Prompt: Your Soul Mate Colors Your World

I never believed I’d find my soul mate. I mean, not everyone is that lucky. My parents saw the world in black and white till the day they died, even though they were obviously in love. Actually, I was kind of glad my dad didn’t have to suffer losing all the color in the world when Mom died. Although he may as well have, the way he sunk in and didn’t care about anything after that.

Soul mate. What does that even really mean, anyway? If it’s not the person you truly love? I remember there was a couple in high school who found each other. No one believed them at first. High school? How rare is that? But suddenly they were both describing colors and walking around with these stunned expressions. There were a few faculty who knew they were telling the truth. Soon they ruled the school social scene, even though you wouldn’t have thought twice about them if you saw them in the hallway.

When I went off to college, there were four faculty couples who were soul mates. I had Bronsen for Psych and his partner Cowell for art history. They invited students over for cookouts once a month, and I would nurse a beer and watch them together. No, not in a stalkerish way. Just wondering what it would be like. I mean, I had a couple of girlfriends along the way, and one or two guys that might have tempted me, and one pair of twins that…oh my…but I never saw the barest hint of color.

Seeing Bronsen and Cowell made me think about what real love, real partnership might be like. And would it be enough, to have that and still see the world in black and white like my parents? Or should I keep searching? Holding out? And what if I never found my soul mate? Is there someone for everyone?

To be continued?

#

And so, with a loving heart, I offer you

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love:
The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes
the light of the universe that shines within you.

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Music Playing	U2, Songs of Innocence
Time writing	~20 minutes
September word count	6,604

Prompt: Life *is* pain, highness… (and PSA Suicide Hotline Links)

Anyone who says differently is selling something.

Cynical words from one of the most ultimately hopeful romantic comedies of all time, The Princess Bride.

And I don’t use them lightly, or dismissively. They speak to—or are whispered from—the darkness that opposes my previous post. The same night that I was writing some sort of manifesto of hope and love, Robin Williams, an extraordinarily gifted actor and comedian, could find no more, and took his own life. Tributes to him, and expressions of grief, have been mixed in the social media vortex with cries for more compassion and understanding of depression, and even suicide. I think I will keep my thoughts on both to myself.

But I will say that if you thought my manifesto and creed of Love More to be simplistic or naïve, I steadfastly disagree. It may, at times, be the hardest thing. I will give an example that I’ve discussed with a few devout Christian friends before: a parent’s forgiveness of their child’s murderer. I—literally—Can Not Even. Can’t think about it too much. Can’t imagine it. Cannot fathom it. Even with my newfound realization that I have been moving towards this creed of Love More for some time.

I have wrestled with my own demons of depression, and I am not always successful in keeping them at bay. I’ll add my own call to reach out for help. Picking up the phone and dialing the numbers may be the hardest thing someone at that point in their life Will Ever Do. But there are people who can—and will—help you take the next breath, the next step, even when you are not sure how you possibly can.

Jenny Lawson, the wonderful Bloggess, posted this yesterday, in the wake of the news about Robin Williams:

If you are considering suicide or know someone who is, please call a suicide hotline.  They can help.  They’re free.  They’ve saved and helped so many of us, including me.  Click here for a link to suicide crisis organizations around the world.  They listen.

One breath. And the next. Even when it is the hardest thing. So many before you haven’t known how they would either.

I guess I’m not quite done journaling, but I want you to know, I appreciate your taking this journey with me. I thank you for the many kind and thoughtful comments you have shared, and so, with a loving heart, I offer you

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love: The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes the light of the universe that shines within you.

Dogs in House	Houdini
Time writing	~35 minutes
August word count	3,576

Prompt: (Don’t Be Afraid to) Love More

“We are grateful for these and all blessings”

It’s an old family dinner grace, and one I adopted as Daughter was old enough to join us at the table. It is an expression of gratitude, without specifying to whom or what. That’s open to interpretation or debate. The gratitude is much simpler.

“What will you do with your one perfect life?”

A beautiful, life-affirming throw-away line from Letters to Juliet. I want to get it as a wall quote. You have one life, this life. What will you do with it? What if it is, in fact, perfect?

“Don’t be afraid to be the one who loves more.”

Advice from an older couple. And I’m trying. And it’s hard. Terrifying. Nerve-wracking. Doubt-inducing. Exactly.

And it’s not just about a romantic partner. As if that weren’t hard enough. Parents. Children. Coworkers. Caregivers. Police officers. Store clerks. Exes. The guy who cut me off on I-40 on my way to an important meeting this morning.

            What if someone hurts me?

