Okay now again, try it again. I dropped my brush upon the canvas. Waiting with great anticipation, and again nothing. Black and white bled from the brush, and even onto the paper dripping to the floor. There was no color that came from my brush at all. I saw the example of this most colorful illustration, and I clearly understood the instructions. What the heck…where were the colors I see in me. I was beginning to feel I had something truly wrong with me as I looked down, and even my art apron was soaked with the paint that spilled. There was not an ounce of color at all. I wreaked of darknesses call
I was beyond confused, and frustration was now holding tight the paint brush. I will prove to you all I am capable of making something just like that piece that hangs with life’s ambition. I will prove all of you wrong about me. I will scream every color of the rainbow. Didn’t I have favor in anyones eyes that I could indeed make a prize winning art like what was on display. What had become of the color that once resided in me? I was filled to the brim, and it came out of the creases in my smile. I was once so playful, and hope was the fragrance I wore. I must be holding the brush wrong, maybe I was not the artist I was thought to be. Maybe there was no color inside of me was now my reality. Not even a tinge of color at all. What a sad colorless life I was living, was I dead
I put the paints down in search of my color, I wanted back what was once so freely given to me. My canvas was as dark as coal, and I felt death was knocking on my door. As I was rummaging through to find the answer I was throwing empty booze bottles over my right and left shoulders. Bottle after bottle a collection that when I looked slightly over my right shoulder made me shudder. All of that I had consumed. Doomed! It was no wonder I saw no hope, all that hope drowned the day I I wet my soul with the lies of that damn bottle. I nursed it until no end. With each sip…green gone. Drink some more you alcoholic horror. Took the purple too. Who knew?
I now know everyone did except for me, putting down the bottle in complete surrender was the only way I had even a chance of color coming back to me. I had the desperation of a dying woman, and I was ready to take the steps necessary so one day sometimes quickly sometimes slowly I could paint something as spirited with colors vast as the painting my instructor asked me to make so many a year ago
Sometime has passed since I have picked up the brush, and I was working so hard on one day at time letting go and letting God. I was finding this solution to live free of the bottle that once encumbered me. I was now living, and loving this whole new way of life I found with a my God, and simple yet hard 12 step program. I could see this progress of self, and this life that once felt like deadly venom took over was now do I dare say being filled with hope. Yes that is what I will share. That was my story of experience, strength, and hope. The colors I see coming back into me, I don’t look the same. I don’t look like I did the first day I walked in the rooms. Nor do I look like my mug shot. I am coming back around to solid ground, I think I am ready with the strength I find with my God to paint again. I believe from the depths of my soul that my painting now will not lack a single color. It will be a magnificent masterpiece of my father’s hand, and the transformation from death to life. Hope will drip off the table, and all over my art apron. Jesus indeed take my very broken wings, colorless and lifeless. He gave me flight of color that would blind the blind. Look at me now, look at me then. My canvas is still being made, and I think it will never be finished. Just as when I wake His mercies are new every morning. Hope is a huge part of His story! Hope is my new mission, and this story does not have “the end” as long as I keep my spiritual house clean I can continue to glean hope
http://amanpan.blog/2022/08/30/moonwashed-weekly-challenge-vivacious-august-30-2022/
Weirds Are Word 