The tide draws closer and you slowly sink beneath, and then you’re brought back to the surface. Kicking. Screaming. Struggling to breathe. It’s has become a recurrent experience.
The tide is coming in again, and once again you’re on your knees. Except this time you’re ready. You will not sink beneath. You say. Through gritted teeth.
Your misconception is apparent, for you have no choice in this matter. The tide will draw you in, sending you far out, as far as the eye can see, crashing through the waves once again, just as it always has, you struggling to breathe.
Sensitive soul, how will you grow old?
The trees shake and you cry,
God forbid you should ever witness someone die…
Take me as I am,
For I am one in my brokenness.
I am lying in shadows,
In the depths of despair.
But leave me be.
For I am comfortable here.
I have come to terms with my turbulent mind. I am at peace with the idea of self perpetuation.
I have found myself in hidden corners, in search of hidden meanings. In the dead of night.
It’s no big deal anymore, it’s just life.
You are learning by the day.
You are learning the power of love.
The nuances of language.
The kindness of strangers.
The abysmal consequences of the technological age.
The ramifications of capitalism.
You are learning what it feels like to be lost in translation, surrounded by those who see your views as obsolete – leaving you questioning the ingenuity of your generation on a daily basis.
You grab the earth at every given opportunity. You replenish in the rain. You run in the rain. You howl at the moon. You find hope in the glimmers of light within the eyes of others. You feel intensely. You are sensitive to bright lights and loud noises. You crave solitude. You are art in motion. You are a wonder.
I recently realised that I often struggle to differentiate between what I’m thinking, and what I am feeling. When asked a question, I find myself giving a logical response based on a generic understanding of what my mind perceives as being a suitable response when I am faced with a question about how I feel.
This has opened up other questions and all of a sudden I am unsure of whether I truly love, think I love, or plant love within my mind and watch it blossom.
Do I spend my life living in robot mode?
Am I overthinking?
Here is my second attempt at an oil on canvas piece of abstract art. I really had no idea where I was going with this.
Here’s my mama bear and I in Goa, India. My mum tells this story every time it goes like this.
“You looked at me Sineadie and said, mummy what is that on my head I can feel
It was the sun, it was beating down on your head & giving you heatstroke I didn’t even realise because you looked so happy… ” ❤️