The Canvas 

There is something incredibly real yet magical when staring at a blank canvas. Knowing it will soon be filled with “happy accidents”.  Not just from the paintbrush strokes alone but from the mind. 

The emotions felt before the paint even hit the blank canvas, frustration had started. A few deep breaths and a sigh of release I freed my mind and just went for it.

I sat down after the initial color was placed… staring at the blurred color which hadn’t even been in my thoughts ,yet here it was staring me in the face. What the fuck am I going to do with this.  I was dumbfounded with how many emotions raced over me with such a simple decision. So just like life I just moved forward and kept going. 

With each new color or flick of my wrist a sense of control was shared.  I wanted to let go of the need to make something beautiful, something that makes sense,  what I think my art should be, and just feel myself in my moment.  

Blaming base coats for being to thick, paints for being to thin, the lighting being to  bright, the room being to cold or the tunes that are interrupted by a low WiFi signal were just a few things trying to make it to the canvas in a frustrating way. 

Little by little the picture changed, and of course in a direction I was blinded to.  The inportant part was…. I wasn’t going to walk away from something that I knew was me. Even in all the frustration and ridiculous thoughts, my art was sitting in from of me asking , “please see more”. 

Life is one in the same. Shit happens. Colors like people and situations are painted upon our minds making its way onto our canvas’ of life.  We have choices to make in which we should want more of ourselves. 

Fear should not hinder the art. Do I see mistakes or choices I wish I could alter or change, maybe,  but I worked through to find what was needed. Even turning the canvas in the direction it was calling me to feel it.

No, this painting isn’t finished … it’s started.

That’s what’s so amazing . 

~Shawnna

You are a Gift.

Sometimes it feels as if I am a figurine that is kept on the shelf or still in its box for fear of being broken or damaged.
When I was a child my grandma would send me christmas presents like the Holiday collectors Barbie and Cabbage Patch Kids. My mom wouldn’t let me play with them because she knew they were expensive. So she would pack them away in her hope chest.
After much pleading and many years later she finally allowed me to have them. Of course they got dirty and a little roughed up, but they brought so much joy because they were a gift meant for only me. They filled my time with imagination which made me smile.

The Gifts I have been given that reside deep with in are feeling the same way. We are all given something special that was meant for only us to cultivate and grow into something that we then spread to the world in service. In doing this we then share our gift to the world.

Which is our way of saying Thank You to God. ~sweetlyfiercesoul

An Angel of My Very Own.

My Baby I lost became the Angel around me.

 

 As I lay in the emergency room bed.

   I saw the doctor’s face as he came through the sliding glass door. A look that made me feel like all the air in the world had been ripped away from my lips.

A sigh he made, with his head down, trying to avoid direct eye contact with me. A father at that moment I saw in him, from the pained look in his eyes that only a father could show.

   I looked over to my husband and knew, he too felt the news we were about to receive.

Our baby had died.

As the doctor said, “We couldn’t locate the heartbeat”.

It felt as if I, myself had no beating heart. I felt overwhelmed with such grief that I went numb.

I knew it must be for some cosmic reason that this pregnancy came to an end with such quiet intent. We drove home that late night without saying much. My eyes leaking with tears as I tried to be strong not wanting to break down and appear weak in front of my family.

The next day I went to my doctor’s office to have an ultrasound praying all the way that a miracle might happen.

There I saw a perfect little baby curled up within mine.

He would have been my fourth child, who we named Kenji.

I was told that his heart stopped beating maybe a week before.

She was amazed at how perfect he still seemed to be, all safe and cozy inside. If she didn’t know for certain his heart were not beating she would have said he’s picture perfect.

My body had not yet started to reject this life that once was.

I was told my options, of what could be done next. They could remove his tiny lemon sized body or I could allow nature to take its course. I decided to let my body release him when it was ready.

Well, two weeks went by and nothing. No pain, no bleeding….nothing.

Had they been wrong?  

So again into the doctors I went. Again with another ultrasound.

Again there he was just as perfect as he was the weeks before, frozen in time, but sadly no heart beat was heard.

