Cristen Rodgers's Blog, page 11

Get Up

There are many things I’ve learned over the past couple of years, some big and some small – but one of the more precious little gems that I’ve picked up is that life moves on whether you’re ready to or not; and that you might as well just move on with it because, if you take too much time, you’re going to be running to catch up.

So when things don’t turn out the way you planned, when you make mistakes, stumble, or even fall flat on your face, you have to get up.

You have to find whatever little bit of fire you still have inside – and, yes, it’s always there, even if it all seems like smoldering ashes – and you have to find ways to magnify it until you can start to see your way out.

You have to get up.

And if you do, eventually you’ll get to a point where you realize that plans are just that. They’re just plans. They’re figments of an imagination. They’re illusory constructs built on the flimsy foundations of time and expectation.

If you do, eventually you’ll find that it’s not your mistakes, or even your successes, that define you. It’s the space between.

It’s what you do with them, how you dance in the rain, how you see in the darkness. It’s how you weather the storm. It’s whether you sing your gratefulness or beg for more; it’s whether you share the treasures you collect along the way or hoard them for fear of another fall.

So get up get up.

Get up – because if you don’t, if you wait, if you linger in the past, cling to a plan best left on the wayside, then that space in between is lost.

Get up, because life moves on whether you’re ready to or not.

© 2019 Cristen

A Kind of Healing Magic

Kindness, too, can be a kind of healing magic. Kindness too can break through barriers, dismantle weapons, tear down walls.

Sometimes a sincere encouragement or altruistic favor can bring far deeper and wider spread awareness than even the most well-intentioned criticism or authentic observation.

Sometimes a small act of kindness can transform the darkness that went overlooked in the midst of someone’s bravest battles.

You never know when your extended hand, whether they take it or not, is just enough to coax someone back down off the ledge.

You never know when your simple smile, whether acknowledged or not, is enough to splinter someone’s stormclouds with a single, shining ray of hope.

Sometimes it’s the little things that make the biggest difference. Sometimes it’s the softest things that alone can penetrate the hardest armour. Sometimes it’s the overlooked things that bring the most clarity of sight.

Sometimes kindness, too, can be the messenger of change, the breaker of bindings, the warrior of light.

Kindness, too, can be a kind of healing magic.

© 2019 Cristen

I Hope You Live

I hope you live – in all the ways that only you can. I hope you brave climbing the greatest heights and that you have the courage to take the deep dives. I hope you build your dreams, break the limits, and I hope you make some good friends along the way.

I hope when you see fear, you laugh in its face. I hope you take the mic – and you sing and dance the night away. I hope you give it a chance and take the stage. I hope you risk questioning something old and trying something new. And when you’re tempted to bury your head in the sand, I hope you lift your eyes anyway.

I hope you feel it – every triumph and pitfall, every step and stumble you take. I hope you stay open and honest, present and real. When you can’t understand it, I hope you open up and sense it. When you can’t see it, I hope you reach out and touch it. I hope you let your heart out and the world in, and when it hurts, I hope you use that to grow stronger rather than simply shying away.

I hope you stay true. True to yourself, true to your friends, true to your purpose, your dreams, and your plans. I hope you shred comfortable lies and unveil hidden truths; and that you press on when the way is unclear. I hope you surrender your hold, but never at the expense of your authenticity.

I hope you take the time. The time to listen. The time to be. The time to relax. The time to breathe. I hope you remember that clocks are but gadgets and thoughts but clouds in your eternal skies. I hope you are conscious enough to choose between living life in a flash or forever in a day.

I hope you see. See the whole in its parts as well as the many threads in the weave. I hope you see the moon when you step out at night and you stop to admire her light. I hope you see the sharp edges of green leaves in the summer and notice the raindrops as they bead on the eaves. I hope you see the souls behind the many eyes you’ll behold; and I hope you see the hearts beating behind acts of fear. I hope you see the harsh truths that hide behind sensuous lies, and that you spot the beauty that hides right in plain sight.

I hope you live in whatever way is right for you and that you do it with courage and mindfully.

Most of all, I hope you love. I hope you love openly and with all your might. I hope you unclench your heart and look her right in the eye. I hope you love in the ways unique to yourself, that only you can find. I hope you throw open the windows and let in the light.

I hope you love without boundaries, expectations or hold. I hope your love runs both deep and wide. I hope you love your family and friends, your journey and life. And most importantly, I hope you remember to love yourself.

© 2019 Cristen

Image by Alex Kormann

Don’t You Know?

Don’t you know by now that every love poem is about you? Do you not yet see that every song, every hastily scribbled line, every passionate rendition is for you as much as it’s for anyone? Love isn’t a one-on-one thing, something that can be kept between one giver and one receiver – because in love there is no ‘other’. There is just love and the expression of love. So go ahead and receive it as if it were meant for you. Read every poem as if you were the writer’s most precious muse, and listen to every song as if it were written with the image of you in mind, with the sound of your voice inspiring its tune, with the warmth of your heart fueling the fervent soul expressions that became that inspired art. Do you see now, beloved, that they are all for you? Accept them. Gather them up like precious little jewels and disperse them in your own fashion everywhere you go – for you are the world and the world is an expression of love. Be at one with it and you will know riches beyond your wildest dreams.

