Shykia Bell

You are not alone. Though the essence of our words are eventually digested, we are almost inevitably misunderstood as individuals. Initially, it seems our words go into the vacuum of space, never to see the light of day. Many may say they support and comprehend us in the midst of our struggle, but we can’t help but notice the lingering distance during our darkest hour. While in the depths of our creativity, there is an unshakeable loneliness that grips our spirit. Sometimes it seems as though we are banished from the rest of the world when in fact we’re just ahead of the tide. Visionaries are often the first to arrive at the banquet of curiosity and innovation.

There’s a saying, “It’s lonely at the top.” The same can be said of those who pave a way to a new understanding, broader creativity and alternative possibilities. Sometimes, loneliness is a price that a pioneer must pay. Still, my fellow word warriors, stand strong. Know that although many will reject or simply ignore your message, there are people waiting and thirsting to receive your talent. Remember this during those days and nights of solitude, when your eyes are red-rimmed from weariness and/or tears. Yes, I understand that at times the journey may seem unfair and downright unbearable, but keep in mind that the preservation of your message will in part grant immortality to at least part of your character. Write for yourself, it will preserve the spirit of your story. Edit for your readers, so that they can understand your message. Most importantly, celebrate the fact that you are brave enough to venture into territory many others find too daunting to dare.

Growing up in the gray concrete jungle I was well-acquainted with the harshness of reality. The confines within the bullet-pierced windows became my fortress, reiterating the dangers of what was often an urban warzone. This bleak climate in some ways hindered my imagination until one day a splash of color streaked across the heavens, sparking my interest and creativity. The source was a knowledgeable gentleman on my TV screen. He, and a colorful butterfly, beckoned me to explore the world. They led me to realize that though my travel limitations were restricted on a physical level, mentally, there was no place I couldn’t go.

My sisters and I found our escape through books, something my mother greatly encouraged. Life as I knew it had broadened, allowing my imagination to flow freely. Before I knew it, I found myself floating jubilantly behind the butterfly, trying to keep up. As time progressed, I flew alongside it, then finally beyond it, coasting along the rainbow as I explored my literary abilities. The further I ventured into adolescence, the fewer trips I took as reality dominated my time. I was slowly but surely returning to the colorless world I once knew. The multi-hued bridge of my imagination seemed to fade as the undertow of circumstance pulled me down.

Entering the abyss of obligation, I lost myself in what others wanted. Imprisoned by a heartache  fortified by skewed perceptions, I desperately searched for a way to ease my pain. By now, I had already placed years of my life at the mercy of despair and refused to surrender a minute more. I dared to make my escape, not knowing what lie ahead. A few perilous wrong turns were made in the process and I nearly chose the wrong way out. Luckily, I made it out of the maze alive and met the man I’d later marry, a man who’d help me find my song and bring harmony back to my soul. Though I had broken free of my turbulent confinement, I sometimes relapsed into the mentality of the heartbroken prisoner I once was. My husband, Max, helped me to identify what was triggering these relapses and encouraged me to break free of yet another toxic environment. It was a difficult process, but I slowly but surely moved away from the things and people who were hindering my spirit.

No longer bound by obligation, I was elated, yet uncertain about the things to come. I found myself in a dark void as I considered the next step in my career, my future, my life. There was an eerie, yet peaceful calm as I was engulfed in silence. As my vision adjusted, I noticed billions of celestial miracles surrounding me. Each star represented a possibility, filling me with a hope I thought I had buried with my dreams long ago. But surely as the ship that was tearing through the diamond-encrusted black curtain, it was still there. I never could have imagined how much my life would be changed by the people who beamed me aboard. There I was, this lost stranger floating in space with the fragments of my discontent, about to be further changed by a group of people I had never met.

The noble golden-eyed stranger was among the individuals who reminded me of myself in some ways. In addition, through his adventures he taught me the power of perseverance and the importance of self-awareness and personal development. This led me to contemplate not only my core desires for my life, but the methods of how I’d achieve them. For the first time in years, I found myself connecting with my passion for writing again. It had become unfamiliar territory, but I was quickly getting reacquainted with not only my craft, but myself. Soon, my passion was burning so bright, the words began pouring out of me almost as quickly as they entered my mind. Through the port view of my clearing disposition I could see the brightening sky. As we landed I was met with my golden-eyed friend and a familiar looking explorer. Though the eyes of the latter were obscured, I immediately recognized him from my childhood years. He was the same man who had unleashed the colorful bridge of literacy through my television.

