is something about this we both understand. the terrible and the sublime are often intertwined, our greatest creations sometimes flow from our most painful wounds. that is why many spiritual traditions call suffering a blessing.
look deep to find your roots. look deeper to find the mud from where you grow.
here is what it is to be human. everything you do and say ripples out into the air around us. every thing. here is my lesson. watch my response to the toxic hate that others breathe out.
every thing you do in life, every choice you make, creates ripples. words you write, thoughts you share, photographs you take: all of that is energy. cause and effect. if the choices i have made in my life anger you, if when you look at my life you feel hatred or bitterness, if when you read my stories if makes you look at your own life path, your own choices, your own decisions in your own life and it causes you discomfort… then i am asking you kindly to find somewhere else to hang out. it’s really for the best.
here is what i’m telling you. there are no strings on me.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Also note that my writing generally contain objectionable language and behavior. If you are easily offended, unable to discern the difference between the written word and reality, dislike the use of profanity, then you should immediately cease reading any further and step away from whichever medium you have chosen to digest my work.
The author accepts no responsibility for any thoughts you may form after reading her work.
“So many of us are trapped by a fear of being criticized.
Frankly, I’m a lot more afraid of being trapped by a life that somehow just happened to me, because I was too afraid of being knocked for my beliefs, my quests and my actions.
Sure, criticism hurts.
But a life unlived hurts more.”