Once bound by a desire to prove my masculinity, I cowered in fear of their judgment. Chained within the ideals of those that came before me and those that wholeheartedly subscribed to these notions. I was once told how gay I was because I drank tea. Imagine not being able to enjoy the simple pleasure of enjoying a cup of tea for fear of being perceived as less masculine. You’re your own captor. The key to your chains is in your hand. Set yourself free and let go of the fear of your judgment day. Only the “All Spirit” (the spirit of All There is) (God, as many say) can judge you and you’ll find that Great Spirit within you. This Great Spirit is you. A version of you. You a piece of It. A portion cleaved off at your birth and sent here to experience all of this. The hurt and pain, the beauty and the Grace this world holds.
My point is, You hold the gavel And the key to your freedom. Just try it. Muster the courage to do one of the myriad things you don’t, for fear of judgment. If you’re not hurting anyone there will be those that admire your courage. Be brave and let them see you wearing that bravery with honor. Fear will lead you down a path of darkness, cast it off and reach for the light. There’s something, a faceless shadow, a nameless darkness that wants to stamp out your light. It’s passed on from generation to generation. You know those who have been afflicted. Look in their eyes, you can see it whirling in their depths. Shine your light at it. Fight it within yourself and seek to challenge it in others. Be a light warrior. No matter what the darkness in others calls you.
I write poems and although I loath labeling them as such or labeling anything for that matter, I succumb to the social norms of trimming things down to ideas of themselves, so they fit nicely into the boxes we make for them. Where they can be properly categorized and stored, for reference of course.
I started writing when the foundation of my childhood suddenly cracked under the violently shifting security of my youth. And from this came fear, a fear I battle constantly. A fear that grips me so tight sometimes it’s hard to breath. So I write, and it rescues me.
Welcome to the show… To know me is to ponder the dissidence
Serendipity and Calliope gather around me now. Bedfellows for Now. But at times they leave me for weeks, months. One morning I’ll wake and they’re gone. Ignoring my pleads for their swift return. The Spring runs dry. Is it my lack of divinity? How have I offended you? The wind no longer whispers my name. And all color is lost to the world. Only shades of gray. And so goes the ebb and flow of what I know of inspiration. I lose myself in meditation to find the way, to draw near the day of their return, as desire’s embers burn holes in my soul only their touch can mend. Oh, this despair, when will it end? Lost to me are they days we once knew, lost to me are all the time we sat fireside and pulled genius from the ether. Thank you for those times. That Grace, that Beauty charging through the ramblings of a hell bent mind.
They dictate what rings true in the timeless expanses of the nothingness from which all things come. They declare: Dare to lose all you hold precious and dear. For little at a time or all at once in the end, all things leave us. Start by letting go of these things that don’t serve our sovereignty. Sit still and remember who you are….
