It was some days later, during an evening after a day of intentional sinking and meditation, that I came across Wonder Cave. The cavern’s mouth was mostly dark and deeply blue, but I could see a source of Light scintillating within. The Light illuminated a nearby sawtooth rock that I used to scrape Worry from my flesh wound. I left it attached there outside the entrance. Upon entering the cave, before I explored further, I took a deep breath and let out a visceral scream that had been boiling in my veins for days. I pulled energy from every singular toe, through my ankles, my knees, up my thighs and through my uterus, my belly button, through my fingers, wrists, forearms, elbows, biceps, through the shoulders into my lungs. My lungs expanded so large that my chest grew to be unrecognizable, like an overfilled balloon threatening to pop. I opened my mouth and pushed it out with the might of every limb in my soul’s unit. Did the scream make sound? I don’t know. There is no one else around to hear it. It seemed endless. I breathed again and added to the intensity. I repeated this again and again and again. I could feel Red that had spread pulling from the tips of my fingers and toes and the top of my head and through my spine. Textures poured from my mouth like a bubble gun, which was a weird sensation I observed while the physicality continued.

The Red poured into the vast Blueness. As they collided, the water turned thick to the consistency of paint. While parts of each maintained distinct separateness, there was areas around me that they began to melt into one and Violet appeared. I unstrapped vials from my discovery kit that sit at the waist of my scuba suit and bottled a portion of each color. A tickling of Joy fluttered in my stomach in response to the revelation of these fresh supplies, which I envisioned using in the art to come in my travels. I stared intensely at each color and ask them what I am supposed to be learning from them. Do they carry Wisdom and messages for future adventures and souls I will cross? Will I be able to exchange them and mix them with supplies others carry? They don’t answer me immediately. In the interim, I prayed over them. I pray that they are bottomless in quantity, so that I can use them extensively in the moment, but also have an abundance of them to create as I continue through and away from this place.

I took at seat at the bottom of the cave, sitting still and curious about these colors. If I created Violet, can I create others? What feelings and experiences do I need to have to mix them? Curiosity heartens me to wonder what else I can wonder about…

I wonder where else this year will take me, physically and spiritually.

I wonder how I can grow wiser and more loving.

I wonder about my work ahead, if my words will become more like a Monet painting and less like a kindergarten crayon and construction paper project.

I wonder how I could dictate “keep going” in a way that wasn’t just those words. What does the encouraging of endurance look like? What does it sound like? What marks can I leave in this cave for future divers that they’ll understand, if they are meant to?

Questions continued to come…

What color is heart ache and what designs are meant to be created with it?

What is it to explore? Is finding a requirement, or is the act of seeking enough to qualify?

If you release a balloon into the sky, and it returns to you, what are you meant to do?

Do flowers judge themselves for blooming more slowly than they wish to?

What curiosities should be shared or asked, and which are best kept to the internal world to wonder indefinitely about? 

Is there value to asking questions you don’t intend to seek answers to?

Mourning the whale found me in my wondering state, while I began a fresh painting while nestled within the cave. I paint a lot with the newly discovered hue of Violet. Mourning observes as mostly quiet company, although occasionally his fin brushes against me and washes my mind with tender memories that fill my lungs with Missing. I blow Missing out of my lungs each time, a few tears flowing from my eyes in unison, joining the water around me. My breath and tears turn the water Lilac which I bottle before it merges with the rest of the Violet.

After a couple days of peaceful painting, I became filled with Red again. As the sun set, it grew in size and I wondered what hues of Violet I would create when I released it into the water this time. Would it be the same shade and texture? Would it be richer or sparkling? Despite the admiration I have for Violet, I began to long deeply to be the a contrasting color like Yellow, a color without ties to Rage or darkness. I wondered how Yellow could be mixed from Blue, Red, or Violet. I wondered what color those who pass by will see me as: Am I like an iguana, who can camouflage myself to colors I wish for them to witness, to protect them from the colors that oppose those of the company I strive to be like?

I grow frustrated by this instinct to scream that continues to come. One day of screaming wasn’t enough to remedy my body from Anger’s venom, so I get up from my canvas and scream again. Red pours out in mass quantities, however this time it looks different than the last. This evening, my Longing was spoken to. Yellow was woven within, finely marbled in the red. There wasn’t enough of it to gather on its own, but their fusion became Orange, which waltzed in clouds within the Violet around me. Violet and Orange tango in the Sea and in the Sky. The sea creatures and I rejoiced in the dimension it brings to our world, internal and external. I pull out a vile and collect the newness. I am pleased to have another color in my discovery kit.

