It is often found sitting in a small undisturbed corner of my mind. It sits singing a familiar song and seems to be harmless enough until I venture closer and discover that its claws have been tearing at corners of my mind, and at the edges just past consciousness. This little mongrel is all the unspoken fears and lies that I have "heard all my life". It seems innocent enough until realizing that its been quietly eating at my dreams and aspirations since birth.
Recognizing it is one thing, dealing with this vile thing is quite another.
Starving artist is its song, and how I've listened to the melody, convinced that the gifts and passions that I have amount to drivel in the "real world". Pray tell, who has defined the value of these gifts in the "real world"? Why have I bought into something spoken as fact without evidence, as meat without substance?
That little "it" should never be my focus. There is a song that plays deeper, whose melody is masterfully plucked, and whose ancient words whisper life into things yet crafted. These words are True words, these words are life to beaten bones and broken spirit. Gifts given were not gifted in vain. Purpose will not lie in slumber any longer. The Master Artisan breathes life into unseen depths and the spark draws breath beneath the babbling chorus of the creature that seems not to perceive its end. Change is here. I can feel it.
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3 comments:
another great post. i feel ya, friend. as a writer, that same fear of 'if you don't amount to everything you'll never amount to anything' haunts me daily and chips away at my confidence that i'll ever survive doing what i love.
i hope that change really does come.
[and check your spam mail... 'cause i e-mailed you yesterday, and often yahoo folks seem to find my correspondence with the junk]
I know the solution to your struggles and to Martha's that solution lies in a town where the street names change more than Liz Claiborne's husbands, the burritos are phat and the friends phater...it's a little place I like to call Charlotte.
hmmmm cahnge only comes when you let it...
i love that little creature that claws, always hungry, always wanting more. That little creature is why my weekends are closed and my after works even tighter. That little creature....mmmm what is his name?
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