Most recent post

My Head is in the Clouds

-
Image
  My Head is in the Clouds And when, suddenly, the cabin vanishes, I rejoice. The metal hull, the rows of seats, the quiet murmurs of the other passengers, they have all dissolved as if outside the window. My physical body is still cocooned in that cramped airline seat, but my mind has completely broken free. I’ve left the interior world behind and stepped directly out into the stratosphere . Looking at this view, it’s as if I am no longer just travelling through the sky; I am becoming a part of it. The composition is split by a blinding, brilliant horizon line of gold and white light. Like a pure, energetic tear between the heavens and the earth. Below me, the tops of the clouds stretch out like a vast, frozen ocean of soft purples and deep, oceanic blues, holding the shadows of the world below. Above, the atmosphere thins into an ethereal, pale turquoise, a quiet void that feels completely untouched by human anxieties. The fiery oranges and hot magentas that stalked me from the t...
Post a Comment

We Are Suspended In Transit

-

 


We are in Transit



Poem:

We step forward.
Each step stirs dust into the air.
The dry, shifting evening air.
The sun is neither fully risen nor a witness.
A silent guardian.
Beginnings and endings, both here and just.
At this hour.
And yet shared.
This is where time unravels.
Where place dissolves and where movement lingers without.
No words, no destination.
This is the place.

This is the sacred space.
Each step cannot ignore faith.
Where time unravels.
Where movement lingers without end.
A witness, a silent guardian.
Beginnings and endings.
Both here in the distance.
The burden we carry is more than we thought.
It is more than it is more than distance.
It's the stories waiting to be uncovered.
And the bond we strengthen along the way.

Unanswered questions.
Deferred dreams.
The hope, the hope of arrival, leads us forward.
At this threshold, we are neither lost nor found.
We walk in the in-between.
Each step whispers.
Here we are.
Here we are in the middle, in the middle and transit towards our becoming.

Description:

This is a poetic exploration of the journey of self-discovery and transformation. This evocative piece uses vivid imagery and metaphors to capture the essence of being in transit, navigating the unknown, and embracing the constant state of becoming.

Keywords:

Journey, Self-Discovery, Transformation, Transition, Becoming, Liminal Space, Inner Worlds, Metaphor, Twilight, Mountains, Courage, Hope

Trending Hashtags:

#SelfDiscovery #PersonalGrowth #Transformation #JourneyWithin #InnerPeace #Mindfulness #Inspiration #Motivation #LifeJourney #SpiritualAwakening #EmbraceChange #BePresent #InTheMoment #Twilight #Mountainscape #landscape #leadership #lost






John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett, is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via Blogger, YouTube, Flicker, Facebook, Instagram and Deviant Art. 

You can subscribe to my music via YouTube Music, Spotify, iTunes, Apple Music and Soundcloud

To support my art, feel free to donate via JJFBbennett through PayPal  

If you want to acquire JJFB's art creations as an NFT - John's Opensea NFT profile is https://opensea.io/JJFBbennett  


Copyright

This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Toxic Weight of Waiting

-
Image
  The Toxic Weight of Waiting The atmosphere has thickened. What was once a room defined by walls and chairs has dissolved into a toxic haze, an environmental manifestation of a mind under siege.  She no longer sits; she kneels, anchored to the floor by an invisible gravity. Above her, the "toxic air" takes shape as a looming, jagged shadow infused with high-velocity greens and burning volcanic reds. It feels less like smoke and more like a predator, a towering silhouette of anxiety that has finally outgrown the space. The colours vibrate with a sickly, chemical heat, turning the very oxygen into something thick and sharp. In this room, the silence has become deafeningly loud. The fractured light from the previous moment has bled together, creating a suffocating shroud that blurs the line between the physical world and an internal fever dream. The momentum hasn't just stalled; it has been swallowed. She has diminished, huddled in the eye of this psychic storm, a solitary ...
Read more

The Ethereal Ascent

-
Image
  The Ethereal Ascent The air in the room is violently still, creating a heavy pressure. She has long stopped looking at the clock, realising that time here is not a sequence but a weight. The waiting room has fractured; the mundane reality of plastic chairs and linoleum flooring splinters into a jagged, stained-glass fever dream. High-pitched frequencies of burning red and sickly blues vibrate as if hardened walls, echoing the frantic noise of a mind that has run out of distractions. Every sharp edge of colour feels like a spiritual siege, a sensory reminder that her momentum has been forcibly halted. There is no use in pacing. There is no use in resisting the authoritative hand of the "in-between." To survive this stall, she must stop fighting the current and become part of the stagnant water. She looks out, as if just awakened, and does the only thing left to recollect. She breathes. She waits. She waits for the shards to align once more. Be Creative and Innovative wit...
Read more

Waiting for inspiration

-
Image
Waiting for inspiration The air in a waiting room carries a specific kind of weight, a density that seems to swallow sound. For centuries, artists have tried to capture this heavy, invisible presence. I think of Honoré Daumier , who portrayed the slumped, weary resignation of third-class travellers. He understood that waiting wasn't just sitting; it was an endurance sport. I see that same heavy air, but my era is electrified. The figure on the left isn't just sitting; they are anchored against a storm of data. Their head is buried in their hands, face half-hidden as if they're trying to crawl inside their own mind to escape the silence. The thick, aggressive slashes of orange and gold overhead resemble a visual scream, capturing that internal chaos where your thoughts race at a hundred miles an hour while your body is stuck in a plastic chair. The green glow on their skin adds a cold, modern tension, making the whole scene feel like a pulse vibrating beneath a still surface...
Read more