Leaving the vessel, my watery eyes were greeted with a spectacular display. Across the sky was the most vibrant rainbow I had ever seen. There was no end in sight and it represented limitless possibility. In the distance I could see the butterfly etched with the colors of my dream. It hadn’t died, but had transformed and traveled to another place and time. It soared into the sky and beckoned me to give chase once again. The vast new world before me had me intimidated at first, but with my newfound inspiration I decided to boldly go where I’ve never been. As I took flight, the colors of the rainbow streamed by as I gained speed. Soon, I’ll catch up to the butterfly and will go even higher, as I did when I was younger.

I credit Reading Rainbow, Star Trek: The Next Generation and my husband Max for connecting (and reconnecting) me with my passion for writing. I wrote the above story to illustrate the very real way in which the aforementioned, Brent Spiner and LeVar Burton inspired me to embrace and pursue that passion. I was initially apprehensive about posting it, but felt compelled to share the awesome way my life was deeply touched and how my hope was restored after a long period of darkness and confusion. Max, Brent, LeVar, if you’re reading this, thanks to each of you for awakening my spirit and for making such a huge difference in my life.

Time is a fickle creature, invisible by nature except for the mask of hours, minutes and seconds we place upon it. It is the musical tune of existence to which we all dance. It is our immortal ally, our cruel antagonist and neutral observer, measuring the peaks and troughs of our lives. This instance moves endlessly despite the many arrivals and departures that fill it. It propels us forward whether we’re ready or not. It is the one force we cannot cheat or evade. Despite how cruelly we treat each other, we are all nestled in the common bosom of time. Like us, it can be kind and sweet or bitterly ruthless and unforgiving. Time is an ever-morphing entity, the thread that weaves our actions into the fabric of history; a fabric in which future generations will wrap their hopes, dreams and expectations for the future. The quality of it depends on the decisions we make in the present, which is infinitely coiled around the vital strand that stretches far beyond our physical existence.

He snores, but I don’t mind. Its subtle melody accommodates the lullaby his heart is singing to me. Though my cheek is at home against his warm chest, I am unable to join him in slumber. I would love nothing more than to waltz with him in the cottony clouds of our joint reverie, but reality keeps me grounded. The indigo sky brightens as dawn approaches, reminding me that as the sun rises, so will he. The romance of many couples litter the unmarked graves of dutiful obligation. Ours will be no different. His departure would certainly cast me into perpetual night as I cling to memories of brighter days. Yet I know memories often dull as time elapses. They sometimes dissolve and mingle with the fragments of fantasy, leading one to wonder if they were ever real. I need for this moment to remain real. I need this moment to stretch into eternity.

As indigo fades to topaz, I see a sliver of fuchsia on the horizon. Since when did the sun ever rise so fast? The droning melody of my lover’s lullaby breaks as he begins to rouse. The morning is already beckoning him though the sun has yet to break the surface. It will rob me soon enough and I’ll be damned if it claims a few extra minutes. I eclipse the approaching light with my eyelids, cautiously tightening my embrace. As he stretches I can feel the sunrays blazing a trail across my face. The warmth is rivaled by the heat of the stealthy tears escaping my closed eyes. I catch the evidence of my despair before it falls upon his chest. If I am to be immortalized in his memory, I refuse to be etched in a state of weakness. Not if I can help it. A tender kiss on my crown and his sweet moan precedes the words I’ve dreaded for hours:

“Good morning. Time to wake up.”

I watch him pad into the bathroom and realize I’ll never be a morning person again. It’s ironic how the two phrases that dishearten me most both share the same prefix.

Good morning.

Goodbye.

For a moment, allow yourself to drift away; away from the hectic cacophony conducted by storytellers of doomsday propaganda. Drift away from the naysayers and doubters who seek to cage your hopeful ambition, and know that so as long as your heart beats, the plasma of possibility flows within your being.

There is abounding beauty beneath the concrete mask of negativity. The facade is heavy, but can be lifted with the power of your compassion and the openness of your mind. In doing so you’ll see that the mask is a shield of deception, designed to fool us into believing that there is no hope, no future, no love, no possibility of positive change. In truth, all these things exist in abundance, but have become a sort of hidden treasure buried beneath a sea of doubt.