When I release all the Red within, I sit to recollect myself. I admire the Orange. What colors and questions will come next and when? My hope is many and soon. Until then, I paint these sturdy walls with the visions Imagination shares with me in variations of Blue, Red, Violet and Orange. I search for a point within them, but for now, I find Peace in my perspective.

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When I embarked on the path of sharing writing at the beginning of December 2023, felt like I was beginning to ride on the surfboard that I had been training to use throughout that calendar year, standing up fully for the first time. Shortly thereafter however, I dismounted from the board. In 2024, I have since spent time deep scuba diving, and at times meditatively sinking, beneath the surface; whether this is by design or as a byproduct of fatigued muscles is a matter of perspective.

For many weeks, the water I’ve experienced was murky and I’ve been unsure which way the Spirit, my guide, is navigating us. Were we going up or down, East or West? I couldn’t tell. I’ve struggled to discern much of anything. I’ve felt clunky in my gear. I’ve kept moving, but there have been many moments that the water has felt like it became sludge and along with it, took my voice like Ursula to the Little Mermaid. At first, I had someone with me, which brought me some distraction from this unease I was feeling, but they didn’t have the tools to continue deeper. This matter of fact knowledge has dulled the pain of loneliness on many days. However, there are days when the water that engulfs me is murkier than others, that their absence echos and my chest constricts, and I wish very much to take off my own scuba gear and call it quits.

Much of this dive so far could be summarized by a title such as “Growing Pains”. My body has been tired of having to strengthen, carrying this scuba gear, while upholding an attitude as if it hasn’t been exhausted. I’ve been expending what feels like a lot of energy, trying to maintain my equilibrium and faith. I’ve felt like a baby doe with hooves it’s still growing into, as I’m learning to breathe and swim with the equipment required to go to the depths I feel I am headed. My desire to execute a perfect dive daily has been the biggest source of my discomfort. I keep going though. I trust that the deeper the Spirit takes me, the more unbelievable the adventure will become and the more beautiful the surf above will be; I’m searching for water with life, with explosive color, whose energy and love soaks through my suit and charges the battery of my soul to share with others.

On days I need a rest from actively diving, I intentionally sink. The deeper I sink, the more intense the joy and sorrow I get to experience. My chest tightens with overwhelm of their intensities. They absorb into my body, starting at my heart and spreading through my arms, legs, mind and spirit. Gratitude and melancholy waver within me while I’m down here, like the flame of a single wood wicked candle, that flickers to the cadence of crashing waves. First comes a giant wave of appreciation, then comes a smaller, but still clearly evident wave of loneliness, caused by the lack of others around to witness the previous; The aftershock of grand appreciation is miniature waves of sorrow, that I have exploration left to do in finding souls to witness and contribute to this magnificence with me.

In recent days, the water has begun to get clearer. I receive glimmers of assurance of colors that lie ahead, but when those glimmers disappear, Mourning swims back into me. Its presence in the Sea brings familiar scents and sounds that are attached to fond memories from water that’s above. I smell tea tree oil soap and morning mountain air, Santal 33 and the warmth of candles burning. Gratefulness and grief whirlpool around my body. Surrender swirls in with them. They create a soft serve cone of colors in my mind and spirit. Its sweetness temps me to stop swimming in this direction, to go back to find familiar colors and company, to retreat from this unknown, uncomfortable growing mission.

While down here, I have longed to reap the wisdom, imagination, joy, and love of depths I don’t yet know, while simultaneously wishing to be above the surface once again. I’ve wished to have stories to share here of all I have witnessed during my scuba dive, but for now I am still collecting. I’ve hesitated to share these notes of my early days, as the primary color I’ve carried is blue, and I don’t wish to paint strictly blueness into the world. However, a fellow diver encouraged me to do so, adding that this paint is a pigment of the Sea.

In the meantime, while I continue on this diving discovery, I think of you all. I have began to collect music that is scoring this section of swimming, which I share below. While it is in the early stages of being built, I hope the current sounds carry to you the dreams of colors, smells, feelings, and most importantly, love that I am witnessing during this time.

