Something extraordinary has happened...is happening.
When Amber was murdered, I lost more of myself than I ever cared to admit. Before I was impulsive, the first to find humor in any situation, carefree with occasional moments of melancholy....to be honest I was an overall joy to be around. And then my life and resolve was shattered with the crack of an Ak-47.
It's been close to five years now, and for four of those years I was a shell of my former self.
My smiles were false. I didn't want to leave the safe sanctity of my bed. The world was dark and full of dread. All the lighthearted optimism had disappeared from my spirit, and I never thought I'd live to experience the warmth of the sun on my skin again. Even with weekly therapy sessions since the murder occurred, I wasn't able to keep from sinking into a dismal abyss of depression and grief.
Then my therapist suggested I try painting. I never believed that splashing around on a blank canvas would move me, but it has. In the past year I have finished 7 paintings, and with that magical number I have begun to recognize the face that greets me in the mirror every morning.
The painting featured on this blog accomplished amazing feats regarding my psyche, my spirit, and my heart. It began with canary yellow, representing joy/light/me. Then I added fuchsia and orange to give the appearance of a sunrise or sunset. Before it was completely dry, I brushed lavender hearts in various sizes that were open ended - for no other reason other than at this point I was the Tin Man asking the wizard to replace the one I'd lost. From here I splashed black and crimson as representatives of blood/murder/grief - all of which were literal and figurative. In the literal sense, it was Amber's blood, her murder my grief. Figuratively, I was murdered, the blood of my heart and soul had been shed, and I was grieving the loss of myself as much as my friend. Through the darkness came the light of the yellows, fuchsia, pink, turquoise battling/struggling to bring peace to the canvas -at which point something with in me burst.
I was the canvas and it was me. The dance, the rush, the cosmic pull of the divine - the ecstasy of release/creation was an experience unlike anything I'd ever known. Tears fell from my eyes, and laughter leapt from my lips. The painting was finished, and I had reawakened my soul. The phoenix had risen from the ashes, and the flower had once again bloomed. I had returned to my body, and this left me awe struck.
After the initial shock had left my system, and I was alone in my bed I did something I hadn't truly done in years - I prayed.
I spoke to God, and lay my freshly restored soul at His feet. As I uttered the words, "I love those I hate," the chains were stripped from my heart and I could breathe again. Those words were not just said, they were felt and they were true. The rage and the fury that had been holding me hostage disappeared with a gasp of breath.
That night I was moved, and I have been running free ever since.
