Purpose

I’ve always felt like I was here to do more.
Have a greater purpose.
When life changes,
I think here it is,
This is my purpose.
But as time passes,
It becomes stale again,
I become restless.
I find myself unhappy again
and wanting to move on.
Why is nothing good enough?
Is it me?
Or am I not on the right path.
And this is my body’s way of telling me.
How do I find my path?

– C.A. Sullivan

The City at Christmastime

The passenger train pulled up to the station. Madeline stood with her parents in awe of the majestic beast that approached. Smoke trailing in the chill winter air, train whistle sounding as it came to a halt. The conductor stepped off and said “All aboard!” Madeline was so excited! Her parents were taking her to New York City for the very first time.

They stepped onto the train and took their seats as it pulled away from the station. Madeline sat and watched out the window as they passed houses, trees and towns. Some towns they even stopped in to pick up other passengers. It wasn’t long before the conductor announced the next stop, New York, Penn Station.

Once they arrived in the city they took the stairs out of the train station and up to the busy street. Loud car horns, taxis waiting in line to pick up passengers, smells of both delicious food and dirty streets hit Madeline’s scenes as she emerged from below the city.

Madeline’s parents were taking her to the Winter Village at Bryant Park. Rather than take a taxi, they decided to walk from Penn Station on 34th Street to 6th Avenue, up to Bryant Park. Along the way people walked briskly, stopping and going, not all following the pedestrian street lights. Some bumping into Madeline and her parents as she held her mother’s hand tightly. Buildings lined every street and towered over the people below. Car horns sounded, people yelling, police whistles blowing. There was excitement all around.

As they walked up 6th Avenue, Madeline could see the winter village in the distance. Getting closer and closer, she could make out the green merchant booths and see people shopping all around. Stepping into the village was like stepping into another world full of wonder and amazement. This one, more protected than the city streets and full of cheerful music and laughter. Booths lined the walkways, each with hand crafted gifts waiting to be admired, purchased, gift wrapped and opened with excitement on Christmas day. They walked through each booth, exploring what each merchant had to offer. Jewelry, macaroons, scarves, metal sculptures and more. Stopping at few to purchase wonderful gifts for family and friends.

Then, as they rounded the bend, an ice skating rink caught Madeline’s eye! What fun it looked like! The skaters bundled in their winter hats and gloves, skating round the rink as holiday music played in the background. Madeline wanted a try. She laced up her skates and hit the ice. The crisp winter air hitting her face and blowing her hair as she circled the rink, around and around she went. What freedom is was, to glide over the ice. Madeline imagined skating must feel like flying…right skate, left skate, pushing off the ground with such ease as if it wasn’t even there.

It was getting dark now. The white lights that were strung from booth to booth, connecting each to one another, began to illuminate. And the towering building lights from above, lit up the night sky. Madeline’s parents waved her off the ice. They were waiting on the sidelines with her favorite, hot chocolate. She took a sip. It tasted chocolatey rich, creamy smooth and had a hint of cinnamon. It warmed her to her heart.

Now that her parents Christmas shopping was done and Madeline got to ice skate for quite some time, it was time go home. They made their way through the busy city streets and back to Penn Station. Madeline feel asleep on the train ride home, dreaming of day’s magical adventure. She’d never forget the city at Christmastime and all it’s wonder. As a matter of fact, her parents made it a tradition to visit the city in all the years that followed.

– C.A. Sullivan

Disconnected

I feel so disconnected
The days where I felt intertwined
With the universe and all it’s inhabitants
That magic surging through me
And out my fingertips
Into everything I touch
Has passed
That energy that makes me feel so alive
Is dead
It never seems to last for long when it comes
I beg it to stay but it slowly slips away
Into the night leaving just as quietly as is came

– C.A. Sullivan

The Grind

I constantly feel the need for change even though I despise it and find it uncomfortable because without change, I get stuck in the monotony of the day to day grind. All it feels like is work, eat, sleep, repeat. I forget my purpose and my passions and it becomes easier and easier to push them aside.

I get so caught up in the imbalance that I get to a place of silence where I’m a shell of person. It’s almost like my brain shut down for anything other than the essentials or working. Which technically is an essential…work produces money that pays for the essentials. That’s no life to live.

That’s the kind of life where you blink and you’re 90 and realized you never really lived. I don’t want that.

But how do we break free from the monotony?

