Painting a Picture

Our entire lives we are painting a picture.  It starts when you are born, and doesn’t end until long after you’ve taken your last breath.  Sometimes something happens to our paintings.  Huge blacks smudges, maybe it even feels like a brand new canvas.   Our masterpiece destroyed, almost overnight, but if you look, the foundation is still there.  Maybe it wasn’t quite what you wanted it to be anyway.  Maybe it feels like something you have worked your entire life was destroyed, water warped, burned up.  The thing is, you can’t take away those memories.  Good or bad, that masterpiece still lives on in your head.  You can still remember the fine lines that others never got to see.  You know the hard work in it when others believe it was just a crazy abstract piece, you just smudging your hands across the canvas.  They didn’t see your pain, your happiness, just the the lines that came to be.  Others were there with you when your masterpiece was tossed aside.  They held you as you wept for your lost work.  They were there watching you paint your masterpiece.

I think we look at Van Gogh we see Starry Night, but that wasn’t his only masterpiece.  We see Mona Lisa when we think Da vinci, but he also is responsible for the early model of the air plane.  We all have more than one masterpiece.

I, of course am relating my life to works of art right now.  I kept thinking,  am I like a butterfly?  When a caterpillar turns into a butterfly their life is almost over.   No I am not a butterfly.  I often feel like I am like Phoenix.   I have risen from ash of what my life was…but the remnants are still there.  So the best way to describe where I am in my life, this starting over, this discovery,  is I am putting aside my old warped canvas.  I held it under water for too long.  I am not trashing it, it has it’s own beauty, but I am going to look to it, to see all the mistakes I made, to do my best to paint a better picture this time.  One where I am happy and healthy.  And other’s may not see the beauty in this warped frame, but I still do, and I am proud to hang it on my wall.  I am proud of who I am and how beautiful I came out, even if I am warped, no matter how battered.  I am fucking proud.  It’s not gone, it’s still there.  It will always be safe up on this wall.  Some people are not lucky enough to have it to hang.  Some people lose themselves in a fire, or undersea.  All the important stuff is still there for me to hold on to, it’s just time for a new canvas.

I am not sure what I am doing with this blog right yet.  The name still stays, but this was my journey through polyamory, that aspect doesn’t stay.  I can explain more in detail in a future post, but for now, I have to create a new masterpiece.

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