With all my love,

D

Sounds of the Sea

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The garden was first uncovered in 2022, although “garden” was a generous word for this starting place. The land was dominated by weeds and the soil was desiccated and famished. I haphazardly began weeding, using the few tools I had at that time, most of which were unsharp and weathered to the point that if a weed had too deep of root, it would defeat the tool in combat. Naively, even with lack of system or diverse set of equipment, I believed I could weed, plant, and reap a garden comparable to the one in my dreams and of others in my community within that calendar year. While this did not happen, 2022 concluded better than previous years, in that I entered 2023 without feeling like the land would require an entire overhaul before planting could successfully begin.

In 2023, the garden started as an empty lot, one that had been towed and nurtured well enough to commence planting and tending. The place didn’t have much visible life evident, at least not in the breeds I was longing for, or at a distance I could see with the glass prescription I maintained at that time. Despite this, there was a lot of hope, a feeling and a trust that grew, withstood, and evolved many times over. I picked up a couple of new tools that showed promise at braving the season ahead. Through a lot of trial and error through the months, I found pesticides that helped prevent the frequency and size of weeds, although there were times, sometimes for weeks or months at a time, I allowed the monotonousness of tending to bring complacency. I still continued with the basic tasks of tending, showing up every day, at least nearly, watering, maybe raking, but there were days that weeds showed up and I allowed them to be rooted longer than what is healthy for the seeds. My attitude being, “What difference does it make, if the seeds aren’t sprouting anyway.”

Impatience was a frequent visitor. After I planted the seeds I had access to, watered them, sung to them, weeded around them, and poured out the only vitamins I knew about, I’d wait. I felt like I could go mad as I stared at them in anticipation of what they’d become. I’d take a walk around the rest of the empty property, that I dream about planting one day too, once I have more seeds to do so. I’d return back to where I planted the seeds and they have still yet to sprout or show evidence of life. The desire to scream would boil within me. I felt desperate to figure out how to speed up the process, although fully aware that that is not how life forms; I can’t imagine how pregnant women feel, waiting nine months to meet something growing beneath the surface of their own skin. However, the not knowing how long these seeds will take to bloom made time feel slower somehow. Realistically, I knew they will likely grow at different speeds, and require different care as they sprouted, but I pleaded with them to grow together. I worried that I was waiting when I was meant to be moving, because I have more history of doing so than of moving when God tells me to. I began to question if I really planted seeds or if what I planted was something like a jellybean, artificial without potential to sprout.

After my toddler temper tantrums, I reasoned with myself to use this waiting time better. I recognized there are other things that could be added to this place that can add to its beauty, not all that will be harvested like some of the plants, but that would decorate and add purpose to this time in between. I thought maybe I’d build a birdhouse, or a place for butterflies to play, or add speakers or wind chimes so I have music to dance to in the meantime. I asked God for super natural water, vitamins, more seeds, and more love. During times of waiting, through intentional wandering, I discovered additional parts of the property, including a Forest and a Sea. I grew in bravery, telling others about the garden, which in all previous years I kept shielded due to shame I had regarding all the weeds and lack of fruit it maintained. I grew in hope, faith, creativity, discipline, and patience. I improved at sharpening my tools, honoring the space I have been given, and strengthen in the art of slowing down.

There was a period of time in the early months that my hands developed open wound callouses, so large and painful it made it distracting to prepare for the days as usual. I pleaded with God to heal me miraculously, but that was not a prayer I saw answered. I felt hurt and angered by that. After a couple of months, they did eventually heal, their timing and purpose still a bit unknown to date.

There was a new seed discovered early on in the year that showed life above ground sooner than most others. I grew a particular affection and attachment to it, expending my best effort on it, which it responded well to. Even when I wasn't tending to it, I thought of it as I tended to the others. As time went on, it continued to grow and bring me joy. I matured in my ability to tend and discovered new seeds through it. As the Summer season concluded, it developed thorns and stabbed me in my final hours of tending, leaving more hurt to my heart than my physical body. I retreated from it, despite not wanting to. I questioned whether it was a plant with a short lifespan, designed as a training plant for me to learn to tend, but then let go of, or if I was simply over watering or giving it the incorrect type or quantity of nourishment.

