Why Bother Creating?

Life does not make art possible

Art makes life possible

The artist and the alchemist are the same

They are masters who use every experience

As an opportunity to create change

They make art that captures the feelings

We cannot put into words

Art that is made honestly

Allows a misunderstood heart to feel heard

Soul Mates

There are some people you meet,

And you sense your atoms have danced together before

They will feel like home and a grand adventure all at once

With eyes that see far too deeply,

They understand the language of your heart

That you thought only you spoke

Between our first inhale and our last exhale

The depth of the story in between

Is marked by the depth of the connections we have

Becoming whole may be lonely at first

But when you embrace who you truly are,

You’ll find people who accept the honest you. The messy you. The strong you.

As you’re embraced with more love than you’ve ever felt

You’ll look into their eyes and see reflected back your true self

Humble

Coming home to myself is like walking

A thin tightrope over the Grand Canyon

Gratification sways me one way

Failure sways me another

I used to crave the first

But either way in which I’m swayed

Leads me to an empty abyss

I have fallen and pulled myself up

Too many times to want anything but inner stillness

Accountability

Karma whispered softly in my ear and said, “Every story you tell yourself about another person is a trick of perspective. We all have our ways of chasing love and happiness. Dehumanizing another does not more deeply humanize you. So treat people better than you have been treated. We fall in love with those who carry lessons for us. An open heart will always feel deeply to the core. Let love’s crackling embers burn away all that is built up inside, until there is a peaceful emptiness within. Like a hollow instrument, each moment will be music that is played through you.”

The Man Who Caged His Creativity

There is a man who lives in a congested, tired town where rent is expensive and success comes by the dollar. Each day he hustles for his worth in backdoor deals sealed by handshakes of paper-thin people dressed in white collars. Each night he comes home and lets his heart out of its cage, allowing it to fly. He paints, makes sculptures, and weaves stories together through the thread of his imagination. But then the first hints of the sun begin to appear in the starless sky, signaling tomorrow has arrived. So he quietly places his heart back in its cage and ties his tie around his neck, making sure it is nice and straight, leaving no traces of his wild nature as he goes to work.

When I Have a Son

When I have a son,

I will make sure he knows