Visionary

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Photo by T. Senette

My new year began yesterday. It’s not that I don’t know what day it is. It’s only that I’m starting a slow movement toward renewal. 2017 was a challenging year and I didn’t want it to let the calendar hit it in the ass on the way out. Plus, this weather has me contemplating a retreat into hibernation. Our southern coast doesn’t usually see frigid temperatures until February and even then it doesn’t usually last more than 48 hours. My house is cozy and comfortable, so why expose myself to cold wind and post-holiday blues that seem to permeate the collective mood. Truth be told, it is more than that. I’m reticent, holding back my opinion of what may be in store for this year. I lack a vision for a future that includes a healthy dose of cooperation, collaboration and constructive creativity. I have no resolutions. What I would change seems unchangeable. Adding more to my to-do list is not possible. Refraining from all my cherished vices doesn’t seem likely. My mood is not sad. It’s undecided, directionless. So instead of focusing on 2018, I find myself projecting all my inspiration to 2020. So much about that year is appealing to me. It will be the year I can collect Social Security, the year we will finish paying for this oasis of hospitality that has become a fortress of solitude for me and our next opportunity to see if the country’s voting population has gained wisdom from its previous misstep in 2016.

I am determined to create art this year with a vision for 2020. I will use my creativity to inspire myself to more hope for the global collective consciousness.

I will begin in the dark where all my fears live and then seek the light that inspires courage. With enough grace I hope to emerge in authenticity and wholeness of being. What is required is structured solitude. Let the year begin!

Published by

Bessie Senette

Bessie Senette is nine and a half months pregnant waiting on the birth of Cutting the Clouds: a Bayou Mystic’s Poems, Musings, and Imaginings – an autobiographical collection of poems and essays about the life and culture of her bayou upbringing and the spirituality that informs her traditional healing gifts. 
A high-spirited, creative, solemn, and above all joyous woman, she celebrates her birthday for the entire month of August, otherwise known as the Besstival. Anyone born in August is welcomed as a Besstivite. The High Feast day of the Besstival (Bessie’s actual birthday) is known as the Besstiva. 

When her Muse is not in the mood to muse, she cooks. Bessie’s home is an oasis of hospitality, and yet her husband, Tom, calls it a fortress of solitude. Somehow it works. She works as a supplemental grandmother and primary Mimsie to Eden and Noah, five grand pups and one cat. 
As an ordained minister, she officiates an ecumenical liturgy for a small congregation of like-minded and just “slightly” wacky folk who are lovingly referred to as the Bessbyterians. 
Bessie is a polydactyl poet, born with six toes on her left foot. Some of her friends think she should have a reality TV show but she insists that it would have to be an UnReality show. All are certain the ratings would be astronomical.

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