I did all my intuition could lead me to think to do, that was within my power, to keep it healthy and growing: I watered it with the same love I had been since the seed arrived to me, but the sprout didn’t react the same as it had been. Instead of growing in response to my tending, it began to decay. There was a moment I thought it turned a corner, where it exploded in an unusual way with an outpouring of love, but in the days that followed it shriveled further than it ever had. I cried over it, where my tears could be heard, and away from it, but regarding it, frequently. I placed it under a protective glass casing, a life support for plants of sorts, and prayed for its return to health morning, night, and throughout the tending I dedicated to other seeds in the meantime. This was a period of mourning, one which both Hope and Heartache held my hands as I continued to work and wait. During this time, new seeds were discovered, dreams for the garden expanded, and other sprouts began to show above the soil’s surface.

As 2023 concluded, the garden’s lot that feels fertile and rich with possibility for the days, weeks, and months that lie ahead. It ended with more seeds planted than what it began with. I am filled with immense gratitude for this place, for the life it has bloomed me thus far, for the gardens that surround me that serve as inspiration and motivation in days I grow weary in carrying the tools I current hold.

Today in the garden, we commemorate the week of the new calendar year by placing wooden stakes next to each existing sprout as well as near the sprout hopefuls. I mark their height with the date, so that in a years time, should we be blessed to see it, we have a visual of the growth this time between brings. I pray over each of them, as well as the open land left to be planted, or otherwise created in and added to. I pray I tend to them earnestly, with intense, pure love, with imagination, with joy, with perseverance, with gratitude, with grace. I pray they root deeply and sprout abundantly. I pray we inspire other gardens and become further inspired by our neighbors and other creation around us. I find a song to mark this day, one that feels like hope and fruition colliding.

My dreams for the year ahead are grand. I look forward to sharing. With so much love, I am wishing all their most awe-inspiring year yet.

God has given me a special seed of purpose. It is within me, but I do not know what kind of purpose it is. I have not watered it much because I am not sure what kind of water it needs or where to find it, and also because I am afraid. I am afraid it will require more water than I expect, and that it will take longer to bloom than I’d hope for and that my endurance will wane. Yet, I am so desperate for this seed to bloom, so why wouldn’t I try every possible water and soil I can find, as often as I can? I ask this to myself, as this is the question I would ask any other in similar predicaments. The answer is laziness, complacency, confusion, fear, distraction. I see the seeds of others blooming from them, and I feel envious. Rather than using the beauty as fuel for my own patience, I stare, still from a distance. The sun rises and sets, and I remain still, like a nome in other peoples gardens.

I ask God for uncertain clarity, strength and unwavering determination to carry the necessary supplies. I ask for patience, and confident faith. I ask for beautiful thoughts and words to breathe into this seed. I ask for special soil to make it bloom so extremely that it grows outside of my body, for the world to witness on physical display like my once had angel’s kiss.

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In the beginning, despite their company, I felt intensely lonely and disoriented. I awoke feeling disappointed by the reality of my surroundings and anxiously reevaluated the map of the paths I am so far familiar with, attempting to mastermind how they could possibly lead me back to the place of the cage. Each idea I spun was met with a roadblock. This both took the wind from my sails and filled my lungs with twisted air that neared the brink of a tornado. In the past, these emotions would cause me to frantically run, or at least, want to run. Now however, I fear running; I fear putting myself further from the destination I am designed to be seeking. Instead, I spent a lot of time navigating myself and taking rest at the River. There, I prayed for instructions and love. I prayed for the Keeper. I prayed for his spirit, safety and for his path to once again intertwine with mine (this was one of the Hope’s that flew with me). I prayed for myself. Despite the distress that made an effort to engulf me, I recognized and took pride in the strength my wings had developed during my time with the Keeper and during the times when he would go away. I asked the River for more Endurance to maintain the parts of me and the relationships I grew to love in that place, and to also inspire me to build more out here in the unknown. I also asked for more friends like Hope.

These first weeks, I avoided connecting with the Forest and the other creation that lived there, as my soul, mind and body felt disconnected. This time was both mentally and emotionally challenging. It was filled with endless rain, literally and figuratively. About a month in from our departure, Grief suction cupped itself to me one evening. It coated my wings in Sadness and caused sickness to spread throughout my body. I sent The Spirit and the River a smoke signal from the darkness I was laying in. I pleaded for them to airlift me out, or if I was meant to lay here, to bring me a starlit sky that was marvelous. The next day, I continued fluttering, but at a slower, more weighted pace. I felt like this period of time was crushing me, while also believing, in retrospect, I would see it as growing me. As one of my defenses, I went to the River and danced. I watched Sadness melt into the water. It was iridescent, the color shifting depending on the position of the sun and my body; a lesson in perspective. I splashed Love from the water on my wings to put on as armor.

