anything can be poetry if you're brave enough.
where is the grief
inside you living?
what waits within
like song inside a bird
what seizes your heart
in spasms of fear and glory
waiting, waiting
to be heard?
tell me, tell anyone, tell someone
even if only
in the faintest of whispers
until you touch the place inside
where grief melts into music.
your art is the roots.
let it lie dark
and rich like the mud.
your breath
is your navigator.
show others the way through their breath
their limbs
their movements
make them like trees
make them bright as stars.
let go of “purpose.”
do it because it moves you.
someday is not your concern
for your time is now.
in time
your shallows shall swell
with the tide.
what you have so heavily resisted
shall become your bread and butter
and the heaviest burdens upon your back
shall become your ballasts.
go.
move.
it is the only way
if you are to light the way forward.
if you feel sick
you probably need to create something.
(illness
=
blocked creative
energy
?)
the cure:
allow yourself to be sick for a while
& see what comes up.
we must experience suffering
to release it in the magic of creation.
that’s what real art
conveys:
this tension
this opposition
between what hurts us
& what moves us.
what touches us
& makes us catch our breath;
when life slows to a halt
& the message becomes clear;
when exhilaration gives way to exhaustion
& breathless reunion gives way to solitude:
meet me there.
it begins with a deep breath
and goes something like this….
the best works of art align
your past
present
& future
in joy
& sorrow
but most of all
forgiveness
all in the breath of a moment.
your creations become something altogether different
once you expose them to air.
they oxidize
if you will
like blue blood turns red
when it breaches the skin
or reel of film blooms
in a dark room.
when your inner life is brought
to the light of day you are no longer
in control of what
it will become.
it no longer belongs to you.
you have relinquished ownership.
suddenly
it belongs to everyone
& transforms into something
unrecognizable.
it is natural to fear this process
if we consider the act of creation sufficient
in an of itself
but the truth is this is only
the first step.
we must have a sacred space
to expose our beloved creations
to the light so they may become
what they were meant to be.
they must enter the second phase:
surrender.
the world needs its story-tellers
dreamers
lovers
wordsmiths
artsmiths
quiet helpers
kindness-doers
flower-pickers
letter-senders
creators of all sorts
walks
shapes
& sizes.
If you are one of these
yield to yourself
& the creativity that lives
in you--
do not hold out the world.
for it needs your gifts
it needs your love
it is thirsty for your joy.
your prison
is your
wilderness
your cage
an open sky
for why would you
create if not
escape
from space confined
wise women know
the caged bird's song
wise men
the battle cry
of soul unleashed
from genie's lamp
of hands from
rope untied.
curse not your chains nor weights of stone
for without them art would be unknown.
face to face with the sky 