Posted in Art, Memoir, Opinion, Poetry, Sermons, Soul Journal

First Drafts

Please bare with me. I am changing. Again. Sorry if you liked me before. You will need to hang around and determine if the new me is a new or a recycled version, of what was once referred to as reincarnation. Although I do not believe I died last night so it probably is recycling I am to be referred.

Please forgive me if this post is self-indulgent. I do not want to frighten you from an ego being built from non-existence. This world is not all about me and I do give unconditionally from my heart. I only hope that what I dare say is something you grapple with and the journey can be shared as friends. With that I am renaming my blog to First Drafts.

Seasons: A Poetic Journey of a Thousand Miles.
Love spins my world. Out of the maze of life comes simplicity. Love is simple. Raw and unedited, lived in dreams.

I have loved living under those words. An umbrella I was hoping could stave off the hurt. It was but a dream. There are few words to identify a person in a crowd and the words above have been a mantra for some time but I am constantly changing and woke with a sense that my blog is not descriptive to portray the fight I am, within. I push against such a polished idea. I am not a shiny stone. I am a jagged-edged, dusty form, that needs constant force to guide my mind. I yearn to be a Poetic Journey but am rather a First Draftsย kind of gal. This is a blog after all and not a published book of poetry. I am walking towards the polished seasons of tomorrow with yearning hope.

I am a believer and most of my words may be offensive to those who claim faith. I often hide from others in shame, believing my thoughts need to be hidden. I can feel anonymous on my blog, although I have ventured to add a photo of myself. (LOL!) I confess, the words are true to me. I do get angry, depressed, anxious and think ugly because I am being perfected and approaching the summit. I have a long way to go as long as my journey is not caught short. Even then I hope I have done my best to live life well.

I respect all and kindly ask for empathy as I journey through life, trying to make sense where sense fails to exist.

I have a deep-rooted interest in peeling away my thoughts, imagining new ways to focus, remodeling my inner world. I have survived my grandfather’s and brother’s suicides. I have survived an unspeakable (in my estimation) personal tragedy after high school. I have taken on roles in life I felt inadequate to perform and purposed roles, I felt gifted towards, have slipped from my fingers.

A person is art at birth. The aspect of introspection comes with time and events. I see the act of looking within as recycling bits-n-pieces, reforming, molding a whole new soul. Perhaps one is even able to present themselves as several pieces not willing to throw away broken shards others see as damaged goods. That in itself is art. The act of seeing. The perspectives of bloggers with one set of words is infinite. If we get comfy in a picture, that is fine. Life is not always busy digging but digging in and finding joy.

I love poets and writing poetry. Poets are succinct lines embracing expanse only the reader can imagine. First drafts are a dawning day. Every night doomsday, to a soul determined to try again. Death a weary friend.

Looking forward to new days and new ways to share life with you. Hope you stay. Jeanne

P.S. Even this post, probably a first draft, will find new light as days pass. ๐Ÿ™‚

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