- From my sketchbook writings, July 8th 2010 -
How is it that I lay awake at night, mind rustling with a thousand ideas, rich and thick with inspiration, and the very next morning feel hollow, riddled with existential crisis?
I am HERE, I have the place, the physical space, the time, now
Oh Great Muse
WHERE ART THOU?
I'm ready to sacrifice all those banal needs, to bend my back the yoke, to plow that great field of my soul. To till that fecund soil, to unearth a glittering gemstone, hold it up to the sun and allow the rainbow of refracted spirit to fall upon my upturned face until my eyes water and weep with the honesty of it.
LET IT RAIN.
I'm holding my modest vessel with outstretched arms, outstretched palms, whirling like a dervish for that downpour.
Call my name, I'm listening hard.
Dazzle me with light, my eyes are wide open.
Direct my hands, my fingers are willing.
Just whatever you do, I beg, I plead, don't leave me in darkness. For I can not abide the nothing.
****************************************************
We wrestled yesterday, she and I. And in the end, she dropped a corner of her veil and the light shone through, illuminating certain lines drawn deftly in my sketchbook, certain hopes written only across my heart, and certain fears which seem so great in dusk but lose their potency in the watery light of dawn.
Now this morning she whispers my name, and I realize all over again: these ideas come from my very soul, they will never be lost so long as I am present. They will never be forgotten so long as I keep looking. They will never disappear so long as I am alive. They are in me. They are of me.
And so I work.
12 comments:
wow.. goosebumps.. "to plow that great field of my soul"..
Miss you.
you are so right: for you, there is nothing to do but be. and the beauty flows from that.
the silence is deafening, but i believe it is this great quiet (and darkness) that hovers wordlessly in the eternal moments before growth begins. i hear the infinitely minute stirrings (that could be mistaken for silence) of the life inside a seed, beneath the ground, before that life breaks through. and it breaks through feebly at first...but the taste of light and air it finds sends a message to the rest of the seed: come out. spring forth. come see.
and just like this,
you
i
we
are reborn.
i love you. i love this struggle on your behalf. i love seeing your soul slowly but surely flooded with light.
I am not even ready for a visit from my muse. And when she comes I half want her to leave. You are lucky.
"They will never be forgotten so long as I keep looking. They will never disappear so long as I am alive. They are in me. They are of me."
this is so comforting to me and so true.
funny. i was also going to write, "goodbumps" just like joel.
this is my favorite piece of art in the last few weeks...such writing.
don't forget to look in all places for your art...truly, your words have texture and color.
You are a force of nature, Miss.
This writing was so powerful that it cut through the distance and put me right there with you as you discovered something so wonderful.
Wow.
Just
wow
and thank you.
xoxoxoxoxoxox,
Allison
...perhaps you are absorbing a new shade of lightness... soak it up...breathe it in...feel it's color...for when your time is right...all will be illuminated...xoxo
This is amazingly put.
Its a gift to be so open and willing to recieve it.
xo, s
I want you to know: I've rested in your words, as ever, not alone but in the good company of friends.
I really adore you all.
I was interviewing singer-songwriter Alex Cuba yesterday and he said something about inspiration being god's expression through someone, after the interview I told him that was amazing, and then I told him what you wrote and you have no idea how comforting it was for him to hear that.
Snailentina, you are a beautiful soul, do you know that?!?
Thank you lady, so are you :)
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