your worrying does not save the world.
your worrying does not save the world.
your worrying does not save the world.
So adamantly, so seriously was I talking about my writing that my father commended me for finally settling into something. I was a little stunned because I have known since I was an adolescent that I wanted to be a writer, and in that moment I could only wonder where he has been for the last 20+ years of my life. I got a little glimpse of what happened in his mind when he went on to say that he thought I had spent a lot of time with other things, such as languages (French, Italian, Sanskrit) and life coaching, and he was glad to see me finally picking one thing and getting serious with it.
But, when it comes to being creative, I don’t think I’ve picked one thing and I’m not sure I ever will. I don’t see why I have to. I may go back to a language to explore it in greater detail; I may pick up the thread of inner-life coaching again; I may travel again to places I’ve seen before. I may continue learning about subjects that seem, to some, only tangentially related to writing. I can’t even say when I begin delving into those subjects exactly how they are going to help. Sometimes we don’t know it all at the outset and we have to have faith that it all will make sense later. I know that whatever I have spent time learning so far has had an impact on my creativity, on what I write about, how I write, the words that come, the views that shape the words. I have seen it and felt it and discovered perspectives I might never have chanced upon if I hadn’t got off the Big Goal train in those towns that seemed to call to me and stayed there for a while.
I suppose there are many people around us who are not aware that you don’t have to follow a linear path to your goals. Everything you do along the way, because you felt, you had a hunch, it was the right thing to do at that time, is going to help you live your bigger picture. If you are a river whose aim is to meet the sea you may take a zillion different paths to get there, you may jump your banks as you maneuver along the way, you may ignore any limitations that a human (including, perhaps, you!) has set for you and go beyond them because you have to, because it is what you do, because it is part of your journey, because if you didn’t you wouldn’t be true to who you are and who you are meant to be.
Synchronicities and such treasures are not found along straight roads. Be flexible and don’t be afraid to go circular. You’ll find that when you follow your heart, your intuition, no matter where you go, you come back to yourself.
And also: Linearity is usually boring.
We need to remember that we have no right to tell others what to do with their art, with their voice. During the final stretch of this [adjectives withheld] election, I saw magazines and brands and celebrities and artists speaking out. It was amazing to see them voicing their support because they have purchasers of their goods or their art or their performance at stake. And, usually, following posts endorsing a woman candidate for president, this woman saw a slew of comments attempting to silence them, telling them in different ways, in many ways, to shut up; telling them that their opinions are not wanted, that they should stick to tasks supposedly assigned to them (such as entertaining the masses with their movies or fashion or books or something else the consumer wanted to consume), and that being exposed to their thoughts is not one of the reasons they are being “followed” on social media by these people who want to be the ones to determine who does and does not get to make public their opinion (or have freedom of speech. Basically if you’re a public figure of any kind—except a politician [or not, as in the president-elect’s case. my head hurts: the irony here is astounding.]—, these people think you’ve lost that most basic of rights.). When you kill freedom of speech, democracy dies.
We need to remember that it is every person’s and every artist’s responsibility to use their voice for what matters. It is their responsibility to use the platform they have to speak up for continued progress. Know the courage it takes to do that. Know that the speaker is likely aware of the fury that suppressors of free speech will unleash. Know that they are familiar with the possibility that they might lose “fans” because of this. But they do it anyway. They speak for themselves and they speak for those who cannot, for those whose voices will not be heard, for those who don’t have a voice. They speak because the issues confronting us are important. Because our lives depend on it. Because our future and the future of humanity depends on it.
In social media, the way it has grown, the mini celebs that have come from it, many of us, most of us, have such a platform that we can use in whichever way we choose. It is a matter of choice. And we cannot take that away from anyone, person or brand or company.
Those who are against it might watch fewer movies, buy fewer books or magazines or paintings or clothes. But to the ones expressing their thoughts and support and opinions it matters more that they take a stand, that they pick a side. Because that is of value to them, that means something to them. You can read into it—if you know how (and many people I know astonishingly don’t)—and you can understand something about values, about courage. And, it is possible, you might even understand something about art.
I am tremendously hopeful when I see those who know they have something to lose by being vocal against hate, against racism, against misogyny doing it anyway. It tells me that, at least to some, there is more than just popularity and money at the heart of all this. That there are in this world responsible artists (many writers, actors, musicians, singers, fashion designers, artists of all kinds were, are, with Hillary Clinton), and even companies, who have been given an audience for their voice by us, the public, the people who form their following, and they are using that voice. That, friends, is what a voice is for. That is what our voice is for. And we have no right to silence it.
Always remember the truth in what Martin Luther King, Jr. said:
Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.
It has been happening lately that when I try to find an answer to a subjective question, instead of looking in the outside world (which feels hopelessly insufficient), I start to write about it and tend to find exactly what I’m hunting. Maybe it’s the inner wisdom we can tap into if only we try, if only we listen, if only we pay attention. The process is not without some pain but you’ll find the pain is a tiny price to pay.
A longish while ago i was on a train when out spilled a little poem about killing the king and the queen who live layers & layers below the flesh. I read it often, realising over and over again that sometimes the words for which you’re searching outside, words that you hope will speak to your soul, are patiently simmering within, waiting for you to give them shape.
you burn us
In truth I smolder and burn down my heart. It has been on fire too often.
I destroy myself in a slip dress. I’m buried in dirt. I dug too deep.
It is annihilation all over again. Familiar wounds blaze and I suffer the inevitable rage of loss.
on this day 54 years ago left human existence to illuminate other unlit realms with his distinguished inextinguishable spark E. E. Cummings who lives forever (or “beyond the clock”) in the heart of every person his magical poems touch. who knows how many worlds he has kindled with his words. who knows how many entire universes would not exist without his poems.
I cannot write. I am so scattered that I cannot collect my pieces long enough to be coherent. Maybe there is something in that. Like drops of mercury, for a longish moment, it seems as if I have it, it is in my grip, i see it whole. I start to pour it into a vial and it spills and disintegrates again into such small spheres that I cannot gather them all. I cannot. It is lost. I cannot write enough. Will it never be enough or will I never know when it’s enough? The drop has fallen and shattered into minute wholenesses. I don’t know where it is and I want it. I want every little particle. And so go on my days and so they end.