Something with so much depth, something perceived to be taken with layers and and like onions peeled away as the donkey talks non stop so does the distractions of the world take away from yours.
Protect it, savior it and like frodo call value it to be your most precious possession.
If not for inspiration the motivation, the dedication would not continue to come through. If not for that heartbeat quickening, if not for that warm feeling flowing through your body and into your 3:30 am alarm how else would you achieve, succeed or even attempt to do that which, yes you guessed it inspires,
For inspiration is not only to fill your own cup but to fill those around you, let them beam and like the color yellow radiates the sun she also inspires for her hair shines as bright as her smile and she is pure in her spirit, it is not her actions, it is not her accomplishments. It is her ability to create the warmth in cold places, the ability for the warmth of her soul to reach others.
And so can ours, if we are who we are meant to be, if we are true to ourselves how can we not inspire to be more, to be whole, to be caramelized in a pan rather than peeled by what the world asks of us.
We are all called, we are all given fingers with prints so individualistic the ink of the pad at the police station identifies us, just as our Jesus does with every strand of hair on our head. How too can we inspire within our true and individual beings.
Inspiration is often misconceived and like the miscarriage grieved by the misunderstanding of her never arrival. She glows, her smile reflects in the sun, her teeth shimmer as she twirls and moves, dancing on ocean shores, how can you not be drawn to her?
The world's responsibilities fall off you as you near her, hands linked, the dance begins, your feet are lifted. But what of those left on the sand?
Backpacks, two straps, shoulders carry and the books strengthen your core as you twist and turn through the maze. Wheels turning, oxygen increasing and hamsters appearing. Did you really sign up for this race? Or was it an obligation?
Cries through the night replacing clanging of glasses, tears fall but are they yours?
Where did she go? Somehow the motivation isn’t as vibrant, her yellow sparkle replaced with weathered down champagne, pantone #f7e7ce. Flutes wrapped in old newspaper filling attics as the cupboard space was needed.
Inspiration, where did you go? Dull memories of a dance once had, the feeling of sand in between toes replaced with stilettos as your heels clank on the wooden floors of the office.
Responsibilities, dedication, or auto pilot?
Inspiration, she toys with you, a siren to your dreams, she drives you but the gear box is jammed, the clutch is worn and it's time to hoist yourself into another unfinished project.
She can tamper with you, hold your hands, look into your soul, see your dreams and play the strings as if they were attached to the street poles. Electrifying. Inspiration, but let her drive be only what shifts you.
Let her dreams allow you to sparkle once more.