            Love more

            What if someone takes advantage of me?

            Love more

            What if someone makes fun of me?

            Love more

            What if someone is angry with me?

            Love more

Because I think it may all boil down to this. Why do we want money? Power? Things? To protect ourselves. To protect our families. Because we are afraid. But what if everyone approached life through a different lens? Love.

You are imperfect. Love yourself anyway. Because you are worthy.

Love yourself.

To thine own self be true

And it must follow

As the night the day

Thou canst not then be false to any man

Because it’s not about *them*. It’s about *you*. At the end of the day, as you lay your head on your pillow and close your eyes, *you’re* the one who has to live with *you*. And at the end of it all, in the moment that you die, it’s all, always, been about *you*. And how you have lived your one perfect life. For the better? For the worse? And of course other people affect you. They affect us every day. The drug dealer racing from the police. And of course other things affect us. Cancer. Heart attack. Earthquake. Fire. It. Is. Still. Your. Choice.

Will you rage? It’s okay, you’re allowed. Will you quit? Completely understandable. Will you get hard? Withdraw? You can, you might. But…will you stay that way? Or will you, maybe, possibly, choose to Love. More.

Several years ago, I worked with a young couple, and though I enjoyed their company, and I thought the two of them were very much in love, it bothered me how much they bickered and picked at each other. My grandparents were the same way, and as a young child, it bothered me even then, although I believed they loved each other too. This same young couple, however, also approached the world from a very particular mindset: how much can we *get* from anyone. They were, in turn, very generous in many ways, such as opening their home to friends, hosting frequent parties and casual dinners. But there was such a strong undercurrent of “I scratch your back a little to see how much you’ll scratch mine.” And in our business dealings, this took on an even more mercenary edge. A sense of “They owe me!” An angry edge. It always made me uncomfortable, and eventually (for this and many other reasons), we parted ways.

In the aftermath, which was also the aftermath of huge changes in my personal life, I have worked to embrace a more positive approach to life. Sure, I get angry. Depressed. But I make conscious efforts not to dive into the negative. I used to have a lot of “road rage”, and while I occasionally regress, I usually try to let people pass, wishing them safe passage on their journey, as I want safe passage on mine.

Sometimes, the negative is too much for me to easily overcome, and I have to float for awhile, as I have this past week in the aftermath of a friend’s unexpected death, as I’ve shared in the past few blog posts. I have said before, I am a water baby, and much of my personal imagery involves water, such as floating. I often think of depression in particular, but I’ll say all of the negative energy and emotion in my life, as an ocean, and I have carefully constructed a dam to hold it back. Sometimes it threatens to break the dam, and again, I have to float, rise above, hold on, wait it out. Let the waters recede enough for me to regain balance, control. My positive outlook and approach to life.

Because there’s a lot of negative out there. And we all have to choose how we live our one perfect life. I choose, again and again, I choose to live it with love.

If you’re still reading, bearing with me, you may be thinking, hey, isn’t this supposed to be a prompt-writing site? Um, isn’t it supposed to be daily?

Yes, and yes. At the end of July, I intended to step back from my daily writing to the prompts, and to focus on finishing the complete draft of my first novel. I also planned to build out some of the prompt-writing resources here on WritersSpark.com. And so I shall.

I think I’ve sufficiently written to today’s prompt. I might be almost ready to leave journaling and return to writing speculative fiction. Or, perhaps, they are one and the same.

Namaste

I’ve heard many translations. Here’s one I love: The light of the universe that shines within me recognizes the light of the universe that shines within you.

Dogs in House	Houdini
Time writing	~90 minutes
August word count	3,164

Prompt: This Stone Longs to Speak

The words sit heavy on my tongue

How do you know 

stones have no tongue?

Have you looked inside?

You probably think 

I have no soul

No heart

No tears

No laughter

The words sit heavy on my tongue

I love you

You hurt me

I want to be with you

I want to be alone

I’m sorry

I wish

I could say the words

I wish you could hear them

The words sit heavy on my tongue

Right behind the teeth 

I don’t have

In the mouth 

you don’t notice

Wet with tears

I don’t cry

I want to dance

I want to fly

I want to feel your arms round me

I want to watch the stars cross the sky

Dogs in House	Houdini, Brindle
Time writing	20 minutes
July word count	9,667

Prompt: Love for You

Thanks to Katarina Zirine for permission to use her beautiful "Love for You"!

