The dam that kept me under control broke
The water spilled through and look what happened
The destruction of what I was told was meant to be
Became
grass,
flowers,
trees.
Don’t tell me that the dam was for my own good
You may like the desert but
I like the woods.
.
Let the daisies softly carpet what once was rough and barren
Let the trees offer their cool shade
Let the water flow into each living thing like a second breath
.
If you want to save my soul
Give it life
not
death.
Unashamed in my Eden.
My existence being mine.
My soul connecting to those hidden parts that I am just discovering are there.
To be balanced means to feel naked in the warm sand
and clothed by the cool salt sea.
To feel large
and small.
It is so exciting
Yet so terrifying
To feel truly free to
be.
I’ve never seen an Eastern Bluebird in real life but they make me feel something.
They remind me of the colour palettes that I wish I could live in.
If life were really in that old technicolor, and I ruled the world, there would be a lot of bluebirds.
Bluebirds also remind me of Alice in Wonderland (1951) when Alice lies down in a field of daisies.
Then I remember that I love daisies, and rich green grass.
The daisies and green grass remind me off the linoleum flooring my Great-Grandma Birdie had in one of her guest bedrooms. It was a vibrant green with little white fences and barns.
I slept in that room when we stayed at her house.
To my little self I thought that the blanket on the bed was the most beautiful blanket I’d ever seen.
It was all pink. The happiest, cotton candy pink.
When the light came streaming through the bedroom window in the morning I could have woken up in heaven and not noticed.
I reckon bluebirds, colours, daisy chains, sweet Grandmas, and pretty mornings make me happy because they slow me down a bit.
Slow.
Bright.
Quiet.
Happy.
So happy.
.
.
.
And then I think of little Eastern Bluebirds.
The Culture of Being 