Yellow

I grab the boots with the marigold stitching interlining the soles and tug them onto my feet by the black-yellow tag. I’ve devoted today to venture deep within the forest—to savor the company of the trees, the earth and the silence. To savor the time away from familiar surroundings. 

I spot two thick sycamore trees a brief distance apart; I tightly fasten my hammock onto their solid trunks with a yellow carabiniere. 

Steadying my balance as I lay within, I slouch and look out towards the view. I breathe in deeply and take in the lake full of blue ripples, lined with dogwood trees. As I look up, I see that the tree’s top act as freckles to the sky, with wind strobing the sunlight. 

In this glimpse, my mind is settled and clear. It acknowledges and encompasses the bird’s call and song, each and every influx. My eyes then are guided to movement within the water, witnessing an orange-yellow snake gliding effortlessly until it reaches the coast. The light reflects off its slippery scales, echoing the golden glow.  

I am completely consumed with a joy that paces through my heart, an unexplainable happiness that crescendos within my being. The darkness of the night is forgotten when staring into the day’s sun, and hardships seem as a vapor in the distance—known, but not abided.  

Gratitude never runs out. It is a dandelion—a gossamer dissipating with each breath of air I breathe, seeds spreading and swelling within all aspects of my life, budding the cheery yellow blooms. This is the state in which I gravitate towards; a wholeness and completeness within the joy, peace and love that radiates around me. 

I carry over to the sun and plant myself on the dense, green grass as I set my head onto the earth and close my eyes. Just as the yellow-gold illuminates on the back of my eyelids, God's incredible warmth illuminates within my heart. My thoughts are consumed—communing my mind with his—with my spirit stirring as peacefully as the wind within these trees.

Rebirth

For the past month and a half, I’ve taken a few steps back. I’ve been able to recollect myself and take a long, deep, cleansing breath. I’ve privately penned notes for myself as well as letters for my forthcoming poetry collection—its unfolding has held a mirror to my mind. I thank you, reader, for your patience and support during my absence.

I underwent some great alterations within my tangible life, with a sweeping growth within my mental state. I initially thought that by taking a pause from distractions, creativity would pour from my fingers. This happened, in a way. 

For the past five years, I’ve placed a careful emphasis on perspective growth. I’m constantly working on stretching the way that I perceive experiences, while kneading out negativity. These past couple of months supplied great opposition, yielding accelerated growth within my understanding.

There were nights that came quickly, leaving me depleted from the day’s thoughts—heat radiating towards my eyelids, sinking slowly. When my mind is sore and my perspective feels bleak, I am susceptible to slipping back into an inverted state. With racing thoughts swirling throughout my head and tears collecting at my jawline, I recognized that my mind would remain weak if I recluse. For I am undergoing deep rooted growth. My mind has been emotionally training—exhausted and distressed—but building up and strengthening towards a strong and brilliant future. The process can be tedious and taxing, but the outcome will be filled with tenacious endurance—but only if I push through my gasping lungs and my burning legs. 

These occurrences within this breathing space forced me to stretch out and hold onto my Creator, expanding within His peace. He has uncovered answers and holistic understanding—a quiet, yet boundless forest. The forest floor is densely packed with ferns and thick tree trunks of truth. Mushrooms and leaves from the magnolia tree are scattered, leading up to where the river runs by, seeping hope. The gentle wind invigorates freedom, as I’m amidst the comfort of the all-encompassing sun. He is the oasis for my brittle bones and weary mind. 

This sanctuary and its teachings have been translated into little notes written while I’m at my wooden desk at work, along with feverishly written pages stuffed within my leather-bound journal. By just taking a breath and recognizing the moment at hand, all distractions dissipate and my soul is calm. This is where my strength is regained, since I was never the source of my own strength. 

Gratitude, tranquility and eternity have been poised towards the top of my mind and have been spilled into each piece I construct. These past two months, I was able to handwrite, lick and send out some letters across the county—connecting through an old-fashioned and intentional way. I even received a few letters back, and have sealed and shipped my reply. My husband and I adopted a little rescue pup, who has showered me with such love; I’m eager to share him with you. Greatest of all, I’ve been able to thank, praise, and expound in joy to the only one who matters. 

I’ve been rebirthed, reborn, saved and strengthened; this epitome of perspective has been placed as paramount, and my gratitude never runs out. I am incredibly honored, to have you here, and to be able to share these pieces of my heart with you. 

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I will also be sharing this gratitude and joy through my Instagram as well as continue to through this blog, Introspective Collective. If you feel inclined to follow, you can 'Subscribe' towards the bottom of this page to receive emails when new posts are published on this site. 

Paradise

Those that I have a personal relationship with or who have been following my life through Instagram or Twitter know that I recently traveled to Hawaii with my husband (Ricky) for a recess. I will forever be an open-book, and wanted to briefly share a few encounters of being away with an emphasis on returning home. 

