I’m trying to burn my ankles in this glorious spring sun. The breeze is calling me, beckoning, begging me to come and play. Oh, to be free of all responsibilities on a morning like today. To play with words, toast in the sun, let down my hair and allow twenty bare toes run. To lose myself and time in playful rhyme.
But in my mind I know the truth. Responsibilities first. Besides, my writing brain is feeling dusty, cramped, contained, dutiful, meticulous, disciplined, subdued, prim and proper, censured, solidified. All the things that make me good at my work. But beneath it all, creativity and I remain unbroken, undeterred. Someday I will bring out a wildly beautiful, silently serene, artistically alive, play-dohesque, beaded, laughing, breathing, hoping, shadowy, blossoming, sakura-scented, sensual, puffy white cloud, iron gong, playful, strong, smiling, life-throbbing, vital, massive, delicate, gorgeous in its simplicity, simple in its small intricacies, rare, on fire, steaming, sizzling, simmering, chilled, organic, open, emotional, bird-brained, fistful of feathers, anxious, broken, whole and process approach to my writing. I will write a stained glass window. I will empty and refill. I will collect moss. I will greet the squirrel by name. I will let people see who I am. I will allow a glimpse if they care to glance.
I am writing to solidify, to satisfy my mind, to let myself see, to sort and sift, not because of certain results, but because of possibilities. Sometimes ideas and words seem to leap willfully onto the page, sewing themselves together in a tapestry of thoughts, eager to preserve themselves on paper from their almost certain fading from my mind with passing time. But other days, shy ideas hide in the shadows and watch, not entirely trusting, uncertain, fleet of foot and ready to run at any time. I understand and I don’t mind. Take your time. All worthwhile things do, I find…
(Originally posted on my old blog, Interim Arts, on June 3, 2014.)