I would do anything to take away just one wince of her pain. The great and understated sage, my grandma, said to me today: “Maybe it’s easier to doubt than to do.”
I feel her love and support in their purest form: a warm light, shinning upon me. Too often love, grudge, device, self-hate, resentment, these things muddle and befuddle the heart of mater. The vibratory transmition of love becomes mutated and self-serving like a fish hook in expression.
My dad, talking about me in front of me, asks my grandmother if if she needed to buy paint because she too was an aspiring artist. My grandma, so keen and powerful in the subtlest of ways, responds: “No, I want to buy paints to support the artist.”
The difference between being referred to as the aspiring artist verses the artist is galactic leap as far as how my emotions react. I love my grandma. I think we need each other now. She believes in me unconditionally. She doesn’t understand why I doubt myself. I see how she sees me and realize how far from confidence and self belief I’ve fallen, I’ve been knocked down, I’ve been to tired of fighting and let silence swallow me and accepted the fate of the knocks and falls. But I want to see myself as my grandma sees me again, and with her help, i Know i can.