Perception is in the mind of the beholder. Copying any astute prospector, the more you chip away carefully at the possibility of striking gold, the closer you come to those nuggets. The vision of our vistas offers us opportunities. Anyone can sit inside from the rain to feel locked down dumpy, or you can hear its music tapping melodies on the roof. Yet, formulating committed attention lends more persuasive prestige. What we spy can sometimes be exactly what we get. This is why it’s worth laying off the lying to yourself. Don’t make up stories that aren’t serving your reality. When you go to grasp that box of grappling consider discerning the good before the bad options. Some assembly is definitely required in the realm of mounting our most amiable perspectives. Framing gravy is your lifeboat flotation device savior. The sooner we stop chasing perfect and picture all of the perks the better off we’ll be.
I wittily cited a force of our human nature in comparison to the old adage “beauty is in the eye of…”, which echoes many highlights of my history. That is until a fateful memory seeded a twisting of my consciousness into ‘seeing’ things quite differently. Once upon a 1988 time, the Ray Charles performed for live-tv during the Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon. As an escort for the show’s talent department, my impressionably young eighteen-year-old soul was first-hand floored by Ray’s dynamite dexterity coupled with his lack of eyesight. I was still formulating the ability of a rockstar state of being exclusive of all the standard working parts assumptions. What hadn’t dawned on me was the fact of glamour or all contemplations occurring at any vibrant rate you darn tootin’ enchanted. Regardless of circumstance. It was an awareness strain I’ve soundly kept unzipping angles about ever since.
Each morning before I plant my feet back onto the floor, I inevitably wind an español Elcano circumnavigation meandering to wade through hoards of doubt to reroute back to my plucky positivity persona. Theology of our sunny versus sullen spots I find blended akin to a wad of fresh kale pulverized to microchip minisculeness mixed with enough organic cacao canoodling fresh coconut or whatever actual drool-worthy alternates you should use that sorts you tuning it back into a frothy treat capable of competing with a Wendy’s chocolate shake. (Ok, lie. There’s no f’ing way to make nature taste like fast food. And, NO, of course I’d never want to promote such a cuntish action as punting the purity of Mother Earth’s store! Unless we’re admitting to my menopausally frisky failures I’ll blame on Mercury or the full moon.) Although my credentials are stacked with optimism, I routinely exhibit quite the need for reframing.
If you’ve ever edited a photo you snapped you might be on to me. Creatives with a waltz of a way around imagery know what to crop, filter, and frame to convey the astronomical equivalence of evocative. Where the rustling to merely display ruby-painted lips against a singular dainty mole imitating polka-dots explodes the senses dramatically. Even my moniker “BradensEye” represents the ideological ethics behind the very heart of me. It’s a Bandledeishi street Tetris of cars on their foreign soil. And the unpretentious pleasure of nabbing the spirit of someone in all of their glory. It’s the art of taking whatever is turbulently adrift to seize with surgical precision its truly innocent essence. Whether faces, several relationships, cups of conversation, or chaste near-collisions of physical or emotional impact. This adheres to the manipulation of the highest etiquette order for your blissful unflappability sake.
Adorning our sojourning with the holistic values that everything may arc a smile can freeload too much slime if we’re not prudent. The universe obscured my post-surf rapture recently when I drove past an injured cat passing on the pavement. It took me multiple hot-teared minutes to divine why I was put there in those seconds that lifted me from the vehicle to place the untagged now-deceased animal discreetly in safe foliage. It was a simple plot to redraft the timing of tidbits to tantalize my tormented tangents. He brought my honoring out of hibernation. These moments are missives correcting me to cross changes on my living list as for the best. Because of how I’ve viewed them, am gratified by them, I’m already indulging my slide into Heaven’s gate with a phat slice of smoldering sweetness plastered all over my lack of graces. Esteem the power of your whole along with realizing the allure of composing oh so well.
Heeding the charm of our survival fabric is vitality.