Seriana swept her outstretched fingers over the tall golden-red grass as she walked across the field under the brilliant sunset colors of the clouded skies. Her shoulders twitched as her gossamer wings fluttered behind her. Slender and clear, they would not carry her for many moons, until she had chosen her life’s purpose. By then, they would have stretched and grown thick and strong, bold and jewel-toned like her mother’s, or delicately tinted like her sister’s.

“Why don’t males have wings?” she had asked as a child. Her mother had laughed out loud, and her sister had giggled behind her hands, but they didn’t have an answer that made any sense to Seriana.

With no males in the House, Seriana could only watch them from a distance. Her sister seemed incurious, but she was about most things except their mother’s power. Seriana had no heart for political games. She wanted to explore the world. She wanted to understand. Everything.

Her childhood wings had withered and fallen off two winters past. She had buried them and danced with her crèche-mates under the next full moon, before she returned home to her mother’s House for the first time. She missed her friends, their laughter, their play, their touch.

Her mother only touched her to spin her around after supper and examine her budding crystal wings. “Hmm,” she would mutter, or a casual “Good” as she patted Seriana’s back, then turned away. Seriana had dreamed of her mother’s love for as long as she could remember. Now she cried herself to sleep at night and pined for her crèche.

A tall stalk of grass seed tucked between her thumb and finger, jolting her from her reverie. She stripped the seeds from the stalk in a smooth pull and held them in her palm. Looking up at the moon, already glowing in the darkening sky, she made her first choice toward her life’s purpose.

Sweeping aside her long golden curls, she bent her lips closer. “I have love for you. Find me.” She blew the delicate red seeds, and they fluttered into the air, opening into tiny hearts as they drifted away. Unseen behind her, the edges of her clear wings faded to a delicate ink, and then purple…

Dogs in House	Houdini
Music	Sting, “St Agnes and the Burning Train” and “Fragile”
Time writing	~35 minutes
May word count	9,796

Prompt: Boating on the Seine

Thanks to the Metropolitan Museum Initiative
for over 400,000 new image prompts,
including Édouard Manet’s lovely “Boating”!

Rodolphe lay on the picnic blankets with his straw hat covering his eyes. After the near-endless feast, everyone had wandered off, but all he wanted was to sleep. Well, all he wanted that he could have was sleep.

Mary had gone with young Sebastian to look for truffles and flowers. Rodolphe wished she had stayed. He would have continued to feed her strawberries and grapes one by one, his fingers hovering over her lips, brushing the sweet fruit against her skin until she smiled and laughed and plucked it away.

Shifting his trousers, he looked up and around, then let his head fall heavy against the warm blanket, the drone of bees lulling him to sleep. He heard the swish of full skirts, but remained unmoving. Her scent, vanilla on her own musky skin, swept over him as she dropped in a heap beside him and arranged her long slender legs and blue skirts more decorously.

“Are you sleeping?” she asked with the British lilt he found so charming. Her hand brushed over his white shirt sleeve, her fingers trailing across the band and down his bicep, over his elbow, and along his forearm. Every hair on his arm stretched toward her touch.

Without moving, he murmured, “Not now, mam’selle. Did you find treasure in the dirt?”

“Oh yes. Sebastian knows the woods so well. We will have another feast tomorrow, if Father brings down a nice fat deer or boar.”

She snatched her fingers away, and he opened his eyes. She was looking over the sparkling water, blushing. His lips twitched. “Would you like to go out?” he asked, waving a hand toward the river.

“Oh, I would. I love the water. I miss Avon. It’s secluded enough that we can swim…” Her voice faded to a whisper, and her flushed cheeks darkened.

He chuckled. “Well, we can’t swim here, but I can take you out on the water and you can at least dip your hands in.”

Climbing easily to his feet, he held out his hands. When she took them, he pulled her up and tugged her slightly off balance, so she fell against him. He moved his hands to her waist to steady her, then slid his right hand to the small of her back to direct her toward the boats. She didn’t pull away.

Rodolphe pushed the dinghy into the water, then handed Mary in and helped her settle on the bench. He didn’t mind the cold water on his pants legs as he took a couple of steps away from the bank before smoothly climbing in behind her. Picking up the paddle, he soon had them drifting in the current, keeping a slow steady course toward the Shallows.

Mary leaned against the gun’al, arranging her hat’s netting over her face and hair. Rodolphe hoped she would remove it when they reached the calm Shallows. Her legs stretched across to the opposite side, and he stretched out his right foot to tuck against hers. She smiled, but did not look at him, keeping her eyes on the water. He slid his foot up her leg, and she shivered, but did not move away…

Dogs in House	Houdini
Music	John Legend, “All of Me”
Time writing	~30 minutes
May word count	9,421