Window of Bliss

Written By: Deanna Marie Battista

"Heaven's princess found her way back to where the blue moon cried angel's tears.. The prism of beauty and sorrow intermixed at this, as even the broken heart of the crescent of light she held, helped her write letters back to herself."

The war between my head and heart has continuously fought to find and sometimes even brush away the reassurances sent to me from heaven. It’s an interesting anomaly of emotions that are ever so delicately and yet harshly mixing together.. Slowly adding my tears one by one as they fall, in spite of my trying to convince them not to. The weight of time that can wear on the shoulders of the patiently impatient, what a variation to my favorite color. The way I’ve honestly been feeling so blue. The colorful cascade of new bruises that impart on the new healed version of this girl’s heart that no longer bleeds by her wounds or open scars. But by the invisible ties of lace that the hourglass around my perceptions has grown to curate me imbole and stitched back together. At a standstill nonetheless. What a sharp turn around the corner in between hope, faith, and bliss. My heart isn’t easy, but I’m learning. I’m growing. I’m surrendering, almost for the first time yet again. This new compass has been ticking on the parts of my pen I’m trying to let go of. I never thought this would happen. To await titles, and steep in the emotional gifts and rollercoaster of not being princess yet, but fairy instead. Fairy Godmother that is, praying from afar- awaiting more tasks from heaven. It’s a gift. Taking the time to really sit back and appreciate what my Father in heaven has done for me already. Healed me. Set me new. Turned this girl into more than just the weight of her sadness. Even in the light of kneeling in prayer with countless tears running down my face, I’m not eclipsed by grief anymore. I’m upholding the healing I get to pour into someone one day. My sadness too, will flourish to the one I am meant to give it to. (To give my tenderness for him to hold beautiful) To use the parts of my pen to write the stories God implores me to. Those that are not of my future, those are the ones only he gets to write. This I know, but I’m steadily trying to cope with. It’s funny, the writer I am. I can’t help but yearn to pick up my pen, even when God tells me to put it down. The balance and seamless disarray that I have come to hold.

I’m whole- that’s the “battle” I’m faced with. No longer broken. Not an anomaly, but a blessing, so why am I tripping over the parts of myself where scars used to bleed? Why am I confused in the sphere of no chaos but only peace? Is this the sting and burn of waiting? Is this the solitude that isn’t caused by demons chasing the angels away? Is this what it feels like to be needed by heaven? If so praise God, but also, I pray to him for direction through the pathway without any roadblocks in my way. How did I get here, that these are the things that plague my mind now? No sickness, no pain I can’t bear, no worry, no fear. Just peace, blessings, working for angels and Jesus himself. The way I'm truly mending the life I want to set the stepping stones for. How did I get here? God, I know. How long will this new prismatic bubble last?… I’m not sure. Even through the cornerstone that isn’t much of one veering towards new beginnings, I’m weak. I’m human. My strength alone is God’s, while I am still a student. All this and more he wants me to know, so all of you will. Of why my questioning thoughts won’t let me go. The pillars of dreams that surround me at my desk, I can’t shake them away. Maybe I’m not meant to. It’s hard to walk a road that isn’t narrow but feels like it is anyway. With new question marks plaguing the distance of potential answered prayers, the brand of the question mark has yet to cease. Why is this? Ah, yes another question indeed. 

This burden that this timeline of my own creativity and ideas have cushioned me within. This sphere of what I yearn the rest of my subdued healing to look like. I am the author of many things God has positioned my pen to be in. But of this life; I am not. The friend of my soul, Jesus himself is in control. He is the author of the muster seed I am. What is it about letting go- before when I was broken down into pieces how is it that; that was so easy. Putting together a puzzle back to form its shape and image it was once created, it hurts because it has to, though it hurts beautifully. This is different however. What about those pieces that aren’t bound together? They fit precisely where they are meant to, but glued, they are not. If you try to lift the image on the puzzle up, again the pieces will fall. So instead, it stays there on the table of my heart collecting dust while so many faces glance past the hue radiating iridescent blue. Pangs from heaven adhere with my own. These tears I fear once more will drown the blue skies until nothing but the crescent moon is left to reflect back to me. All in the dusk of my sorrow and cloud of tendered weariness my eyes gleam. The thing is… I know it will be okay. It’s just the gap from now until then that has me so uneasy. Feeling so out of sorts and alone even in a room full of people. It’s becoming harder now to hold my own hand while desperately reaching out for God’s; and especially the one he will send me one day. Distractions onslaught with the arrows that I am hiding away from. 

But this peace that he has gifted me with, it almost makes it harder to begin the quest within this adventure. I am not the one writing. This is now unforeseen territory. No editing revisions or outlining can go into the greater design of tomorrow God himself has for me. Silly girl, to ever think that my sticky notes and pens, though sent from above, could do more for me… For me to dance with the clouds and skyline of what I “want”, compared to what Jesus needs of me. This will that I know is his, I have inherited. What false perception have I found myself in? Turning my thoughts into turmoil and agony, under the breath and tears I’m losing. Even as the day turns into night, and my thoughts keep me awake; I have to let go once more to hold on tight. Because I will always need him. I will always need more faith than I had yesterday, there is no ceiling to break. Just awaiting for this soul to reach heaven, and the one who will cherish my wearied heart now before then; just like the polyester one I hold onto in his place. My hand I hold, Jesus’, and my teddy bears… until the window of bliss draws us together like two strings on a angels harp that were meant to coincide in harmony, and more so... within the gentleness we'll hold for each other.

 Yours Truly, 

                   Deanna Marie 

                                    Always Writing with Light