Rock, Paper & Scissors.

"If you've lost focus, just sit down and be still. Take the idea and rock it to and fro. Keep some of it and throw some away, and it will renew itself. You need do no more." ~Clarissa Pinkola Estes~

I lost focus along the way. I forgot how to be myself. I forgot how to take my ideas and just let me flow, or to let them express themselves in whatever form they needed. I became those scissors, cutting away in jagged lines, in uneven movements, dull, no longer sharp. And then an idea came to me, I have always collected rocks, they are all over my house, and each one has a meaning. When I found that quote I took one and held it in my hand. Letting it roll around and feeling its weight in my fingers. Thinking over and over, of the things I did not allow in my life, and all the things that happened in my life over the past few years.

And an idea formed, I have had many rocks in my life. Many strong and stable people. I have had rocks that were strength, and I have had rocks that were unforgiving, uncompromising. Heavy and loaded with their own burden. I have had boulders in my life, that refused to budge, needing assistance to move them from my path.

I have had many scissors in my life, sharp, jagged at times, inconsistent. Never cutting the same line twice. Some would say that scissors are creative, and they make beautiful things, and when put together I am sure that they do, but if you look closely, you will be able to see that the lines are not even, no matter how hard you try. Come on look closely, you can see.

I have had paper in my life. Wonderful beautiful pieces of paper, people of gentleness that blew in for whatever moments they were needed. Some to fill up my chapters, and some for a word or two.

Paper, soft pliable paper, receptive to change, adaptive, easily influenced, persuaded, swayed, but also a blank canvas at times. Beautiful but yet can be crumpled, tossed away, torn, and ripped, smudged, smeared, cut with uneven lines.

I have been all three. I know that I need a rock, and I know that I need to be paper, yes perhaps a little creased, a little torn around the edges, a smudge here and there, but the inside renewed.

I want to be that piece of paper with its edge underneath that rock, holding on a little, just enough that I do not blow away, accepted with all the imperfections, and all the messy edges, but accepted, and held gentle and tender, but underneath that strength. That stability, to know that the rock with hold with its power, but yet with its tenderness.

Life goes on.........