– C.A. Sullivan

Empathy

I feel deeply
I feel others pain
As if it were my own
It puts me in a position to
Empathize with people
In a world that’s so insensitive
I take on their feelings
They become part of me
Almost as if hoping that would take some of their pain away
But the cost on my own mental health
Is draining
How do you recharge when
Caring so deeply for others
Sucks the very breath
From your lungs
The beats from your heart
The life from your soul
How do you find balance
Empathy is my gift
And my curse

– C.A. Sullivan

The Cottage

The cottage stood all alone,
Collecting dust and leaves.
Weathered by the elements,
Forgotten and left behind.
The air here used to be warm,
Bursting with the scent of vanilla,
Sweet like cinnamon sugar,
Sparkling with magic.
Now all that fills its rooms,
Is the sting of heartbreak,
Of a love long lost.
It’s despair whispers
through the empty rooms,
Cutting through the air,
Like the sharp edge of a knife,
Landing on the hearts of its victims.
The doors close,
Trapping me inside.
Forever lost.

– C.A. Sullivan

All Dressed Up with Nothing to Say

Writing is really difficult when I feel like I have nothing to say. Most of the time I’ve got an opinion or a thought and just want to share it because I feel strongly about it or because I feel like others could benefit or relate to it.

Other times, I feel like I do today. I have nothing to say that’s important so I’m sitting here staring at my laptop screen. With everything that’s going on in the world, my voice feels so small and insignificant. What could I possibly have to say that’s going to make a difference or that people will even care about for that matter.

The truth is, I don’t know. I just have to create what I create because it’s what I love and hope someone cares about it. Often, I feel as though you either need to have a unique enough voice to be heard or you need to stand with other people who are saying the same thing to be heard.

If I try to write about something that I think other people want to read or care about, I lose interest or my writing comes across as insincere, 100 percent of the time.

I create because I want to. I create what makes me happy. I create what I’m passionate about. If I were to start creating for others instead of myself, I would certainly lose my authenticity and passion for what I do. It may not always be the best writing or something that anyone cares about, but it came from an honest place.

Even if it that means all I did was write this really boring post.

– C.A. Sullivan

Writer’s Block

These blank pages intimidate me.
Why can’t I write on them?
I touch the pages
Turn on some music
Light a candle
In hopes it will inspire me
To write something profound
But the empty page
Only stares back at me
I go weeks without writing
And when I finally can put words to the page
There aren’t many of them
My dream is to write a book
But at this rate
It will be merely be a collection
Of random thoughts
Captured throughout my life
Mostly in times of pain or struggle
Because those are the times
My feelings are strongest
Maybe it’s not that I’m no good at writing,
It’s that I don’t put enough time into making it something more.

– C.A. Sullivan

Spirit Animals

Do you believe in omens? I always try to see the messages in the world that come to me which is why I love this Animal Spirit Guides book by Steven Farmer.

Anytime I see an animal or dream of an animal, I look it up in this book to see what it means. Kind of like a dream dictionary but for animals.

For weeks I watched as these baby robins outside my window. I got to see their parents feed them, I watched them grow and I got to see them hop around the yard while they were learning to fly.

It was a pretty amazing experience. Because I had been lucky enough to witness this I figured it must mean something.

I checked my Spirit Animal Guides book and sure enough it had an important message that meant something to me. Among other meanings, it said I have a beautiful song inside me, do whatever it takes to share it. Expect new growth, be patient and watch how my dreams come true.

I’m sure this could mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people, but to me it means keep writing and keep creating. My time of more success is coming.

– C.A. Sullivan

Poppy

I walked through the tomato garden with my Poppy after the fresh rain. The smell of wet earth hung in the air. Bright green vines hung from the plants. My shoes sunk in the moist soil with each step. We walked together as he spoke to me about the tomatoes. I plucked one from the vine and bit into it’s juicy red skin enjoying it’s sweet flavor. Mrs. Pine’s German Shepherd was nearby. My Poppy was house sitting for Mrs. Pine while she way away. He always took me on adventure’s there. Her house was like a castle, filled with rooms to explore.

Inside, it was like a scene out of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. As I explored each room, I expected to find the magic wardrobe, but never did. The house library was magical though. My Poppy used to read there. Books of every kind lined the walls. A latter extended up one wall so that you could reach. It smelled like book paper, bindings and old cigarettes. A huge desk sat in the middle of the room. It was full of papers, books and trinkets. Poppy sat in the chair and read as I continued to explore.

I often wondered what he read that kept him so interested. I longed to write stories that kept people’s attention the way books kept his. We spent a lot of time together reading, playing board games and exploring the public library. It was his love of books that inspired me to write. Writing reminds me of his love and the time we spent together.