A Bridge Returning Home

I awoke to the morning’s glow filtering through the blinds of my window. Glistening upon the surface of the unfinished self portrait sitting on the easel. Believe it or not this was my first attempt. A dear & beloved artist and companion stated that to paint self is to see through your own facade & come face to face with clarity, the truth of our existence, taking great courage to see self so clearly & even more strength to paint it. As I gazed upon the reflection on the canvas of somewhat similarity, I realized that I only painted a sense of awe and subtle confidence in expression. The rest, well, i don’t know who I was painting.

That afternoon I walked down to the County parade with the kids. We moved back to my home town a few months prior and I wanted my children to enjoy this annual community event. I haven’t been to one since I was in High School & was one of the cheerleaders dancing with pompoms down the street to the pounding drum line of the Warriors Marching Band. Tractors pulling floats & children scrambling around the curb waiting for parade participants to throw candy. As parade participants walk by, a young gal with bright pink hair and a tiara handed me a newspaper. In huge letters on the front page “BRIDGE COLLAPSE A MYSTERY”.

How ironic it seems that the timing of events impact others more or less on a variety of levels as it serves to reason to the majority no connection as at all. Or is there?

The 1st though to arise from the swirl of emotion within “ Returning Home”. If memory serves you, my Creatives, I posted a blog that mentioned that I was homeless for a short period of time in 1989 between leaving Minneapolis College of Art & Design and returning to Nebraska. Well, it was under that bridge in Minneapolis that I sought shelter.

As I sat there, on the curb that Parade day, submerged in memories forgotten those many years ago. I thought, as most do, that I had already let it go. But, apparently my Spirit wasn’t finished with this experience. A profound sense of returning home swelled within me as a surreal moment unfolded while watching the small town parade gliding down main street, moving in slow motion as my mind, heart, body & spirit aligned as I realized that I was supposed to remember not for me, but for a kind soul who texted me a few moments later, that he who had found himself homeless in a strange place miles from home, would be coming home to Nebraska.

My heart reached out in ethereal time & space to the beautiful creative soul who reached out to me in his darkest of nights, yet extended his hand & afforded me the generosity of his heart, time & wisdom as an artist when life offered him only small moments of joy on the streets.  After Jes arrived in Arizona, he arranged for me to receive his easel. His gift to me, his friend and companion, to begin painting seriously. Then on this Parade day, a day of circular healing energy, my dearest of companions was no longer on the streets and would be returning not only to Nebraska but to himself to start his healing process.

Life has a way of showing us the awe of the journey &  provides us with the confidence that every journey does indeed return us home. We just have to slow down and see it clearly & accept our existence of being creative spirit beings in a physical form, or a self-portrait if your brave.

Stay on The Awiya Side of Life My Creatives!

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