Creativity isn't encouraged and developed in middle school or high school. School becomes a series of checkboxes. Show up on time. Get the grades. Graduate. Go to college. Checkboxes supplied and pursued without explanation or questioning.
Amy stood there, the chimes singing, the seagulls calling overhead, the ocean air playing with the tangles of her hair. Norman and Leanne were looking at her impatiently. Everything froze, like God had put the tape of the movie of her life on pause so she would pay attention. Here, look, this is important.
“That’s how people end up here,” she said, fumbling with her change purse, counting dollar bills. “They’re crawling out of some fucking disaster. They call you washashores. By the time you get here from the mainland you’re barely breathing. Ask most of the women here. They came here to heal. It might as well be called Heartbreak Island.”
I was a fool to think this was about countries. This is a about humanity. This is about our human race. This is about our planet that we co-inhabit. This is about our larger story. And right now, it's a sad one. Tragic. Shocking. Grim.
I like the challenge of traveling, constantly marveling at the beauty of Earth, and major-minor revelations that all humans share commonalities, no matter what their culture, native tongue, or religion.
"Look. This morning, there was a man on the Today show, he said something and I totes thought of you. His family had survived a hurricane and lost everything. Even their dog. He said, like, 'in the darkest of times, you can either let it destroy you or let it create you.' So maybe, maybe try to let this create you instead of destroy you. Think of your life as a blank slate."
They were so similar then, both strange and dangerous, they were strangerous, they were wild and untamable with stars in their eyes. At least she had been, at first. They were like lion cubs in love, reckless and roaring and rolling and playing, blind to life's rules and deaf to the heeds of those who told them to slow down, to be careful. But it was like when Harry runs to Sally on New Year's Eve and says, "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." They could find no reason to wait to drown in each other.
Dear Professor, you probably don't remember me. It was a long, long time ago since you've seen me and I am sure you have had many students come and go since I last sat in your class. To be completely honest, the images are a bit fuzzy for me as well.
And that was sort of what her therapist was saying, now, that people were already talking, don’t give them all the gory details of the downfall. Fall apart in private. Go into hiding. Like a big fat depressed bear for winter. See who she was in the spring.
To control the breathing is to control the mind. With different patterns of breathing, you can fall in love, you can hate someone, you can feel the whole spectrum of feelings just by changing your breathing.
When the moon is full and radiant, the song she pulls out of us might go something like this: The Wild in us wants out as if stirred from a sleep, out of deep lava flows, from the throes of core to uproar, and soar with supernovas in a cosmic union. Alchemic, poetic -- magnifying in full bloom, the full moon pours forth heart-source Divinity: a luminous light-fire creation flame.
When James was leaving her so easily, like a shirt he had grown tired of, an old friend from her early days at 'Rolling Stone' had said, "I think, to be the kind of woman someone fights for, you have to be the kind of woman who fights for herself."
What would happen if you could put aside your fear for one day? One hour? Be drawn by the connections that come, feed that place of intrinsic love and let it be your guide... surrender to the unknowable order of things.
Yes, you can spend your days creating art and poetry. No, you cannot solve all the world’s problems today even if you tried; but you can brighten someone’s day and make their journey more beautiful. Perhaps that is the real meaning of life?
This is about real people who are hurting and in pain and in need of healing. This is about a world that is in need of healing. And this is about creating the means to rebel against the systems of injustice that kill and maim and wound us all. This is about standing together as a global community, comprised of billions of individual humans. It's about humanity, damnit! And it's about time we are all finally treated as humans.
The artist, the dreamer,
the girl who rocks life harder
than anyone she knows.
The girl who can dance,
choreograph and loves to watch the snow.
The girl who dreams big and lets everyone know.
Because she is not all talk.
She is action.
Being a vibrant single man who is also a passionate poet, I generally hand-deliver these haiku cards to women. This draws a wide range of reactions from a wide range of women at the moment of unexpected poetic truth.
I write because words are medicine and because there is nothing wrong with me and there is nothing wrong with you and we are just humans with wild hearts trying to figure how to love each other (and OURSELVES) bigger and better and why would I keep what I learn or what I question a secret when we have the potential to change the world with the stories we tell?
Poetry speaks to a hyper-awareness of language and its power to recreate a moment.
A poet emerges as someone who sees and speaks in this world with a particular awareness.
The nature of this awareness shifts across different times and locations.