One morning, in the waiting between where we were on the path and where I longed to be, I told Hope about my dreams, as well as my fears: I dream of getting to our destination soon. I dream of the journey being full of more Joy and Pleasure than challenges. I dream of Joy and Love stretching me more than Struggle. I dream of adding beauty to the Forest as I fly through, leaving trails of art behind, inspired by the energy provided to me by the River, to help future butterflies and other creation when they are seeking Endurance themselves. I’m afraid I’ll grow too tired to see these dreams through. I’m afraid of further Disappointment and Heartache. I’m afraid I am confused and headed in the wrong direction entirely. I tell her how I don’t know what to do with all of this hurt I’m currently feeling. I strive to spin it into something beautiful. I think about how I should reframe this, how exciting it is to be free in the Forest, with endless possibilities for my life. It is hard though, not to worry, or be suffocated by Curiosity, when or if I will come across another keeper to love and be loved by again.

As we continued through the uncharted, I maintained faith that the Spirit and the River were leading us in the direction we were designed to go. This belief fueled me on the days my wings felt extra heavy. The struggle was, I was unsure if this was a “for now” or “for good” circumstance, this navigation without the Keeper. Uncertainty left room for me to wonder if I could be doing more. I was scared of regretting not trying to relocate him, but was also scared of regretting holding on to something not meant for me. Soon after, we came across a little bird who recently had to leave their mother’s nest. Her name is Courage. We bonded over the homesickness we were feeling and our differing wonders and worries that came with flying in the unknown. Courage taught me about meditation and about the strength that could be drawn from the Forest and its company.

Courage acted as my coach most days. She would chant to me that better was ahead of us. She would tell me to focus on that. She would remind me I will miss the beauty of our current path coordinates and the opportunity to add to it if I continued to wallow. She would ask me questions, like the specifics of the home I will build when we arrive to the destination I’m longing for. We began decorating the path we were making together, just as I longed to do. I thought of anyone that may come across this art as I did so. Sometimes the material I used was sorrow and others it was optimism, regardless Love and Honor were always the base. My dreams for our destination grew the further we flew. However, a lot of these early days looked the same. I would wake feeling dreadful and Courage would challenge me. She tied herself to me to pull me forward with her and passed me glitter to spread as she did so.

These times could be shortly summarized as "The War Between Hope and Grief”, “The Multiplication of Hope Fueled by Grief”, and also “The Repetitious, Often Contradictory, Thoughts and Feelings of Heartache”. Hope continued to multiple and grow the forcefield that surrounded me, but still there wasn’t a day that began or ended without feelings of Missing. Missing the Keeper felt like craving a particular meal while on a deserted island, physically consuming and distracting. When those feelings crashed into me, I prayed that he would come across the art we were creating and that it would inspire him to find us. As Hope’s kaleidoscope grew, enemies of the night persisted in attaching me. Gratefully, more and more forest creatures came to my defense, and even when the momentary battles subsided, they remained in our company. First came more Hopes, then Courage, then Patience, Gratitude, Creativity, Joy, Imagination, and Love.

Once a week, we began taking a day off from carrying forward. We all spent time basking at the River on these days. Sometimes, I would explore the depth of its waters. Others, The Hopes and I would splash to the rhythm of songs Courage and friends she brought us would sing, or Patience and Gratitude would lead us in a reflective session as we lied in the plush grass. During these times, I grew in understanding of the oneness, between myself, the Forest, and its inhabitants. I observed the varying smells, sounds, and feelings of our surroundings in a given moment more intently. I held my necklace of Endurance near to me and asked it to help me see and hear everything I was encountering in the same way the Spirit and my friends do.

During one our days off, Joy told me about a time the River gifted her signs, when she was in her own predicament with Uncertainty. That day, I went to the River and pleaded for a sign of what I was meant to do, to let the Keeper I knew go, or to make an effort to find him once again (although considering his release of me, the answer to someone more logical than spiritual may see this as obvious). I asked the River to send me a Blue Butterfly, just like myself, if I was meant to do the latter. In my amateur asking, I didn’t request a specific sign if letting go was the directive. From then on, I intently hunted for blue butterflies every day, both when traveling and in rest.

