Rebel Beauty

Spring Fury, now for sale

 

I am a student of my dreams. But I have to live in the day.

 

My dreams can be of survival, a grim testing of my wits and tenacity against foes seen and unseen.  The invisible ones are the worst, they will eventually take form, and the dread of how and why is a prolonged sweaty fear.

 

So in the day I take care of my dream life, out where I can legitimately handle the plot line and prepare for contingencies.

 

A riot of color on the paper, a fresh purple field of iris, with shadows of red lily, a hint of daffodil.  I combat the shadows with thalo blue and thalo green hues and the shadows are conquered.  With my brush I am the storyteller.  I subdue and call forth at will.  In the daylight while I am vertical and have a voice I can hear. Where there is no need to scream.

 

This is what art can do.  I can alter a dream, yet learn from its insecurity and vulnerability.  This is Spring Fury.  Beauty with a bite. Flowerful rebellion against the dying of the light.

 

Heidi

To purchase or inquire, call (360) 771-3160 or email traumacoach@gmail.com.

Night Heron

 

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

From, “Invictus,” by William Ernest Henley

It is 6:47 a.m. and the morning clouds are rimmed in a brilliant salmon pink as seagulls arch their way across the sky.

It was just a few hours ago I was in agony, trapped in a sleepy fugue of demonic nightmares.  Satan, the afterlife in hell, being tested by evil spirits and my ex-husband were all wrapped up into a series of three nightmares that led me to wake up screaming, my dog hovering over me whimpering at the sound.

Nighttime has its perils.  For persons who suffer from PTSD, nighttime is the vulnerable space where we have little control over how memories and doubts of the day dance a wicked duet.

Out beyond the walls of our bedrooms, the walls of our homes, there is a world alive and bounding with life during the dark hours.  While we sleep, there are bandit eyes not of a thief, but of a heron or a racoon or an owl looking for a meal.

There is a garden of the dark.  The world is still in its prism, the planet still revolves, animals build their nests and eat their breakfasts and somewhere there is a universe that also looks out for us while we sleep.

Inner torments that keep us angry, fearful, edgy and controlling during the day have an open mike during our sleep. And they sometimes play it for all its worth. No boundaries, no regulations, no overseer conscious that puts boundaries on how the imagery and plot infringe on our rights and sensibilities.

But there is courage in a heron.  The breeze still breathes through the vine maple branches, and water still foams up against the rocks in the stream.  These are the eyes that look out for us in the night.  There may not be beauty in these hours, but there is, upon awakening, courage.

Heidi

For inquiries about art purchases on this blog, go to traumacoach@gmail.com or call (360) 771 -3160.