I want to be clear, The SCAR Project is not about breast cancer and The Unknown Soldier is not about war. They are about many things. The images can be uncomfortable for the viewer. It forces us to confront our fears and inhibitions about life, death, sexuality, sickness, relationships, etc. I once read it described as unflinching. Reality is not always pretty. This is reality. Let's address it. Both The SCAR Project and The Unknown Soldier present an opportunity to open a dialogue about issues we are not necessarily comfortable with... and in the case of The Unknown Soldier, responsible for.
Living my life to extremes,
making great waves in the world.
Being an all-around fabulous girl.
Does it shock you?
To know that I’m shedding my clothes
and revealing myself in this way?
In essence, you see,
I am just being me…
I am going to come back into the world of everything -- happening-all-the-time, and I am going to stop when I need to and be kind to myself even when the critics are not and wave a flag for the thousands of other people on this beautiful and fleeting planet who are struggling to stay healthy whilst meeting the ridiculous demands of our non-stop modern life style, regardless of whether they are making art or not.
You know that everything up until now has been leading to this moment in time. All the transformation, all the dark, mucky, sludgy, messy, chaos and shitstorms that you’ve been weathering have led you here. And now ALL you have to do is open, receive, and allow your soul’s work to come through you. So you freeze...
You're in full bloom babe,
pure as a pearl and soft as a peach.
Like when you were just a child.
Just look at you,
your hair's getting curly again,
wild and unruly, it mimics the vines
that hang from the trees
that give season after season.
These are the ones whose ribcage is a tangle of blackberry vines and whose spine is a bottomless mountain ravine, rushing clear water, icy as snowmelt. The ones with rubies in their teeth and turquoise in their chests, with fingertips that grow into dandelions, and eyelashes into blue jay wings.
I do this so my body can make its first attempts at untangling some of the tightly knotted tensions, memories, revelations that are relentlessly becoming more twisted and tethered and bound as it plays to my mind and heart the knowledge and memory and emotion that it has been gripping and weaving and forming into a solid, unbreakable mass that now needs to be cracked open, explored and set free.
Come alive…come alive from being deadwaking from the time ofbeing numb and donecome alive…Simply turn on that tunethat get your toes tapping,your heart beating,swing your hips…Breathe your firelet the flames touch the Heavensthe beauty of your heat… your passionslight up the night sky with starsand the day with the sun.Embrace the sweetness of the momentwith the music playing loudallow the magic of your beingstir and spill out into the world.Stillness begs for movementsilence ask for noiseas the movement goes into the silenceand the noise dances in the stillness.Heartbeat continueswith the drums of the onenessall that is… will be.enjoy the dance within your journeyand let everyone catch you dancingCome alivewith the fiery masters’ presencebe you and all you areand the world will slowly changeattune to the reality of the grace surrounding the...
No matter what you want to bring to life, honor each step on the road. Writing one sentence a day will add up to a page. Stay a compassionate and patient parent of your creative babies. This is the art of having a creative practice.
In other words, the world needs smart people to build things. We need employees who invent things, entrepreneurs who create things, and freelancers who design things. We need secretaries who make jewelry as a side project and stay-at-home dads who write amazing novels. We need more leaders, not more followers. We need more creators, not more consumers.
Sometimes writing brings me freedom, sometimes it brings me stability. Sometimes it brings me a place to tell my story, sometimes it brings me the chance to creatively lose myself and my sense of the reality around me.
I believe we are at that holy point now, you and I. I believe I have no option now but to write myself sacred. To bow to your voice within me, and etch your ghastly glorious handwriting onto a rhizome that sits at the center of my chest. My words must play with the clay, form images that momentarily awaken, and yet are destined to dissolve.
I want to create art that makes me feel limitless, makes me feel sexy, makes me feel truly authentic. I just want to break from every norm, every thing that spells out being professional, every thing that makes me feel mundane, boring and stuck.
My creativity flutters throughout my day like a leaf in the wind, momentarily landing on things I'm doing, before taking off and fluttering away with my thoughts and energy, until the time comes to do something new, and it lands there with me, again.
I write because freedom needs me to meet it where we both want to stand. I write because often what I write about is things that aren't spoken of, enough. Through a thousand words on a page, I bring a freedom to myself in my healing, and I bring a freedom to those reading.
"After we let go of old identities, but before we emerge as artists, writers, small business owners, or whatever our creative gifts long for us to be, we enter a space of conscious incubation. It is a protected state where growth and change can be held in a kind of sacred trust until we are ready to share it with the world."