It's been a while. Too long! I've been leading a blog-less existence. Stumbling around in the shortened light of a southern solstice. Seeking words and inspiration in the half-light. Misplacing ideas. Distracted by curious dark tales and fading shadows.
I've had quite a contracted solstice experience. Rather than being pulled in by my creative inner magnet I've been pushed in by the squeeze of the shortened days.
A seasonal bottleneck.
I've not felt like writing - instead I have been colouring-in.
Yes I confess I find playing with soft pastels that can be smudged, rubbed and blended using all my fingers and palms very cathartic. I find the waves of colour, and ease of gentle mixing a great way to let go and just let the magic happen.
It's aimless, goal-less and pointless. It has no actual rational adult-world reason.
I don't care what happens, where the patterns start or stop,
what it looks like , if it's finished,
if it says or means anything.
I let my tongue poke out, curl to the left and lick my top lip. I'm like an 8 year old deeply embedded in my own mysterious moment.
I don't analyse the colourful pages. I don't label them.
I don't seek any validation for their childlike impressions.
I simply LOVE the experience.
I love feeling calm, peaceful, unhindered, relaxed and creative.
Blank white becomes full colour. Lines flow, swirls appear, and my heart opens up. Truly, as I let go of the need to do anything but play, I can feel my heart peeping through a
window in my chest; checking out the terrain.
Slowly she peels back the lacey curtain that veils her solstice view and recognises the magnificence of doing nothing; just being with a blank page.
She stretches into the possibility of a long winter full of the beauty
of smudged shadows and blurred pastels.
She is touched by the innocence and the unconditional invitation to just let go and play.
And she opens the window...
into the world of hearts.