Drift away from all that corrupts your inner voice, buried beneath the chaotic dictation of materialistic desire. Allow yourself to slowly touchdown, your feet once again planted firmly on the foundation of your soul. Remember what truly matters to you beyond any deadline, headline or inconvenience. Dive into the tranquil rivers of soothing self-exploration as you get reacquainted with your inner child. As you submerge and descend into the depths of uncertainty, don’t be surprised if your treasure is revealed. It may be challenging to seize, but upon your success you’ll find that it will help to propel you during your ascent. And as you break the watery surface, clutching your rewards, don’t be alarmed to find that you have been changed by the journey.

Take a moment to gaze into the celestial ceiling of your mind and see your dreams encrusted within it as plentiful as the stars. They were always there, but were obscured by hopelessness. Dare to capture one and bring it with you as you drift away once more, this time, back to the reality as you know it—as you knew it. For this time, with one of many dreams tucked carefully within your layered consciousness, you carry the possibility of its expansion. Keep it well and nurture it. And may it provide yet one more light desperately needed to illuminate a path so that others may be reunited with hope.

Best wishes in light and love,

Shykia

It blossomed from a bud, born through an unexpected series of events. That was our friendship. It was cultivated through years of mutual respect and support. Each year, the vibrant colors of affection lasted through the spring, defying the changing seasons of fall and harsh winter. Then one day the colors slowly began to fade, showing signs of faltering, yet remained resilient.  Try as I might to irrigate it with laughter and communication, the petals of our connection died and fell. Eventually, our once flowering camaraderie dried out to the root, withering into the dusty memories I now cling to. The reminiscence of what once was is a contrast to my current state of loneliness. Once touched by the wonderful gift of friendship, my heart now feels the curse of emptiness in the place you once occupied. I will miss you dearly. Yet, I know good things often end far too soon. But it was good while it lasted. It was good. It was…

Even before the smoke had cleared I was stolen from another, my name changed by my captors. They used my body for their own benefit with no care or concern for my well-being. I was violated as a means to demonstrate their power. Each day I cried out as a new part of me died, but they didn’t understand my language. Either that, or they simply tuned me out. Even so, I wasn’t alone in my suffering. There were others even more helpless than I, being used and abused based solely on their outer appearance, as was my previous caregivers. I caught the red blood that seeped from their bruised midnight flesh as my own wounds bled black. Yes, those were heartrending times and we cried together in our helpless fear, anguish and anger. Just when we thought we’d break, change rode in on the back of time as swiftly as the comets in the sky above. I could feel it shower all over me, affecting all who touched me while cleansing the scars that will never completely heal.

Many decades had passed since then and though my age began to reveal itself in the cracks of my skin, my spirit never lost its vibrant color. Today, my name remains tattooed upon it. You are among the descendents of my captors and the reluctant inheritors of their legacy. I am proud to say that you evolved, abandoning many of their faulty ways. You had grown to embrace those they had wronged, including me. You declared your love for me. You vowed to stand beside me and guide me. In my honor, you vowed to live in accordance to a set of principles in which human values would be upheld after the decades of turmoil I witnessed firsthand. Yet, ignorance still lurks beneath the surface of many, creating violent lemmings that continue to plague me to this very day. Don’t you see? Your success is my success; your failure is my failure. I fear you have begun to relapse. Through your angry blindness and hatred, can you see me? How can you when you don’t see eye-to-eye with your brothers, sisters and neighbors? Open your eyes and witness the return of my deterioration. Do you see me? Do you remember my name? Do you remember what it means? Do you remember who I am? I am America!

Each grain of sand in the hourglass counts as a blessing.
Every fork in the winding path of life is a gift of choice.
Yesterday is a finished chapter to be used to learn from past mistakes,
Tomorrow is another opportunity to get it right.
Today is a day to be grateful, for of the three days mentioned, it is the only one in which you can control the direction of your life’s journey.

And like the transition of the autumn leaves, tomorrow will blossom into today as today fades into yesterday. It is the perpetual cycle that carries us forward while presenting a fusion of contrasts that shape us into who we are. The obvious sometimes gets lost in the chaotic happenings of the everyday, yet, that doesn’t change the fact that there is much to be happy and grateful for; the gentle caress of the air that incites the trees to a languid sway, the surreal beautiful colors of the sun painting the sky at sunrise and sunset, the sound of your favorite song soothing your soul, a friendly hello from a long-lost friend, the warm comfort of family, the look in your lover’s eyes as they declare their undying affection, the infectious laughter of a child when they laugh at your jokes…

Yes, there is abundant wonder and possibility that reveals itself in the simple things when we look past our pursuit of perfection. Something so great can only be overshadowed if we fail to declare its existence.