This week’s challenge; with synonyms for THANKS and FAMILY.
This week’s challenge; with synonyms for THANKS and FAMILY.
I’m so thrilled about this accolade! Maybe my book career really CAN be multifaceted! Many thanks to Colleen Chesebro for trusting me with the cover art for her book, ‘The Heartstone Chronicles, book 1, The Swamp Fairy.’
Thanks, too, to Marje Mallon, who entrusted the cover for her book, ‘The Curse of Time, book 1, Bloodstone.’ This cover was also a finalist in the AuthorsDb competition.
I’m beyond thrilled!
Wendy Anne Darling
A dear friend once asked me this question: “What do you KNOW?” Not: What do you think?, What do you believe?, or What do you hope?
WHAT DO YOU KNOW?
Epiphanies tend to happen in the strangest of places, but they do usually happen when you have time to really concentrate. Mine occurred on an uneventful 8 hour drive to Albuquerque, New Mexico, several years ago.
It began with me rehashing in my mind, things that had occurred in my past, followed by the sudden horror of realizing the significance of my own fault in some of the worst incidents in my life. So much of what I had previously believed had happened TO me actually held elements of my own personal fault. (I’m not talking of the awful and unavoidable events that can befall a person, though no fault of their own. There ARE such things as accidents and human cruelty.)
Looking back, I should probably have pulled off the freeway at this point; the sudden evaporation of my life-long blame game caused a devastating thunderstorm of grief and guilt. The armor of blaming anything or anybody, other than myself, was ripped away from me and I felt as if I was bleeding to death.
The ME that went though this agonizing process was NOT the same ME that emerged from on the other side of it. If you have ever read C S Lewis’s ‘Voyage of the Dawn Treader,’ you might remember the part where Eustace turns back from being a dragon to being a human. This transformation was achieved with a lot of pain. Poor Eustace had to tear the dragon skin off of himself, in order to accomplish the change he needed. (In the book, the author has Aslan help Eustace finish the job, but, as I am the author of MY OWN story, I did it myself.)
The shock of this process was enormous; the fake world I had built around myself vanished and the truth was so brilliant that I couldn’t bear to look at it… so deep was my shame. I felt alone and abandoned on an ocean of tears.
If you’ve read the story, you’ll remember that Eustace was a very different boy after his experience. So was I. I was crushed and destroyed.
But a brand new sunrise was dawning after the darkness of that dreadful truth.
As I had been knocked down, so I was lifted up.
The air was clear and sweet like a morning after a storm, and the clouds in my mind shone with liquid silver edges, parting to reveal a sky more deeply blue than any I had ever seen before.
So soon after KNOWING my fault, I found my salvation; I finally KNEW that I was personally responsible for every good and noble thing I’d ever achieved. It wasn’t some far off god who’d done those things… It was ME.
All the joy and patience I had ever shown, all the good and selfless deeds I had ever done; they were my JEWELS. I had forged them myself, using the ancient magic of love. Pure, simple love.
Finally allowing myself to feel the joy of my own accomplishments allowed me to use the shame of my failures by fashioning them into a foundation on which I would build the new, authentic ME.
The light in me had been buried deep; under layers of people I thought I was. Even in the darkness, I could feel it burning, warming me from the core. Maybe it was God, I thought, or a higher purpose; the answer to Life, the universe and everything – but when I finally dug my way down to it – it was ME – my own bright spirit burning within me.
And I am more than enough for me.
Wendy Anne Darling, August 6th, 2017.
Touching the stone arch,
Fingertips tracing eons;
Shadows and sun play.
The presence of ancient magic is palpable here; Nature’s slow painting of a myriad sand colors, leading back to a time unremembered by any but the fossilized souls of animals; long extinct.
Windwalker laughs as he watches sun and shade dance across time. Softly outlining the arch with reverent fingertips, he smiles, and whispers, “It is a hole of light with a side of darkness.”.
