Full Moon

    The Full Moon. Bright beyond belief. I stand on my back porch as She beams down upon me, her silver light dappled through my majestic Willow. The starkness of light and shadow, clear enough to see my world around me. The only sounds are a distant dog yelling at the night, and a nocturnal bird creaking a rhythm from a nearby nest. I let the silver light bathe my face, upturned as if to the sun. There is no warmth, but the radiance warms my soul, nonetheless. I let my hopes, dreams, wishes soar into the heavens, flying on the moon beams as if lifted by a breeze. A glorious night.

Solar Powered

    I have come to the realization that I am solar powered. A potentially rough fate for a native born and raised Oregonian. Today the rain came. A dark day, rain coming in sheets. I ate a nice, pre-workout snack, then failed to find the motivation to put down the novel I am engrossed in, change from fleece robe to workout gear, and get in my usual Sunday morning two hour workout. Yes, it makes me feel a bit of a failure. The rain promotes snuggling in bed, under a warm blankie, with a steaming cup of coffee, and a good book. Which is exactly what I did for an hour or so.
    Normally, I would have managed to pull a workout from deep inside, but today I had to brave the elements and head west to my Grandparents' property. I have written about it often enough this year, I have spent a lot of time and energy out there. My Grandparents are gone now, Grandpa died two years ago, Grandma left us last December. This left their home, dubbed The Art Farm, in the hands of the family to get cleared up, tidied, and ready for the real estate market. This weekend was an art sale. The selling of some of the vast collection of art assembled over the decades, as well as my Grandma's massive inventory of paintings. Pearl Wright, my beautiful grandma, was a prolific painter. Her work is bold, graphic, and coveted. The number of paintings she left behind is staggering. I have no idea how many hundreds are out in the world, in private collections, but in her own home, in the upstairs that was her gallery and studio, there are hundreds more. Canvases of all sizes, including some that are taller than I am. She is a driving force behind who I am, and where my inspiration for many things comes from.

 
    Driving through the downpour, heading to her home for what is likely one of the last times, I felt my need for sun all the more. Although, in reality, the granite sky with its weeping clouds was much more fitting for my frame of mind. I haven't quite come to terms with the idea that The Art Farm will not be ours much longer. It has been such a cornerstone of my life. I can't remember a time when we didn't have access to the steep, forested terrain dotted with small artist studios like small moons around the big house that was the center of that universe. I inch towards the edge of knowing, realizing that it will be gone soon. But my throat tightens and my eyes burn just enough to make me back away from that abyss. It is not a place I want to visit as we head into winter rain. I want to revisit the heat of summer. Those torrid, humid days that I spent hauling load after load of brick, concrete block, and lumber. The hazy days of foraging and salvaging out a place from my childhood. I want the sun. I want The Art Farm. I want my Grandma. Instead, I have the rain, and beautiful paintings, and materials to build my own art studio. The Fort has been my homage to Grandma. But I still want the sun.

Dreams

     As the days shorten, and cold grey days are on the horizon, I do everything I can to shore up my faltering spirit. It is that time of year when all I want to do is eat copious amounts of carbs, drink vast amounts of tea, crawl under my down comforter with a book and shut out the world. In other words; it is time to hibernate. I have learned that I am solar powered. Despite my need to avoid the sun for melanoma reasons, I crave the heat and the sun. As the days shorten and temperatures drop I cast about for any weapon I can use to battle off the inevitable winter melancholy that is always hovering nearby, waiting its chance to possess my soul.
    I blow the dust off of some of my motivational training books, and prowl the library for new ones. Currently on my night stand is "The Triathlete's Training Bible." I am prepping Body and Brain for winter training sessions that will sweat the melancholy right out of me. Barely into the book and I find; "What you believe, you can achieve." It feels fitting for the path my life has taken over the last few years.  I am not one to believe in the woo-woo concept of books like "The Secret" that preach visualization to obtain wealth and power. But I do know that if you have belief in yourself you can follow any path you choose. Too many people live miserable lives because they lack faith in their dreams, or fear failure if they chase after those dreams. I have been held back by fear. Sometimes I still am. It is not easy to face an uncertain future alone. It is frightening to choose to live on the razor's edge of poverty so that I can live my life without being shackled to someone else's idea of success.
    I have made a conscious decision to try and keep chasing after the vision of how I want my life to be. "Everything that is, or ever was, began as a dream." I can see so clearly in my mind's eye where I want my life to go, where I want to be, how I want to live my life. There is a clarity to my vision. There are also whispers of doubt. My demons sneaking in on the cool, autumn breeze. They know that winter is their season. I know that winter is their domain unless I fight to wrest control from them. I hold my dreams before me like a light to chase the shadows. This is going to be a rough winter, I have no doubt, but I believe in my dreams, and have to hope that they will sustain me.