~Cristen Writes

Where Love Ends

It isnt enough, they say. It isnt enough to live on love. It isn’t enough to feast on wonder and build with dreams. It isn’t enough to move with your soul and breathe with your heart – but we know it’s not merely enough. It’s the source of everything.

It won’t work, they say. You can’t heal with wishes and hang the world on a hope. You can’t dream something into reality – but we know we already are.

It’s not smart, they say. This kind of vulnerability. This kind of rawness, wildness, idealism, creativity. But we know that we can think with more than our heads and feel with more than our hearts.

Its dangerous they say – to break open hearts, tear down walls, and rip the veil – but we know its only dangerous in the way light is to shadows or the truth to a lie.

It’s not our right, they say. To take our lives into our own hands, to set one another free, to tap into the everlasting well. But we know it’s not just our right; it’s who we are.

That’s where love ends, they say. It ends with work, and bills, and politics, and wars; it ends when reality sets in – but we know that love doesn’t end at reality. Love is where reality begins.

© 2019 Cristen

Get Out of the Game

Some people will still try to play you every so often, knowing exactly which chord to strum to make you feel as if you owe them your time, your attention, your favor, your surrender, your pain. Some people see weakness in your compassion and care; and they’ll try to extort them in an attempt to pull you back into their game.

To all of you with great big hearts that have well-oiled swinging doors, and to all of you with seas of compassion so deep that they overflow from your eyes; remember that love isn’t always blooming flowers and birdsongs.

Sometimes love is the thunderstorm that washes their lies away. Sometimes love is the sharp teeth that protect the pups. Sometimes love is the salt that keeps the devious at bay.

Remember that your love is not a weakness but a strength. And remember to love yourself first, when they pull those heartstrings and bring your songs of compassion to life. Remember that you too deserve to be respected, protected, and treated with care.

Remember that loving someone does not mean that you have to welcome them into your den; and forgiveness doesn’t mean giving them opportunity to pull you back into their games.

© 2019 Cristen

We Love

We love in little ways that are bigger than they seem. We love by offering smiles when we’re crying inside. We love by lifting others when we feel torn down.

We love by holding – holding doors, holding hands, holding hope, holding on. We love by letting go – our fears, our regrets, expectations, definitions, and hold.

We love with sweat. We love by building houses and working common jobs. With trades and hobbies, we love. We love by fixing cars and planting trees, carrying groceries, building fences, and tearing down walls.

We love with passion. We love with kisses, both gentle and consuming. We love in soft surrender beneath clean white sheets, and in the heat of the night with earnestness and force. We love through thrusts, moans and groans, through sighs and giggles, through caress and embrace. We love tenderly and we love fiercely, we love in silence and we love with roars.

We love with our hands. We love by cooking meals and holding jackets. We love by planting seeds. We love by tending soil and pouring water. We love by providing light. By checking seatbelts and carrying snacks, by opening our arms, our homes, our lives; we love.

We love softly. We love with cradles, rocks, and hums. And we love wildly. We love with the loyalty of the wolves, the sprightliness of the birds, the fierce protectiveness of the bear. We love with howls and shrieks, and we love with gentle nudges and tight hugs. We love in daylight, with laughs and play. We love in the dead of night, with claws and teeth.

We love with self-care. We love by keeping our own pitchers full enough to water new sprouts. We love by taking deep breaths and deep dives, short breaks and long sighs. We love with the foods we eat, with the ways we move, and the hours we sleep. We love others by loving ourselves.

We love with art. We love in color and we love with sound. We love with our imaginations as much as our hearts. In dance, with notes and with words, on marble and clay, paper and air; we love. We love by shaping the world, by creating the new, by shaping and creating and expressing ourselves.

We love with our souls, with our hearts, and with our minds. We love with compassion. We love with patience, with honesty, with forgiveness, presence, and care – for one another and for ourselves.

We love by losing ourselves and we love by finding ourselves. We love by serving and by being served. We love by seeking and we love by teaching. We love by healing and by being healed. We love by giving, and in receiving we love.

We love through little offerings of kindness, and through great acts of courage and faith. With fierceness and with calm, all at once and a single step at a time, we love. We love in ways unique to ourselves and through means universally understood. It matters not how we love; nor whom or where. What matters is that we love.

© 2019 Cristen

There Came a Time

There came a time when I needed a mother, when that’s what I wanted most and yet I couldn’t have.

There came a time when I needed comfort and care, so I started by admitting that I felt abandoned. There came a time when I needed support, so I started by confessing that I felt so very alone. There came a time when I needed to be shaken awake, so I began by asking why I always ran away.

There came a time when I needed nurturing, so I learned to take my inner child by the hand and sing my self-doubt to sleep. There came a time when I needed refining, so I allowed myself to break and then carefully cradled the bruised parts of my soul.

There came a time when I needed a mother, so that’s what I became.