It was an amazing happening to be able to visit a land in which I have never witnessed, alongside my love, growing our experiences together. We were able to escape the everyday duties, chores and obligations, with opportunity to explore multiple Hawaiian islands.

There is something special in surpassing the tourist regions—a rawness and authenticity that comes with each mile driven past the last blinking traffic light. These are the ventures that we sought out, even if it meant walking by foot or learning the island’s public bus system. We perched ourselves among the Eucalyptus trees, popping macadamia nuts purchased from a local marketplace store. We were able to plan our own adventures each morning.

We experienced a rush of water, from the word’s rainiest peak, down our backs as we drifted down its runoff. 

We went snorkeling by a crater, with water so clear the depth from the surface to ocean floor made me anxious. This forced me to command my body to be calm, which was an empowering revelation. We found the other’s hand beneath the water’s surface and pointed out exotic fish, laughing underwater and ultimately getting saltwater in our nose; these were salty-sweet moments. 

We climbed across a rocky edge of a cliff, grasping the volcanic rocks for balance as the ocean crashed behind us. Little crabs scurried around the soggy moss beneath our feet. This adrenaline-inducing climb brought us to an uninhabited piece of land that quietly overlooked the ocean, interrupted by the waves smacking against a small canyon. In this moment, I felt small amidst the massive mountains and deep blue waters. I felt close to my accomplice that endured this crazy exhibition with me. 

We flew to 13,000 feet within the air and jumped off the airplane to experience a true birds-eye view of Oahu—falling towards the mountains and ocean—catching a glimpse of the whales coming up for air, splashing with their babies submerged by the vast Pacific. We saw the island of Maui within the distance as we sank through clouds. The feeling I encountered is what I would imagine rainbows to feel. 

My mind experienced magic with each encounter. These are the lands, and the moments that I will daydream of. After about a week and a half, we were set to return home. 

Aside from the jet lag and 13 hour flight, I was looking forward to coming home. With past cruises that Ricky and I have taken, I had felt an ache with their end. It was a feeling of physical resistance in rebellion of going back to regular life, the mundane. 

As I sat within the turbulent air train, I analyzed what had inspired the switch in emotion. Apart from coming home to Nashville, rather than Ohio, I started to account the acknowledgment of awareness within my routine. I noticed that over time I have learned to scatter gratitude throughout each concurrence of living and task—creating a positive perception on every aspect within the everyday.

Where I reside now, is the home where I feel safe with space to create. This little loft has been allotted to art—here I write, paint, letter and upload tiny works like these to you, reader. Surrounded by the fragrance of sweet honey and citrus, I am able to expound upon these works while developing and translating them to multiple mediums. I share them with my handsome husband as he sits on the love-seat, leaning his weight onto its shoulder with interest.

This is home to a few of my closest friends, with the roads leading up to their homes memorized by habit. Their souls are lined with gold accents and natural light. With the aroma of freshly ground coffee and vegan-baked goods, we dig deep into conversation. It is where the bulb lights hang within the church I love, along with its community. 

Here, is where inspiration can be found through a blanket laid out within the backyard, carpeted by green grass with an open novel or notebook. The act of refreshing the mind with a quiet getaway within the forest, surrounded by Sugar Maple and Bur Oak trees.

This is where I have been challenged to grow further than what meets the eye. Truly recognizing the subconscious and altering its automatic release, confronting myself to recognize and live in-line with the letters my creator wrote. 

This is where my husband and I have drawn closer to one another—for the love we have has been cultivated through the the day-to-day. The struggles contain the conversations that evoke greater unity, and deeper understanding of ourselves and one another. The gentle pauses and soft smiles, inspired by nothing except love for the other.

I loved breathing in the Hawaiian air, but I love coming back. For where I live is my own, personal paradise.

Contrast

As I stumbled home from work, I rolled out onto my front lawn. Still stiff from winter’s shock, I imprinted my elbows, back and bum into the faded yellow grass. Days like these are entirely overwhelming, to the point where I feel weak within my bones. 

These are days when it seems that the past haunts me—trailing every step, lingering like a dense fog. These demons from my youth lurk behind every corner: appearing within films that I watch, men’s deodorant, naïve humor. They are disguised within conversation, or arise within a sudden reaction. These recollections trigger intense emotions, attempting to lure me into an encompassing depth of the mind and body.

It is hard thing to have a vivid mind and memory, past circumstances rarely leave me. I often take intentional interruptions within my day, to live within the present—dismissing any thoughts or anxieties from the past. When I feel as though the sun is bursting within my soul, this is when the demons attempt to overtake me and make my bones feel hollow. I know that this is not a coincidence—but strategic. For they have witnessed my recovery, perspective switch and current fulfillment.