My writing this week is a tribute to Randy Roll. A true artist and poet, Randy’s soul now walks eternally in the canyons he loved.
Several years ago, my good friend Bruce told me that I was finally going to get to meet her mother. She was dropping by to pick up some crystals Bruce had bought for her. In case you’re wondering, I did ask Bruce if, by any chance, she had been named after a family member and she said “Yes. I have an aunt called Bruce.” Anyway – I digress. Bruce had already told me that her mum was a little ‘odd.’ She was, apparently, a psychic and had no ‘filters.’ She said whatever came into her mind and, if you didn’t like it… well, tough noogies. Being duly warned, I put Bruce’s mum out of my mind as we got on with our visit.
AND THEN, THE DOORBELL RANG.
Bruce’s mum walked in; her mouth fell open and her eyes grew large. Without even being introduced, she stared at me and said “Why aren’t you famous?”
Me, all flustered and confused; “I, I, I don’t know!”
Bruce’s mum, with a look of disappointment and a hint of disgust; “Well, you’re supposed to be.”
And that was the end of that. Bruce’s mum grabbed her crystals and left. To say that I was flabbergasted would be an understatement, but that wasn’t the weirdest thing about this confrontation. I felt embarrassed.
Embarrassed by the outburst of a crazy woman? NO. Embarrassed at myself? YES. I felt like I had been exposed. Exposed like Clark Kent would have been if the geeky glasses were ripped off and the cape waved in front of his face. “You are Superman! SUPERMAN, you idiot! What the hell are you doing, pretending to be a mild-mannered reporter?!”
You, with bated breath; “Go on! Go on! What happened next?”
NOTHING. Nothing happened. I stuffed this milestone revelation into the back of my memory, polished my geeky glasses and carried on pretending to be a mild-mannered reporter.
What happens when you keep acting a part you were never meant to play? Slowly, the threads start to unravel and you scramble to hold it all together. But it never works. In the end too many threads fray and you fall through the hole in the net you so carefully crafted.
For me, the net finally broke a year ago; almost to the day. It’s OK… it was never really MY net anyway.
Meanwhile, in an ancient box covered with spiders’ webs, there is a shiny suit and a cape that need to be dusted off.
Bruce’s mum would have been proud.
Reading other writers’ poems, I often find their creativity sparks something in me, as well. Here’s what I unearthed this morning!
Note: OK, so having seen my lovely, foofy, unreadable font on the page (we won’t do that again, will we?), here it is in good old readable font.
Great choice of words to get the little grey cells in my brain working! 😀 Thanks, Colleen! ♥
Everybody in the REAL WORLD knows that the answer to ‘the meaning of life’ is NOT really ’42.’
One of the only comforting things about being known as a fruitloop is that I can TELL you this stupendous nugget of truth without any chance of my revelation backfiring on me.
You’ll read it, and chuckle, and mentally pat me on the head, saying “Aah! That’s alright. It’s just Wendy!” (Pat, pat, pat).
JUST AS THE DRAGONS KNEW YOU WOULD.
It’s rather freeing to be able to speak the truth, blatantly, when nobody’s really paying you any attention. That being said, I DO find it alarming that many of the lovely, precious people who read my scribblings are TOTALLY missing the point I’m attempting to share.
Simply put: LIFE = MAGIC = DRAGONS.
It couldn’t get any clearer.
Dragons existed many eons before the Universes did, and they will continue to exist long after the Universes have gone.
I gaze into the mirror, and there stands Jamnog Flax with THAT smirk on his lavender face saying “Sure we do! You just keep telling them that.”
Then he winks cheekily at me, and glitters away into thin air.
Or however thin air can be, seeing as it’s teeming with Dragons.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,”I sigh. “Send the jester to show them the way and they will all laugh and flock in the opposite direction.”
Jamnog’s grinning face reappears for a second; “Flockin’ idiots!” he winks.
Never a truer word spoken by a jester.