Week One brought no new butterflies at all. The battle between Hope and Grief and Pain and Peace continued. I sought to fly and carry the attitude each day as if where I wished the River to guide me to had already come true. Silence challenged this proclivity.

Week Two brought new butterflies to us, however none of them blue. Regardless, Hopes grew. Courage and I sang lullabies and practiced new types of art as we carried on.

Week Three, I told one of the friends the Spirit provided me about what I asked the River for, and what we have come across so far. In response, she introduced me to an old friend she had traveled to us with, a singular Blue Butterfly, the first we had ever seen aside from me. I combusted into tears. Peace spread. That evening, I traveled to the River and lettered messages to the Keeper in the water with my finger, asking the waves to carry them to him for me.

From that day on, I began telling other travelers we passed along of the River’s answer to my ask. Although it didn’t improve my ability to see any further out on the trail we were on, I could see the Inspiration it painted on some of them. We started to see blue butterflies more frequently, each acting as a compass the Spirit was leading us with. As we followed the blue butterfly breadcrumbs, we met a pack of panthers that began traveling with us. They brought with them Bravery and Grace. On days my Endurance waned, one of them would allow me to rest on her back and bring me nourishment.

Eventually, the trail we were creating led us to what looked to be a clearing. The Spirit revealed the Keeper would be found there. Everyone reminded me of our oneness before pushing me to step out in the opening alone. Excitement, Curiosity, Patience, Hope, Love, and others swirled within me. The panthers carried me out, aiding me in Strength, while remaining true to their reputation for being the shadows of the Forest once we got far enough. This was the circumstance I pleaded the River for for months, the Keeper’s return to my path. I observed the terrain, which mirrored one we had experienced together before. I noticed the way the Winter sun glistened in a nearby pond, the sounds of birds and similar creatures in the distance, and the smell and the texture of the dry air on my wings. Despite these similarities, the feeling I experienced in his presence wasn’t like before. The Keeper looked and sounded the same, but his cage and the sparkle he once carried were absent. I held tight to my necklace and called on Love, Courage, and Patience to rise up within me.

It was shortly after reuniting that the truth of this difference I was experiencing was revealed. The Keeper showed me his cage, which housed a new butterfly. He told me he would be sailing away with her on to new territory, in a much different direction and landscape than that of the one we shared. Grief hidden in the darkness of the trees in the distance struck me with an arrow that no one could protect me from. The Keeper watch Grief spread throughout my body and tears from Shock welled in my eyes. I told him it was okay as it did so. I held tight to my necklace and breathed deeply, drawing on the experience of the meditations Courage and I practice together. I whispered to the River that I had trust, that for some reason, this arrow was meant to strike me. I felt fortunate in this moment, to be wounded but not broken completely. I felt confident I would be able to fly away when the time came to.

I could see Guilt attached itself to him. I repeated the sentiment, “it’s okay”, in an effort to use Lightness to loosen the grip it had on him. To Lightness, I stirred in Understanding: From the path I’ve navigated so far, I’ve began understanding the different strengths and capacities each of us have to fight the night creatures. I believe my ability to withstand this far is mostly due to the community that surrounds me in the Forest. I understand the Endurance I have is thanks to the River, which is a piece of the land that he may have yet to experience. Or, if none of this is true, I maintain faith that better clearings for each of our dreams were ahead. Being so, I wanted to leave The Keeper painted on, with the same intention of the art we created in the Forest on our way here.

In our final day together I wavered between Grief and Gratitude. Gratitude removed the arrow from me and made an effort to restore me before I would have to travel again. I felt grateful to the River for leading me here. I felt grateful for the friendships that supported me along the journey in the way my heart needed, and needs, so badly. I am grateful for the Love I know exists for me that I can’t yet feel. I am grateful that a lot of the Love I have for the Keeper, is tied to Love I have for who I became in my time with him, as well as for who I am becoming in the Forest on my own. I mourned the adventures I dreamed of having with this Keeper that would leave with him. I felt waves of Anger that he was willing to take on the challenge of sailing to new places, rather than putting forth the effort to find me again in this Forest before deciding to do so. I didn’t want Anger to spread or grow to be visible to his eyes or anyone else, so I went to the River to scrub it away. I soaked my wings in Love and perfumed myself with Endurance and added more water to my necklace. The panthers met me there and rehabilitated my Strength with deep affection. I returned to the clearing with the Keeper, determined to be present and paint on him with the best that the current strength of my wings had the capacity to do. I added a hose to the River to use as a weapon in this battle between Lightness and Darkness.

