Chasing the Blue Dragonfly

Or the purpose will keep on calling you. Loudly.

Sometimes a story doesn’t start at the beginning, but rather in the quiet of the night, when the house is asleep and your mind listenes to the whispers of your soul between heartbeats. There’s a certain magic that resides in that place, offering a pause, to connect your breath with the undying force of nature and universe to express themselves through human voice. It comes gently, with a few words, with a vision and you must follow, because you can feel it coming alive under your fingers. Where has it resided before, no one knows.

I am a poet. Poetry has found refuge in my bones and I have found a comforting companion. It happened naturally, no one seeking the other. Ink and quill, candles and nighttime, history and magic, things that brought me to life, countless times. It began as a wish to write lyrics. It has birthed four poetry books, mainly unseen. Now it leads me into writing prose, writing children’s tales. My soul is a poet, the only place where true freedom is felt.

As every one who writes, I too, wish to find a place where these poems and stories would live on, gently touching another’s heart. But in a world that has too much of everything, it’s hard to find that spot. Hard is an understatement. In today’s society, we’re all focused on numbers, and especially the growth of them. Yet I’ve come to a point where I see a setback. Of course I try to analyse it, well my mind wants to find logic, even if there’s none. But my spirit is tired of constantly juggling what needs to be done, what trend to follow… when all it ever wanted was to create. And through creating - connect.

There ain’t a like button for how many times a line has lingered in a reader. How many times an idea or self-reflection has helped shape the inner landscape of a reader’s emotional state. There are things that art does to us that we can’t measure, and in the end, that is the most important thing.

There was someone I met online, but she hasn’t been present for about a year now and I find myself missing her and wondering if we’ll ever get to talk again. There’s something that she’s said that still sticks with me. Last year I noticed quite a few dragonflies around where I live. I find them fascinating. In the dinosaur era they were huge, btw. Anyway, she said that seeing a dragonfly is an encouragement or a sign to keep writing, following your muse.

The purpose will keep calling. It will get louder or even start screaming within your soul. I guess that’s where I am right now. Trying to figure out how my purpose fits into my life, how to hold space for it and root what wants to be said. One small step at a time. Slowly, I will arrive.