Going their own way all minds
meet in that center of the void where they each separately awaken with core
energy filling the room, re-dreaming someone else’s dreams left behind.
Collective thought lay somewhere near. It is unique to them, the small I and
the big I. Where do I to find the pieces?
Parts have been measured out in mugs of paint and cans of
coffee and in the breaking of a porcelain toothpick holder in the shape of an
iron, in the bondage of short days wishing for spring while savoring winters
work. Measured by helping stray
animal and orphaned colors no one else would give a second look to. Dying the
fabric of results and covering the wounds that the product exposes even as the
processes’ pain is hidden from my view.
Finding others to hold up even as I kick aside my own work and lose
myself for moments at a time only to round the corner to find that I never left
my own private studio. Creativity has never been a convenient thing. It does
not enable super human strength, assuage the need for sleep or automatically
come with a paycheck. It dwells in
the deepest part of the pile with its head and hands exposed, ever waving for
attention with a slow burn that is never exhausted nor satisfied.
Is someone haranguing
salvation really what we need?
The fugitive kind, the ones
that got away. A fish story? Everyone’s got one. Surrender is a powerful tool.
Surrender physical, eventually the mind will follow.
I do go on.
