inspiration is like the wind
you can’t see it or know it’s there unless it’s rocking something
and speaks most loudly by being felt
when it’s there it’s there, but if i’m not there to meet it
it pulls, pushes and sucks away
missing it is easy to-
not do anything about
when caught and ridden in awe, in it’s own way, seems just as easy
it’s easy to say here that what’s hard is the gravity of my ability to crumple in,
to miss, ignore or even block that wind.
with so many ways of being that others have lived before me
and captured with all of their achievements, glory and triumph, from self-denial to self-cultivation, in just the right moments, just the write way to shoot an arrow to the heart, or trigger some etheric whale song in me, or salty warm tears of shared longing of reunion–
and so many currently happening right this moment-
i can and have for big swaths declared myself unfit
for not reading those who came before me
for not letting them seep into me
leading to declare myself too far gone
by chiding the differences in my message my truth
against the brilliance and graffiti of current generations
or ancient stature of antiquity
have dragged myself across the rocks of poets
who would say they’ve been around the block
those who write of loss and suffering and the stark contrasts
of brutal individuation and misty gold triumph-
deep dances they ran with lovers who taught them so much
and hurt them so bad
for they sing the song of so many who don’t know how to express
what they’ve lived
their words soothe the gangrene of self-hate, guilt or denial
and lift their spirits as they should be lifted.
or i could stop right now knowing there are those that studied for years
met living legends and were mentored by and by
and lived wild free and tortured to cultivate the most imperfect of diamonds
the most unlikely of sages
but i won’t, and i sure as hell hope you don’t.
i know there will always be forces outside and inside of us that charge to stop the current that is ours and ours alone to reign. that, aloneness, the one thing we all have in common.
so from mine, i write these lines.
after the laughter and camaraderie or fighting and bickering, self battering comparisons, or screen staring vacuum has been zero-ed out; after the visceral dream, the unpredictable grieving, the restless light in the mind – i’m truly glad i have a place to go to write, and venues to share, and an occasional comment or ‘like’.
to write from my quiet place and to at times get chills or wet my shirt with tears, injoy with what pours out, and to know that a friend or stranger feels compelled enough to sit for a moment and turn on the light of a poem, read and re-create a message for themselves. that’s the alchemy, the family tree, still pond for reflectivity – that’s why i now more than ever live listening with my sail, my wind catcher ready.
thank you my friend, poet in arms, friend to be, or distant relation reader, you writing and reading reflects and teaches me, lets my alone serve your alone, for connecting.