As the sun began to set that day, the Keeper and I took a final walk around the clearing together. It felt reminiscent to the first we ever shared. As our time concluded, a persistent rainbow joined the scattered clouds that billowed over the mountains in the distance. I cried in the rainbow’s presence, as I took it as my next sign, that this rainy season of Uncertainty was coming to a close. I cried over the loss of the Hope I once had for this Keeper, and with Joy, for the belief and new Hope that more fulfilling Love is ahead for me. I felt sad that this is how our storybook experience together had to evolve. Peace rose up to wash this Sadness from me. Before we parted, I took water from my necklace and attempted to melt some of the Darkness from the Keeper. I wished him and the butterfly he now carried well on their sail ahead. We moved on from this place in opposite ways.

That night, as me and the company I keep reentered the Forest onto the uncharted side of the clearing, I came across an elk. He carried the same spirit as the Keeper. His name was Forgiveness. I prayed with him, extending my prayers to the Keeper: I hope he finds what his soul is seeking and that the waters during his sail teach him with more Gentleness than choppiness. I continue forward with Courage and the rest of us, leaving Forgiveness behind. One of the Hope’s stayed behind with him. My wish to the River is that they remain together and grow for those that follow in our footsteps.

Share Watch The Sky Be Painted

The caged, green butterfly was carried to the benevolent Forest. Though the rugged cage door had unreliable in the past, today it willingly crumbled open. The butterfly eagerly fluttered away, soon combusting into an indefinite falling of glitter. A million new pieces of her now joined the soil. It was unknown at this time what she would grow into, but there was Peace. She belonged to the Creator and the things of Wonder.

OCTOBER 9, 2023

When I was a new butterfly, recently freed from the cocoon I had kept myself in, I entered new territory. Within a short time of my exploration, learning to flutter without fear of others seeing me stutter as I built the muscle memory, I came across a Butterfly Keeper, who had returned to the territory for the first time in many years. Our exchange in our passing felt special, so much so, that I took up home in the cage that he carried; he didn’t ask me to or force me into it, but rather it was my own choosing, almost force on my part, longing to continue the sparkling feeling within me in his presence. Our crossing felt like destiny, which I clung during my time with him. His adoration for me came in waves that were consistent enough to continue my joy. I did tricks with my wings for him and created art with the overflow of my heart. He showed me places in the forest that I had never experienced or dreamed of. The more I saw, the more grandiose my hopes for the future, for myself and with the Keeper became.

Our adventures continued, although sometimes he would set me down and leave for a time, but he always came back. While he was away, Panic would seep into the cage like a West coast morning overcast. I wasn’t equipped for what to do, so I lied still. I prayed. I scripted letters to the Keeper that I didn’t intend to share with him, but that kept me company in my waiting. I practice my fluttering. I created art. I could tell as time passed without him, I was growing stronger in my confidence in my present and future self and the aspirations I have for them both.

The last exploration the Keeper and I had together was our longest voyage yet. It pushed the bounds of my bravery and emotional capacity, both in love for the Keeper but also discomfort in navigating new physical and mental territories. Our days during this time, similar to all our days spent together, felt like a fairy tale, he tells me. He shares that I make him happy. I revel in this. When we returned back to a familiar place, we enjoyed more simple days together, full of sunshine and easy living. He showed signs of how I inspired him since our time together, which brought me peace and pride. Privately I wondered about future voyages. I wondered if this cage would be my home forever.

It wasn’t long after that the time came for the Keeper to go out on his own again. This time felt different than all previous. The Keeper left the cage door open when we parted, as he always had, but the cage suddenly felt smaller, like it was implying loudly that it was time for me too to leave this place I had found comfort in. Despite the happiness he says I brought him, the Keeper was releasing me. He told me there would always be a place for me, but he nudged me out. I ached, knowing it is likely the right thing, but also holding some confusion as to if it really was or is.

