The Mirror's Role

Concrete Memories

Dear little one, I see you laying here again today. Another day passes by and of course I’m here to stay. We’ve been through it all, more than anyone would know. I’ve seen your smiles, your cries and the tears in yourself you tried so hard to sew. Yes, I’ve seen it all, whether messy or pretty. All of it. You’re adorable, little one, you must know you truly are even with all the wrappers from chocolates and candy bars. I’ve been here since the moment you were taken to me. From then on our relationship has never ceased and even in the silence of the night, you’ve never been truly alone. I wished every time little one, oh so desperately wished to wipe your tears and give you a little kiss. I’m always here and here I’ll of course always stay yet, sometimes I worry. I’ll surely miss you when you need to go away. I start to wonder at times if you’ll miss me like I’ll miss you, then I remember your glistening eyes and the warmth of your lingering touch. You reached out and for the first time, our hands pressed together like a light embrace. You smiled at me, oh so tenderly little one, so gently sweetheart, I almost missed the firm promise you tucked into the folds of my concrete heart. “Thank you, for being my home” those simple words. Six simple words in that soft tone of yours, little one. I knew that those words came from your heart that shone, resonated from the memories we hold together. Missing you, indeed I’ll miss you more than I’ll ever be able to say but my heart, my love, my safety raised you to fly away. With the bright lavender of my skin, I’ll always keep your lofty words here safely, waiting. Waiting. Waiting patiently for your return, I know I’ll see that lovely smile of yours again someday. After all, home was never truly this whole house but the space we created within my four walls. ~Elunara W.

—Letter to my inner child from the perspective of my childhood bedroom~

The Wisps of Life

We sat, it was both of us alone in there. I asked, “Do you regret it, do you regret any of it at all?” She stared at me with an almost unreadable smile As if—as if I already knew the answers to that. As if we both knew the answer to that question.

“Not really,” she laughed with this carefree spirit. Head tilted back with uncontained mirth and all. I wondered briefly if the shadows of life had ever truly graced her, Or had the upturns of her lips tasted the weight of the world exponentially. Perhaps one too many times—one too many.

Our eyes locked and for a split second, I saw it. The intricately woven tapestry of life—threads of gold beyond the void. Clumsy fingers red and sore from the unexpected thorns and pricks. I understood it all. I smiled in return, of course she had, I’d know that more than anyone, wouldn’t I?

“Do you regret any of it at all?” there’s a knowing glint in her kind eyes. Brief memories of cold eyes, wet pillows, sleepless nights, homesickness. Suffocating silence, tearful letters, words—so many words left unsaid. Tremors of an empty stomach, deepening shadows, the complete isolation. That dreadful feeling of being too different, the unforeseen weight of generations prior.

Yet—I’ve always known something else. Something more, something warmer.

There’s a faint but steady pulse against where my hand lays on my chest. Tearful laughter, wind in my hair, dirt under my feet, chirping of birds every dawn, Clammy hands in mine, a comforting shoulder, broken facades, the gentle whisper of weary but hopeful hearts connecting, the glimmers of hope—gold amongst the dark. I breathed in, then out and suddenly as our eyes met again, I knew. I was alive.

Reaching out, cold meeting warm, our palms connected for a moment in time, “No, not really,” I echoed with a giggle, pulling away a second later. I got up, facing away, sore hands reaching out towards the cold doorknob now. As the cold surface thawed against the heat of my palms, I took one glance back. A foggy handprint, the only remnant of our brief moment shared together. ~Elunara W.

Reclaiming Impulsiveness

I, at times, gave impulsiveness a bad reputation. I've realized that on a subconscious level, I have a part of me that was convinced or encouraged to view impulsiveness as something "inherently bad or negative" and I want to reform that thought process because if we really think about it…IM PULSE…what is a pulse? A single vibration or short burst of sound, electric current, light, or other wave…impulse is really just acting from a feeling space. Sometimes consequences or reactions to a short moment of impulse could result in more heavier outcomes or even lighter outcomes. Impulsiveness isn't inherently a bad thing, it just means a person acts from the intense desire to express this 'short burst of light' from within…and that spark can either light a candle to cast a warm glow…or light a match and watch it fall to gasoline. Impulsiveness is not bad, it is how we choose to express or carry forward this short…yet precious moment of light within us.

The Embrace of Light and Dark

"We use the darkness to justify our fears of the unknown and unfamiliar~ Although the fears are valid, and indeed can become true they are only illusions at the present and we shouldn't allow that to stop us. There is light in darkness; a comfort and there is darkness in light; discomfort." ~Elunara W.

"Perceiving another's existence wholly is already the most profound act of love we beings can give to another" ~Elunara W.

I think we're always surrounded by love and it is a true gift; the act of noticing. The gift of perceiving not only oneself but others as well. That beautiful leaf. That adorable insect crawling by. The soothing sounds of wind chimes playing their tune gleefully. The comforting sound of footsteps in the other room. The mystical faces or animals we find in the clouds. How the flowers or leaves twirl from branches in celebration; their own unique greeting. It's all love. And what better way to return that love than simply acknowledging them too. Who else would stop and smile fondly in admiration at...say....that one feather on the floor? Or perhaps who would take the time to notice the rainbows that dance across a surface after light refracts from that one glass? Who knows....but maybe you notice them and that in itself is one of the greatest exchange of love.

'The Record Keepers' | 26/03/25

Weekly Artsy Post inspired by the wise spirit of dragonflies~ ~whimsicweaver

2007-07-29

The Magic, the Wand and the Wielder

What if we have been the magicians of our own lives all along~? Think about it. When a magician performs magic, a wave of a hand or wand seems to make something appear from seemingly "nowhere". We all have this ability within us. We conjure up all these ideas, thoughts, concepts from this astral space and are able to ground these ideas from the ethers to the 3D. That's our magic. We perform this magic act in many ways whether we choose to compose a song, write a story, design or craft something...we are the magic. Our vessel and talents are the magic wand through which we channel and carry out these spells. The action oriented vehicle for that magic. And overall...? We are the wielders of our personal magic, we get to decide how we wield our power. We are limitless; we have access to infinite potential within the very calluses of our hands or the abstract space of our minds. I think that's personally very inspiring...you are the magician of your life...a creator.

~Elunara W.

Grief is the love we no longer know where to place. It is proof that something mattered, that something touched you so deeply it still lingers even in its absence. And that’s the cruel beauty of it: grief only exists where love once did.

Somewhere between the weight of what’s been, the exhaustion of what is, and the fear of what might come next, remind yourself that you have survived every version of yourself before this one; and will survive this too.