F-U SPMS. F-U COVID. And F-U freezing cold.
“Ain’t no power in the verse gonna stop me.”

Has lost meaning these days.
Most of the time I don't know what day it is, nor the time.
It is of no consequence to me.
I eat when I am hungry, I sleep when I am tired, 
and I do things I love in between.
Sometimes I'll "do my duty" and tell the kids to do their homework
and they reply "but it's Saturday?", and I laugh.

I try very hard to focus on the positive, 
on what I still have, what I can still do, 
and what I've accomplished.
I carry with me memories, the good and the bad.
The lessons learnt give me strength as I embark on this new path. 
A path less travelled and meaningful in its own way . 
And I become much stronger the weaker I get.

The signs
The dates 
The numbers
The visions
The moments that made me hesitate 
The colors
The words I've heard myself say
the prophet, the Alchemist, the elements,
the desire to feel wind on my skin, to be weightless, the urge to fly,
The picture I picked up.
The woman at the top of the hill, seeing my reflection.
The call from the east, 

It all says,
Take a leap of faith

To paint
To hike
To walk
To read
To write
To try new foods
To take pictures
To carry equipment
To make my own path
Trees
Sky
Clouds
Sun
Light
Shades 
Colors
The earth under my feet
Fresh air in my lungs
Having water around my waist
Warmth on my chest
and sun on my face

If I can't BE one of the elements, 
then ... 
I will connect with them more
I will quench my thirst with water,
I will fill my lungs with air,
And I will feel the weight of the earth as I sink into it

I was wind
And I got bored
Up there, just changing speed and temperature 
Filling up with water, then letting go
I wanted more
So I came to earth.
To experience weight
To experience time
To yearn to be weightless
To want to roam again, freely
To loose my fear of flying,
and return to my roots

I am in the process of converting my art studio into a wheelchair accessible bedroom/art studio. My big art table is being converted into a big art desk. I’ve purchased electric blinds (since I can no longer reach the curtains). I’ve purchased an electric bed to help me rise (double bed, so I can have visitors ;). I’ve cleaned up the closet (was storage) so I can fit my clothes, my family painted the walls (the walls still had the color from when we moved in), Dean cut out space in my art supply shelves so I could push in a dresser. The space is coming along. It is a very weird process. I feel unable to cry because it’s a really nice space (for myself anyways), but I am also unable to smile because of the fear, the sorrow and the motive behind the change. I feel … lethargic.

My favorite part of the process has been going through my stuff (to organize) and finding objects I’ve collected throughout the years hoping to cover them with paint. New ideas have been popping into my head, and I feel an upsurge of creativity and desire inside me (something I had lost in the last couple years). I feel more awake and aware again.  It feels good to WANT to paint again.

Today is the anniversary of my fathers death…or rather the last time I ever saw him. He passed away from pancreatic cancer during the night of October 11th 1987. I was 11, he was 42.