They couldn’t say for sure why my body was acting as if nothing had happened, but unlike all my emotions in which the plan of pretending made everything okay.

I couldn’t fake this pain away.   Something now had to be done. My emotional and physical state all telling me I was still pregnant was too much to bear.

I chose to get the surgery so I could start to heal. A decision which was very hard to make.

Two days later….

As I waiting for the operation to start I again asked to see once more this baby inside that I would never hold, never smell his magical breath, or feel his soft skin. I would never hear him cry that I might comfort him. I needed to make sure one last time his heart beat no more. 

He truly was gone. I would now have to say good-bye for real.

When I awoke from the surgery the emotional pain that weld up inside exploded without warning.

I sobbed like never before as I held my womb, I gasped a low airy breath, releasing the words, “my baby” as I knew he was no more inside me.

He would be 9 this year and quite the handful I am sure. I can see his smile and crazy hair as he runs through the door. A smile just for me, his mama. In those visions he lives Perfect as perfect can be.

Yes, it was hard to get through these emotions.  It’s most difficult when I say I have 5 children because really I have six.

He was real and he did live.

His beating heart I once heard and continue to hear. He’s with me everyday.  

An angel of my very own which my body once held.

Never will you be forgotten my little one for it’s you who allowed me to grieve for the life that was lost in me.

My tears of sadness did finally flow allowing tears of joy to grow.

Thank you Kenji! 

Love you,  Mama

My Beloved Lives Within Thee,

There Is where my beloveds breath be near thee

“My mind lyrically writing the movements of my breath.

Noticing the unseen to the unaware.

Feeling the need to pen each and every scene which flashes through my mind.

Knowing, I am almost near “thee”.

“There” is the spot I feel

Pulling me near

Seeing the vision intended for truly only one, which is me

Beauty gnaws at me

For what I see

For what is this intended for, shouldn’t

All beauty radiate into the very matter of our core.

Filling the empty space within our breath.

We who share this very unworldly air.

Emerging with any and all who feel upon with knowing.

This might just be worth showing.

Right where it sleeps.

Through the shattered and hidden place of me.

Showing all the folds of me.

The pain of the void in which we see.

It touches the most inner part of me

Dark and twisting it rests

Waiting to be seen.

Light causes such unraveling.

Release of our breath.

Pens the most beautiful dark depths of me

Sending you on a  journey through my memories

Pulling and molding the essence of you through me

Waiting to yield the most tender of thee

Sharing the story of which we, “My Love”

Are meant to be

Flowing forever endlessly

Creating thee story in which maybe, just maybe

Others may see, just how sweet a pure Love can be

Freshly levitating to the eye of me

Allowing you to see all that could be

Some may call Destiny

But this is just the most inner part of me

Releasing not only one

But so much more of me

Waiting for your breath

To be penned within the beauty of  me

Holding an abundance of acceptance of Thee

For my Trust

My Love

You Did see

Allowing to be created

All I see.

The Love that lives in me.”

-sweetlyfiercesoul

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why so Hush Hush?!

hush hush of sex

Sex.

I can remember I was in third grade as a bunch of us huddled around the dictionary in our private christian school as we looked up the word sex. We giggled and whispered thinking of so many more colorful things this word could mean. Then our teacher turned the corner and we all felt instant shame as we blushed trying to hide the Webster Dictionary.

Her face was so gentle and calm as she explained that sex was merely the way of determining gender, male or female. Which she proved by showing us the definition. That seemed to be enough for the rest of the kids as they each went to their desks, but for me, I was puzzled. I knew I wasnt being told the whole truth.

Why did I feel shame at being caught looking up a word that seemed to be so “hush-hush” but according to my teacher meant something so clean-cut.

sex is not a dirty word

I grew up being taught that sex was connected to shame. The words I remember my mom using to describe this word/act the most was “nasty” and “dirty”.   It was drilled into me that sex was for marriage which a wife then submitted to her husband. Yet the bible I was told to read was riddled with metaphors of sex being beautiful and spiritual.  And if it was meant for marriage, why was I, at such a young age already questioning the facts I were told to be true.

