photo found via googleimages
She didn’t have almond eyes like so many of her friends. They were big and round, as if they were made for catching every last bit of beauty. Her black hair was curly, not straight, and her fingers were so long she could wrap her hands nearly halfway around the biggest tree trunk in her whole backyard. And when she laughed, flowers just up and dropped their petals. I always guessed it was because they must’ve felt so happy that they couldn’t keep up appearances any longer, that they just had to let go. So let go they did. Nearly every single day in the Spring and Summertime her whole front yard was covered in fluffs of petals. Blue and yellow and pink and the prettiest purples you ever did see. There was nothing like it anywhere on earth, at least not that I ever heard of. If you saw it, you might've thought of it as a reflection of the rare girl who lived inside. Yep, Tessa Tulemon was different. Very different. And this made her feel so very much alone.
When people asked her how she was, she didn’t ever answer with a lie. She told the truth. That meant that sometimes she answered with, ‘joyous’ or ‘crumbling’ or ‘uncovering beauty’, but never just plain old ‘good’ or even the more grammatically correct, ‘doing well’ because those words were never rich enough to describe the depth of what she felt. No, they weren’t even close. You see, Tessa Tulemon felt things deeply. Very deeply. Both her sadness and her joy. And that was just the beginning. Of her feeling so very much alone.
When she passed by a stranger, she felt their aches, their pains, and sometimes even their fears. When she thought of someone in her imagination, bringing them so close and clear she thought she might be able to touch them, she could feel what they were carrying, too. It was a curious thing though, that somehow only the pains and sorrows of others called out to her, that they sang the loudest instead of their joys. She always figured it was because the painful had nowhere to go, that their owners banished them, whereas the joys were asked to stay for tea and dinner and dreamtime, too. The joys didn’t have a chance to wander off. Even so, even with all the silent knowings of strangers, Tessa still felt so very much alone.
One day, a particularly brave day, she decided to visit the art museum. She walked up the steps and through the big double doors, the cool air welcoming her with a fresh gust. For a moment she stopped. She listened. She felt. And she knew where to begin, which room beckoned. Her red shoes clicked upon the tile floor. Her black curls bounced. And her spirit bounced alongside, just as it always did when she went where she was called.
As she turned the corner into the big room filled with paintings and sculptures, Tessa gasped. It was the one who called her. Speaking with color. With emotion. With soul splayed out on the canvas so raw and real that it was almost too much for her to take in at once. She fell to her knees, struck, but set free, overwhelmed with a flavor she’d never once imagined could exist.
‘Who are you?’ whispered her mind.
‘What are you doing to me?’ tickled her heart.
‘She’s remembered her deep and rich Home within!’ sang her spirit with fierce loyalty.
* * *
During difficult times we ache for answers. We often feel lost and alone when we can’t find them.
Those who feel deeply, those who bare their souls through color, through sound, through poetry, will show you the path that eased their answers into the world, from them to you, a road map to use as a template for your own. . .
To go within.
To find the colors, the sounds, the poetry that most resonate with who you are.
To first free you from your heart’s heavy burdens,
To then remind you that embedded within the expression of your unique self are the answers you’ve been seeking.
The Divine within
Showing you your path forward
From darkness to light.
From sadness to illumination.
From unknown to welcome Home.
* * *
Sadness is a normal feeling, a natural place to be during these times—when the world we once knew seems to be crumbling before our eyes and the new one has yet to be formed. But for many of us raised in North America, sadness isn’t a comfortable place to be. We’re told to make the best of things, to look for the positive, to turn our frowns upside down, as if being sad is something to be ashamed of, a message that we’ve somehow failed. Failed to find the happy, to be the happy, to birth the happy from whatever it is that’s going on around us or within us. Sadness feels dark.
But if the light is always the brightest in the dark, maybe it’s not as dark as we think.
Maybe it’s a blank canvas.
Waiting for our soul’s illuminated paintbrush.
Your soul’s illuminated paintbrush.
* * *
I ache to have that picture on my wall.
I need to hear that song again.
I lose myself in his sculptures.
I find myself in her poetry.
I recognize a piece of my soul.
I remember a part of who I am.
I feel more alive, more hopeful, more me.
I am not alone.
Go there. Be with the depth that you feel. Immerse yourself in art. From others. Then create your own. Art. And from the depth you carve out in that sacred space within—with color, with sound, with poetry of your own—will undoubtedly emerge your unique path forward, a path of fresh perspective rooted in the soul of who you are.
Home.
