Finding The Glimmers In My Personal Glums Pt. 1

"Perceiving another's existence wholly is already the most profound act of love we beings can give to another" ~Elunara W.

I think we're always surrounded by love and it is a true gift; the act of noticing. The gift of perceiving not only oneself but others as well. That beautiful leaf. That adorable insect crawling by. The soothing sounds of wind chimes playing their tune gleefully. The comforting sound of footsteps in the other room. The mystical faces or animals we find in the clouds. How the flowers or leaves twirl from branches in celebration; their own unique greeting. It's all love. And what better way to return that love than simply acknowledging them too. Who else would stop and smile fondly in admiration at...say....that one feather on the floor? Or perhaps who would take the time to notice the rainbows that dance across a surface after light refracts from that one glass? Who knows....but maybe you notice them and that in itself is one of the greatest exchange of love.

The Wisps of Life

We sat, it was both of us alone in there. I asked, “Do you regret it, do you regret any of it at all?” She stared at me with an almost unreadable smile As if—as if I already knew the answers to that. As if we both knew the answer to that question.

“Not really,” she laughed with this carefree spirit. Head tilted back with uncontained mirth and all. I wondered briefly if the shadows of life had ever truly graced her, Or had the upturns of her lips tasted the weight of the world exponentially. Perhaps one too many times—one too many.

Our eyes locked and for a split second, I saw it. The intricately woven tapestry of life—threads of gold beyond the void. Clumsy fingers red and sore from the unexpected thorns and pricks. I understood it all. I smiled in return, of course she had, I’d know that more than anyone, wouldn’t I?

“Do you regret any of it at all?” there’s a knowing glint in her kind eyes. Brief memories of cold eyes, wet pillows, sleepless nights, homesickness. Suffocating silence, tearful letters, words—so many words left unsaid. Tremors of an empty stomach, deepening shadows, the complete isolation. That dreadful feeling of being too different, the unforeseen weight of generations prior.

Yet—I’ve always known something else. Something more, something warmer.

There’s a faint but steady pulse against where my hand lays on my chest. Tearful laughter, wind in my hair, dirt under my feet, chirping of birds every dawn, Clammy hands in mine, a comforting shoulder, broken facades, the gentle whisper of weary but hopeful hearts connecting, the glimmers of hope—gold amongst the dark. I breathed in, then out and suddenly as our eyes met again, I knew. I was alive.

Reaching out, cold meeting warm, our palms connected for a moment in time, “No, not really,” I echoed with a giggle, pulling away a second later. I got up, facing away, sore hands reaching out towards the cold doorknob now. As the cold surface thawed against the heat of my palms, I took one glance back. A foggy handprint, the only remnant of our brief moment shared together. ~Elunara W.

“Sometimes I’ll start a sentence and I don’t even know where it’s going. I just hope I find it along the way.” - Michael G. Scott

Neural pathways of "finding words" along the way…there are stories….words waiting to be channeled…existing until we happen to stumble across them…I wonder how they feel? I wonder if they feel lost, I wonder if they feel lonely…a desolate place…or do they sound hopeful…ecstatic even at the mere thought of having you stumble upon them? Or maybe they feel everything yet nothing at all…maybe they just…are. Maybe they aren't lost and maybe they aren't searching either but neither of us can say that experiencing each other was a mistake…or a wrong turn down a pathway. There are stories, energies, messages, existing within a liminal space that aren't beckoning us nor pushing us away…yet they're willing, oh so welcoming to share their space…not only theirs…our space. They didn't call. I didn't call. Neither of us called. Yet here we are…and here is perfect and here is now…but rather, here is everything when we're together. Here is expression. Here is suppression. Here is life. Here is death. Here is love and its many faces. Here is meant to be. ~Elunara W.

"Mother of Fertility" | 18/03/25

Weekly Artsy Post~ ~whimsicweaver

wait i'm literally living the life my female ancestors dreamed of i can't waste it

Grief is the love we no longer know where to place. It is proof that something mattered, that something touched you so deeply it still lingers even in its absence. And that’s the cruel beauty of it: grief only exists where love once did.

2007-07-29

"To be loved is up to you. Read that again" ~Elunara W.

We can be surrounded by love but not be open to receiving it. Sometimes we close out or block that love from entering because of various valid circumstances, however it is up to us to open ourselves up to receiving that love again. Even if we do it slowly. It's important that we preserve that sensitivity to receiving love in all its different forms and that can be beyond difficult after experiencing the harsher faces of love...but it's not impossible and this sentiment is enough for me to keep embracing love and its many faces.