Midnight Destinations

It’s almost midnight and I am having an awful time trying to fall asleep.  Too many worries like everyone else, I guess.  However, I do try to look within myself and find the response I need to issue to all of you, the reason as to why I write.

My significant other has been drinking beer in the garage.  I went downstairs with him to look out into the night sky and just shoot the shit about life happenings.  That is the best thing about having a significant other: shooting the shit about life.  As I sat there, a term emerged from me.  I kept racking my brain trying to understand why it is that I feel this inclination to write, and I think it is because I see myself as a healer.

I write because I want to heal those around me from their cynical ways.  I have seen bright souls become bitter.  I have seen lives grow sour on the roots of their own egoism.  I guess I enjoy my tiny life.  I enjoy my menial job, my coworkers, what I eat for breakfast every morning, and how I decide to spend my weekends.  I enjoy the grunt realism of it all.  I enjoy the raw, true feeling of just being alive.

Sometimes, when I am alone and not a soul is around, I feel so blessed to watch a sunset, or see a hummingbird harvest for nectar.  I find pleasure in the small things.

One day, I truly hope to get some photography up here.  I would love to share pictures of inspiration and hope.  I would love to give food to feed hungry souls.  I feel that I could do a better job with images than short stories.

I think it would be cool to mix the two mediums: fiction stories and photography.  I foresee one day my creativity will go and blossom from there. 

As of right now, I am going through a hard, vigorous training of learning how to be true to myself once again.  Growing up and trying to be a responsible adult has held me back, in a lot of ways, from the art I have always wanted to create.

As I get older, the more I understand the importance for me to take a step back, look at the work I create, and love it because I love myself.  

I have always had visions in my head of what I wanted to do.  When I got out of high school, I just wanted an apartment with a stack of bookshelves.  My world has opened up so much since then.  Now, I have a Master’s in Library Science, I live in a house, and I can devote my life to writing and love.  Some may say this is a wasted life.  I don’t feel that way.  I feel it was the only true way to reach my dream, and my destiny, of becoming a healer.

The question even I sometimes become plagued to respond to is this:  What I am trying to heal them from? 

-mean words and actions we do to one another

-a trapped mentality of how one should survive/live/love

-unwarranted desire and unnecessary need for excessive monetary gain

-the delusion that true love ceases to exist

-the scars of greed

-acceptance that we can’t predict the future

-acceptance of death

In all, I think there are a lot of things I am trying to cure the human race of.  I guess this is why I wanted to become  a writer.  I wanted to help people.  I think I would have made a great therapist too, but I guess this is the next best thing. 

I hope we can all heal each other with stories, art, and love.

What do you all think?

 

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