Supporters, My Everything

Life is good when you have support. It’s even better when those people supporting you truly love you and want you to succeed. And no, that’s not always the case. You could support someone and not give a damn about them. They do it all the time in Prisons, schools, and even hospitals. In order for our society to move forward people need support in some form or the other. That doesn’t mean there’s a speck of love in their efforts. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. It just is. But when you’re free and healthy with nothing holding you back to succeed in making the right choices, how much more strength can you have when you have a support system holding you up above water when doubt tries to pull you down like concrete bricks in the ocean.

I hit a rough patch for some time.

When that rough patch lasted for days which turned into weeks, which lasted for years I just accepted it as LIFE. I’m bad and I ain’t never going back, my soul sang. Then one day that rough patch dissipated like a morning fog in sunshine and after walking a thousand years into a solitude of desert and breaths of ash-filled hurt, I opened my eyes and found myself siting in a garden with rainbows in the shadows, songs sung so lovely only angels could hear, faces so beautiful, that I knew I was dreaming.

But I was woke.

That day I saw an unbelievable amount of support surrounding me on all sides, every corner, and under every pretty little rock. Who were these Angels who at one time felt so far away? My mother, my father, my brother, my family, strangers, lovers, haters, pleasers, people who I had never know felt like my bestfriends, people who I expected to hate me, adored me, the ones I disliked, made me love HARD, the ones who had made me cry, filled my heart until I couldn’t control the happiness that trickles down from my brown eyes when I think no one is watching.

They marched into my life, and I hadn’t heard a single footstep.

How could I have ever been alone when now I sit in a court of Justice, my family and best friends my Judges. As they smile down at me I do not feel as if today if my last day, nor do I feel afraid. They look me straight in the eyes and their smiles hold enough kindness that I think, surely the Towers still stand, surely the term genocide is fictitious. Surely Mista Martin never needed a Dream.

But he did dream, just as I did.

My dreams were filled with prayers. I prayed for the goodness in me and the Godliness in others. I prayed that the walls that trapped me from happiness would be brought down by an army of saints. I prayed for everything and anything that could have been God-sent.

And today when I look around at my family and friends who had held it down for me, I know that all my dreams and desires have been answered.

I have an unbelievable amount of support.

I write this because I’m thankful, and you dearest, if you have the ability to help someone, support someone, do it with an abundance of love.

No, I’m not the Hippie type.

But I am a dreamer, mine have come true and that might be because of you.

Xoxox

Lindsay Reva