I had been sexually abused as a child yet I never felt a complete alienation from the act itself. I knew I held power over the persons that wanted my body for their own satisfaction. I would end up going into a dream like state during the act itself. Maybe I disconnected from reality completely and that’s why I continued to be intrigued.  I was introduced to porn by the age of 4 and yes, I can still remember the images I saw from those magazines. To me I saw beautiful strong  women who caused men to bow to their will. I saw art.  It didn’t click till later what I was actually seeing.

The sexual abuse did mess with my mind  in a way that is not like most.  I wasnt fearful or scared. It was more of an annoyance because it seemed inevitable that it would happen again and again simply because I was a girl. At the time I found comfort in the attention. I was always longing for a more meaningful connection which I would get a glimpse at but in the end I was left behind in a state of confusion.

Living with divorced parents caused a deeply rooted disconnect with how I perceived a loving relationship between the world and myself.

I was a hardcore people pleaser growing up. Which would later make it hard to say “no”  in my teen years.  In the times I wanted  the sexual advances I found that I wouldn’t allow myself to say “yes” or “no” aloud. It was easier to give myself for their pleasure in the time they wanted. In that decision, I would find myself safely in that welcomed trance where nothing could touch me and in that place I found comfort. This may have been a safe place for my mind, but it did nothing for helping me with healthy sexual thoughts.

I seem to split into two. I separated my mind from my body. Two completely different entities shut off from one another.  One was that of a complete restful sleep and relaxation knowing it would be over soon. The other was watching from above seeing the complete unworldly joy in the one getting pleasure from my body.  As for me, the pleasure I felt was not physical but mental.  The curious thoughts that would go through my head were more like a scientist watching an experiment or an artist creating a masterpiece. In those moments I didn’t see shame I saw pleasure, but why wouldn’t I allow myself to get lost in the physical pleasure as well?.   Was there really something wrong with how my mind understood how sex was suppose to be perceived.
we

Why was it me that was seeing sex so differently from those who were suppose teach me and help me to grow into being a healthy adult.

And why did it bring so much shame to the world around me? Why did my body clam up whenever the subject came up yet wish I could somehow communicate the truth going on inside me. Which was I liked sex, but maybe I saw through their eyes and not my own.

Why didn’t anyone want to tell me the truth about this hidden God-given truth!

That Sex is Good.

Love your sexuality

I guess I wanted to write this to show myself  I am not ashamed of sex, but that I still have questions on why no one wants to share their sexual stories of real life. Where is the safe haven to teach that sex is okay to think about and that shame and guilt need not be present to accept ones own sexuality.

I, like everyone who has a pulse, some way or another enjoys the feelings of being aroused, in their own way.  It has the ability to lift our spirits and clear our minds.  A scientific fact, yet not many want to tackle this subject.

I’ll just leave this here. 😉

 

 

 

 

 

 

Visions of You

Visions of you

Artwork by: Sweetly Fierce Soul

Sharp deep pain

High bright noise

I see you swiftly moving like the wind

The vision of you in sight

Everything slows down

Down so deep within 

Shaking the ground beneath

Such intense fluidity

Perfect pitch

You bring

At peace you bring my soul

A whisper is heard

A heart grateful

The dawn ahead

Noises return until I rest my head

 

 

A Glimpse

A Glimpse

Artwork by: Sweetly Fierce Soul

 Hurt, deep scars and dried blood burns the core of my being.

Rips me open, yet still I walk on through all that is umknown and unseen.

A glimpse of freedom.

A glimmer of air.

A feeling of unfamiliar wind.

Light bounces off my toes as I dance.

Circles I turn, forgetting my worries.

Clouds rumble above.

Raining tears.

Flooding from pasts I see.

Soon my dancing becomes heavy.

 Floating no more.

Pushing through the memories.

Yanking out my souls pain.

 Releasing myself from scars.

Being who I was meant to be.

Free of shame for what used to be.

Again I dance once more.