This is a writing from my poetry book which I hope to publish some day. I share it as a gift for you. Perhaps it describes your life, too.

My life is a painter’s canvas, and it has become an abstract painting. I’ve strived to keep it crisp and clear. Clean lines. Everything in its place. One corner for love. One for home. One corner for career and another for spiritual growth. Nice. Neat. Tidy.

Then one day as I reached to brush new strokes on the canvas, the paint spilled. Swoosh! My brush could not contain it. Could not control it. Passion ran into places where it had not been invited. It mixed with other colors and changed them. Some became vibrant and vivid. Others turned cloudy and dark, even murky.

I could no longer distinguish the work. It was blurred. No crisp, clean lines. No sectioned corners. Untidy. Mixed and confused. I let the colors run and bleed, fight and blend, rest and dry. Then a new work emerged. An abstract of vibrations, of unforeseen beauty. Curvaceous. Raucous. Real.

This is life. This is truth. This is me, and I in the new year I will appreciate what is me.