There came a time when I needed true compassion, when I found myself looking out at a world that seemed too cold.

There came a time when I felt misunderstood, so I started by admitting that I’d blocked others out. There came a time when I was harshly judged, so I began by confessing that I was a critic myself.

There came a time when I needed someone to see me for who I really was, so I started by trying to see the world that way. There came a time when I needed forgiveness, so I started by forgiving myself. There came a time when I needed love, so I started accepting my imperfections and fell in love with my darkest parts.

There came a time when I needed true compassion, so that’s what I became.

There came a time when I needed a teacher that I could trust, when I felt misled by those whom I had entrusted the lead.

There came a time when I needed insight, so I started by taking a good look at myself. There came a time when I needed direction, so I began by admitting I wasn’t sure where to start.

There came a time when I needed a higher perspective, so I started by looking up from the pages of my books. There came a time when I didn’t know who to trust, so I began by learning to follow the song of my soul.

There came a time when I needed a teacher, so that’s what I became.

There came a time when I needed healing, when I needed love, when I needed truth, when I needed life, when I needed clarity, when I needed light, so that’s what I became.

There came a time when I needed myself so, at long last, that’s what I became.

© 2019 Cristen Rodgers

Image by Baylee Jo Teeter

This is Yours

All this beauty is yours. All of these stars shine and all of these flowers bloom for you. The misty mountains were carved out with your pleasure in mind, and the sparkles of afternoon sun on the water are to favor your eyes. The peacocks blazon, the wolves howl, and skies blush for you; and the ways of the dancing dragonfly, the ringing bluebells, the swooning lovebirds, and the giggling springs are your ways as well.

All of this freedom, this creativity, this joy, is yours. It’s your own reflection on display in these brightly colored wings. It is of your inimitable beauty that the songbirds sing. You too carry every season within you, just like the leaves of trees transforming through the spring, summer, and fall; and like the flowers whose seeds are wrapped in elaborate gowns of wine and coral, saffron, violet, and plum, you too hold the very power of creation within you.

All of this strength is yours. You are both the deep-rootedness of the trees and the power of the storm. You are the hardness of the clay and the water that softens it. The very earth you walk upon reflects your grounded strength, as the sword does the unending power, sharpness, and balance of your truth.

All this love is yours. The waters caressing the lonely shores and the leaves kissing the morning dew are but reflections of the light that glimmers from your very own eyes. The sun shining down upon hot summer sands, and the fires that burn to hold the cold nights at bay are remnants of the same spark that warms the center of your chest.

All of this – your fingers carving notes and my heart bleeding ink, the frogs singing hymns, the gardenias romancing the air, and the stars adorning the night – it is all remnants of the same explosion, castles built of the same sand, prisms of the same light.

All of this is yours; and all of this is love. Remember this. Remember your beauty and remember your strength. Call upon your creativity. Unleash your joy. Remember that you are love. Remember that all this is yours; remember that all of this is you.

© 2019 Cristen Rodgers

The Tempest

A roll of thunder explodes from inside of her chest as the tempest stirs, awakens, and begins to rise. With the impending threat of a storm, a curtain of velvet drops over the world and, one by one, heavy drops drip from her slowly darkening eyes.

At first heavy and hot, then cold and sharp, the rain falls in sheets of fury, blurring and distorting everything behind an impenetrable yet iridescent veil – things aren’t meant to be seen but felt in the midst of such a storm.

The birds have long since flown for cover, knowing that even the trees will surrender to the force of these gusts. All things delicate – the flowers, the optimisms, the dreams, and the bright yellow tendrils of new little sprouts – seek shelter under the timidest hope, as the clouds gather, darken, and drop lower overhead; while all things green – the mosses, the leaves, her heart, her eyes – seem to grow even more vibrant, pulling from their garner of strength in this fight for their lives.

Although it brought a melee of emotion that forced fragile hopes to admit their naivete, and left ancient boughs broken and seedlings destroyed, this storm wasn’t born of malice and it held no ill intent. It, like any storm, was a natural phase and a necessary release – nothing more nor less.

Even still, it was only after the last drop had formed from the mists and every existential sigh had been spent that it naturally began to subside. Slowly, without angst or intent, it grew weary of itself and let go its choke hold on life, leaving nothing but the truth of what’s always been in its place.

It was then that there was a great exhale – a breeze that held both resignation and relief – followed by the hush, the vacuum that follows a disturbance finished consuming its own essence.

An expectant pause seemed to wrap around her like a bubble – at first broken open only by a single bird, letting loose one clipped chirp, as if cautiously testing the air to see if a song might be welcome once again. Then, like an exclamation point at the end of his outburst, a cricket sang and a squirrel jumped clumsily atop a rattling branch. In a celebratory instant, there was a rising tide of sound as her inner world, at first slowly and then vociferously, came out of hiding and jumped back into creative play.

In the ironic roar of peace once again restored, she dared to open her eyes. With them she saw her hope restored, for them she took one step up the hill, and from them bloomed the colors of spring.

© 2019 Cristen Rodgers