I reflected on how I’ve grown while in this cage, and I how sincerely I love it. However, I think of how I want grander than what I am seeing in here, but then conversely think what if I can inspire grander inside these walls? I think about the cocoon I lived in for so long, and wonder if I am treating the Keeper’s cage in a similar way. I wonder if I have served my purpose in the Keeper’s life, if the reason our paths crossed has been fulfilled. I wonder what the future holds for our relationship, if I will ever see him again and if when I do, if he will have captured another butterfly to take home in his beautiful cage. I wonder if they will feel remains of my heart on its walls; I hope the walls inspire them to love the Keeper in the way I wish I could have. I wonder how to love him going forward, if there is a way to do so in the distance between where I fly and he walks. After many days and echos of the Keeper’s voice, continuing to tell me to go be free, I step out and begin to shakily flutter away from the cage. I weep as I do so, both in solace for wanting more for myself and in sorrow that he isn’t it.

I commemorate the Keeper and his impact on my life with words. I long to send to him letters because it makes me sad to think about him forgetting about me. I want to send him reminders of me, motivated by the underlying hope that he’ll ask me to return and this time, ask me to stay. It feels selfish, however. Instead, I pray for him and trust that if the future is meant to hold more adventures for the two of us, destiny will draw us back together again.

Until then I hold this message for the Keeper deeply in my heart: I am so grateful for you and all of the moments both when physically together and in the time in waiting while we were apart. You have added to my aspirations that go beyond the walls of your current cage. I hope the future of our lives make us both smile for one another fondly. I am wishing for emotional rainbows and sunshine for you.

The collection currently includes three pieces: The Garden, The Forest, and The Sea. It began with The Garden in 2022. My soul felt like it was paralyzed here, hiding underground out of fear, not living the life I felt called to. Near the end of 2022 into 2023, I began to weed habits that do not serve who I long to be and sow seeds of hopes and dreams in this garden daily. Along the way, I unearthed new seeds and developed skills that help contribute to the land and its surroundings when the growth of the garden feels stagnant. I discovered additional parts of the property, The Forest and The Sea. Pieces of me left for voyages in each of these places. Similar themes exist within them: Belief in purpose and fruition of dreams, dedication to process, the joys and sorrows in the wavering between certainty and uncertainty, faith and trust in God, deepened relationship with self, God, and God’s other creations, revelations of connection of all things, living and not, material and immaterial, and the personification of emotions, the most important of which being love.

I hold the belief that each of us have many talents that we are born with, which we can grow within and share with the souls we currently know, will come to know, and thanks to the reach of the Internet, may never know but have the capability of leaving an imprint on. Writing and metaphors have been a tool I’ve used to help understand and cope with my feelings through the seasons of life I’ve experienced so far, as well as explain them and relate to those in my close personal life. They help me find beauty and give purpose to feelings that used to leave me intensely lonely. Instead now, I pursue them to create with: I dip my brush into each emotion and paint with their different colors. Sometimes they contrast, or blend, or become muddy in moments that I add too much all at once.

Prior to 2023, my writing has remained relatively private, however throughout this year, these metaphors have grown more expansive and I’ve felt called to share them more broadly. My intention in doing so is to allow one of my gifts to be seen, build on the community I currently hold, and to influence those who read this, whether or not my words are understood or relatable to you, to believe in and seek your own talents. I hope these words leave you feeling inspired, emboldened, and provide endurance for you to dig further within yourself and share the treasures you discover with the rest of us.

I’ve struggled with what to share first, what to share generally, and how to share. Up until this moment, these uncertainties and lack of perfect vision would have held me back from beginning. However, as will come to be seen in the story of The Sea, I have been paddling on a surf board, growing stronger in doing so, for a while now. I am being called to stand up. I do not yet have muscle memory or expectation of how this ride will go, but I have trust in the timing.

The first story to come is one of my most recent, in a season of heartache that I haven’t entirely overcome yet. It is inspired by a love I grew in this year, that I am now having to let go of. This story began during a period of uncertainty in the relationship and lead me to pray for specific signs, signs which I received and led me down a path that ultimately provided a closure my heart needed to carry forward in The Forest with true peace. This story has brought me solace in many moments over the past couple of months. It represents what I hope to continue to do in both joy and sorrow, which is to create art. In doing so, regardless of which direction a moment swings, my life will become a coloring book: a celebration of being able to feel, process, create, imagine, stretch, and transform into better. I hope it reaches someone who needs it, maybe someone who is not feeling entirely fulfilled in a current circumstance and needs to step out of their own cage to carry forward in search for the grandness their heart is yearning for. My hand is out ready to hold yours while you jump. Join me in the pursuit.

More to come.

With love,

D

Image captured February 9, 2023 in Central Park. It was the genesis of this collection’s title.