I refuse to let their whispers within the wind decompose the growth that has been cultivated. I close my eyes and feel the sun radiate through my skin. I was once overtaken by the depths, smothered and sick but now I push onward, and persevere within the present. My past only defines me today—as a conquerer. An incredible strength only acquired though my Creator.

I look onto the grey-blue sky, and sip in a deep breath. The inhale catches all active contemplations and swirling fragments of thought, and releases them through my exhale. I sit still with a cleansed mind and recount the new ideas that squeeze towards the forefront. Taking a mental inventory, I align my understandings with His promises; I am able to recognize the amount of incredible growth experienced within the prior years. My former struggles become more faint and faded with each passing day. 

So now, I trade these triggers for triumph. My past to present holds such great contrast, incredible growth and gratitude. I stand firm on the truth that is ingrained within me and push forward towards the exponentially flourished future.

Array of Ambitions

We are entrusted with talents—a pocket-sized gift hidden away within us. Unwrapped, it is a brilliant display of dynamic creativity and is within each of us. 

I recognized my art through an old sketchpad and pen. The notebook had no lined paper, and was already filled with my older brother’s illustrations; they were detailed, perfectly shaded and he always made them seem effortless. I decided I would etch a few notes or scratches and shuffled around in my bag to fish for a writing instrument. The pen I found was stolen from a waitress at a Chinese restaurant and was spotty in between strokes. I feverishly started to compose a letter, after scribbling out a few indistinguishable drawing attempts.

The letter itself was to my mother, a poetry-heavy depiction of my new life since moving cross-country. I was enamored with the potential the future possessed, but was fasted to the past. I was eighteen at the time. With each tiny word inscribed, came revival. I was able to comprehend my current state, dissolving each detail to paper. I snatched out the letter and spoke the words written to my sister, and shared the unfetter my mind felt when I wrote. I started habitually visiting a café where I would write every weekend, and revisit this same feeling. 

Six months later, I dropped my pen for about a year. Suffocating the seed inside that wanted to sprout, I was distancing myself due to self-doubt. I wasn't satisfied with the poems I was producing. Rather than practicing and being patient with myself, I quickly filled my time hollow diversions. Without writing, my mind was cloudy and unable to organize itself, a constant conveyer belt of thoughts and ideas that piled up against a wall. I felt restricted, bound, and apathetic. I thank God that I received support and encouragement from my husband and my sister to start scribing again. 

Over the past few years, the dedication and persistence has grown exceedingly. In the beginning, it was a therapeutic release—but has now madly matured into a passion. If I were to be commended on my poems back then, I would have thrown a shy smile and dropped my head. But this gift has been planted with purpose; it will someday be the orange tree that flowers fruit and blooms.  

These endowments are not always brought to our mind automatically or smooth at the start. Although it begins concealed, once uncovered, it is as if the habit can never be replaced. Writing and painting are sweet endeavors that pull my creativity and solidify my ideas. It embraces the moment, and channels it to a visual translation.

The trades you hold are exquisite and unique to you. Your background, experiences, perceptions, creativity, nor vision that you encompass has been planted identically within another. For we all possess these gifts—this array of ambitions—which have been entrusted to us to propagate and grow. 

Water-Streaked Window

A break within my afternoon, in the midst of the a foggy drizzle, I am given an opportunity to pause and reflect. Even though it seems as though my body has turned blank, contemplatively calm, this is when my thoughts are able to erupt and outpour. Buried beneath the depths of my mind, I’m lost within this whirlpool of thought. 

Routinely, I go about my days and take notice of circumstances that remind me of others, memories that slip out through various forms. There are the ideas that peek within my thoughts, but are silenced due to prior commitments of the day. Flashes of distress triggered through words, or healing that is tangibly recognized. There are thoughts reminded by the subconscious realization linking to a slumbered image experienced within my youth. Creativity, shapes and colors coat the insides of my mind. Even within the nighttime doze, every minute is crowded with hallucination. 

During this intermission is when I am able to digest and decompose this introspection. Today, this interlude transpires in the form of a coffeehouse I nest within this afternoon. For although my pen is low in ink, here I write—liberating the commotion of my mind. 

This is when I can provide these thoughts with identity and deduct their derivative. For I’ll nurture the words written, for they bring growth. They develop restoration, release contentment, and stimulate encouragement into my life. I analyze my thoughts through the devotion of words imprinted to paper—but also through the reading interpretation of the depiction itself. The thoughts, poetry and development are all intertwined—running together like this water-streaked window.

These thoughts and practice may be overwhelming at times, but the creation of poetry and sharing experiences through words is a gift I have been given. Transferring thoughts into tangible form glides smoothly, almost fluid. 

And now I share these pieces with you, reader. These letters and notes are the thoughts that have stained my mind, spouted onto the pages and bred discovery. As you browse these letters, I pray that they resonate with you; that these realizations that have altered my life will prove pleasurable to yours too.