Summer Swell

Warm jasmine in the breeze
Rushes up on me
Forty shades of green
In the shade tree
Bright and tropic petunias
My glass sweating in the sun
The ice twirls and mirrors
Swift summer heat
Turns each leaf
It spins right up to me
And twists my hair
The sky peaking through
In orange glow
Tilts my eyes away
Where it glitters on the porch
Kaleidoscope dancing
Envelopes my wide world

Art Credit: Middle Way Art Studio

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“The Process” Live Prose

How am I supposed to feel? Where should I be at this age? What can bring me fulfillment? Achievement gives me fulfillment. Respect. . . and being a part of a community. I find making other people happy fulfilling. I like being appreciated. I like feeling valuable to others. I want to be special. I like to express my “special” ness. How? How can I let people know what’s going on in here?

I have been given inspiration by others. Musicians make me feel things. My heart beats when I feel it. My senses light up a little and I get high. I feel a tiny piece of how alive they must feel when they hear their own voice and expression cutting out into the world. I want to make my cut. I want to cut open my own hard shell and let myself out. I feel so dormant and faded.

What would I ever do if I lost that part of myself? If I have ever dreaded something, I dread forgetting how to feel.

I feel angry.
I feel tingling on my skin.
I want to punch something.
But I also want to lay down and dream.
I want people to see who I am
. . . but that doesn’t make sense because I’m so private.

I want to create meaning.

Creativity and expression give me something to live for. Why do I feel so drugged about sharing myself though. Do I have anything to give? What difference can I make? I want to make an impact somehow.

. . . but even as I’m saying this I feel tired. I feel like I can’t. I feel damp.

How do I put myself in inspiration’s way? How do I make good on life’s promise? Is the question the destination? Is this process the art?

I believe in the process.

I’ve always loved the phrase, “Where do I go from here?” How do I translate what it means to exist as me into a hearable, manifestable expression? Is anyone listening to hear? Or do I just need to do it, so I can hear my own voice?

Pushing Boundaries

In this incorporated world
My existence melts a measure
A faint gray lense tinges my vision
I am powerful, but must stay delicate
In every shift, remain exuberant
In every path, bring my luggage
And leave my own prints outside my world
I must resist the adaptation
That sterilizes progress and renovation
The art I am must follow too
And leave its trails upon this world

Art Credit: Mattie Larsen

Value : Malleability

Malleability is something I’ve learned to appreciate in young adulthood. As an adolescent, I did not realize how many shifts in perspective lay ahead of me–I thought my formative years were coming to an end. I remember thinking that my core personality was already formed, and I was liking the idea of being an official adult and my subsequent logic that I was now to be a static individual with my values defined and my core self fully fleshed out.

I’m so glad that is just not true.

I’m growing everyday, and I don’t want to stop growing. I’ve changed what I believe in and shifted my point of view as I have gained more experience. It is quite liberating to admit that I have been wrong in the past! I can let those parts of me go and move on. As I let go of my old definitions, I am creating a new identity.

In the past, I have felt like I had to “stay true to myself” or not shift my course to maintain a sense of cohesiveness in my life. I once listened to a local motivational speaker who gave a very powerful presentation. He drew a long, horizontal straight line on a chalk board as a depiction of the course of life. He went on to say that there are so many things that happen on the timeline of one’s life. In adulthood and old age, we want to be able to look back and be aligned with our childlike selves–which he attributed as being the true, unadulterated version of oneself. It insinuated that one is born with an identity, and the value of aligning oneself to that, as a type of inner compass.

The message has beauty–it has meant so much to me for such a long time. But, life is no straight line. I don’t want to take advice from a younger version of myself. I don’t want to realign myself back to who I used to be. I don’t want to be a certain way, because of  what I used to want. I don’t my life to be restrained from revolution or metamorphosis. I want to change, and I will change as I get older. I may not recognize who I am today, five years from now. I have possibility and my future is wide open. I may have an idea, but I don’t know where I will necessarily be as a person.

I love this so much is because it gives me hope. The best is yet to be. The worst, too. I want life to surprise me. I want to impress myself. I do not want to get stuck in my ways, or become bitter and stagnant. I am not here to sit still.

I relearn it again and again. I love life.My formative years are not at an end, and I hope they never are. I love the experience each day brings me, and I see my time as a wealth. I am grateful to look back and feel renewed. I am grateful to look forward to an unknowable adventure.

Happy New Years 2016 everyone! Thanks for reading.

Julia Saxton

Photography Credit: Rachel Alexandria

Memoriae

When I consider all I’ve done
It weighs in with depth
Some sweet, somber feeling
Rises in my chest
I feel swathed in nostalgia
Time stretches, in a lapse
And overwhelmed I breathe
And linger on this dream
My life views like a stairwell
That traipses, wanders, walks
Without pattern, I am sketched
And hollow all throughout
But it fills me up, when I am here
And sifting through my memory
When I consider all I’ve done
It weighs in deep reminicing

Art credit: Briana Baxter

The Dreaming Age

Sometimes something special reminds me what it’s like to dream again. And it’s like this hidden emotion that gets forgotten until something lights it up. And I see it as clearly as I did when I was younger, and simpler, and when things were much more magical. And it overcomes me. I don’t have to work for it. The dream just comes back to me. And that is more poetic to me than anything I can explain.

I think those kinds of dreams happen in that intricate time when we are changing from children into adults. I think that at some special youthful interval we get a chance to be overwhelmingly complex and fearlessly hopeful. I would dream so deeply then. My dreams tend to be more technical now, and less beautiful, and less like dreams and more like goals. Without the magic and without the hope of undamaged youth. But sometimes I hear a special song and it takes me back, and I feel more like myself than ever before.

What Runs Deep

I just let my feelings pour out like a vase emptying out and crashing into the drain.
I just walk into a room and my head feels like the haze of a cheering crowd.
I just lie on my bed and the tingling on my skin makes my hairs prick up.
I just get tired when I am sitting and when you’re talking to me.
I just suck in my breath, and I don’t know how to let it go.
Then it just grows in me, and breaks out in tears.