Gifts

This week has been a tragic one, my lovelies. The world has lost two great creative minds, and the hole they leave gapes wide. The likes of David Bowie and Alan Rickman will not come again soon.
I’ve been struck by how deeply this loss has affected people, and how much flak they’re getting for it. It’s given me cause to think about art, and relationships, and kindness.

There are stories that say, when you bond with another person on an intimate, spiritual level, that you exchange pieces of your souls. There is a connection created by revealing the vulnerability within oneself, and it isn’t easily broken or overlooked. Call it a broader definition of “soulmate,” if you will.

To create art, you need to get inside yourself and touch the spots that are sore. Not just gently caress them, but probe deeply, with forceps and a bright light. Dig and poke, until within that soreness you find the thing you need to get out and share. Your art isn’t just pretty words or nice drawings, it’s you. It is your vulnerability made manifest. You are giving away a piece of your soul.
You would think that, at this rate, making art would cause you to be a very empty vessel, and quickly. But every time you pull out those shards of glass, and polish them up for someone to find, they get found. Many people will walk right by, and not understand what they see. These people will not fill that place in your soul. Your art is not meant for them. But someone else will come by, and that bit of you that’s waiting out there, it will fill a place in them that they didn’t know was empty.
It will say to them, “There you are. I see you.” And they will hear it. It is for them that your soul split apart. And it is they who will send you a piece in return. They will fill your cup.

So if you are feeling a deep loss, and getting shit for mourning someone you never knew, I say that’s crap. You knew all you needed to know, and they knew you too. They saw you, and called out to you. You exchanged pieces of your souls. Of course you’re grieving.

Of all the things people could be saying about these two men, the common thread has been that they were both self-effacing, good-humored, and above all, kind. Let’s take that as our cue, and practice more kindness towards each other. Even if you aren’t feeling the loss, give room to those that are. They lost a piece of themselves this week.

To close, one of my favorite songs. It’s a favorite because it was the first song on the first mix-tape made for me by my high school best friend, Chris. She was a lot of fun, and had a great record collection. Cheers, Chris. My sincere sympathies on your loss.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qtgF1w5LsZY

 

Wistful

I’m kneading bread dough in the kitchen, on that damn warped board that has the crack in it. It’s shimmying all over the place, and I’m thinking about how I really should have replaced it already. About how you told me I needed better tools.
I’m caught up thinking about a quiet cabin in the woods, watching snow fall in feathery flakes, kneading dough on a real butcher block that’s made for such things, at the proper height and with plenty of room. There’s venison stew just beginning to bubble softly on a grate over the fire. The dog, big and furry, is stretched out full-length in front of it, baking his belly and snoring gently. I need to muck out the sheep stalls after I finish this, and spin the wool from the lamb’s last shearing, so I can replace those awful mittens of yours. The last patching is wearing out already, and they aren’t doing you any good. Your hands on my shoulders feel cold when you come inside.
I’m warmed by thoughts of being tucked up for winter in the calm and the still.
What is nostalgia for things that haven’t happened? Things that won’t happen? Wistfulness, I suppose.
Sometimes I wonder, if the noise of our combined madness hadn’t drowned out everything else, if this would be where we left things. Doesn’t matter though, because this is where it is.
This is the year of letting go. The year of releasing everything.
I shaped the dough and put it back into the bowl. I washed my hands. I let go.

Wistful music to read by…https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0GUE3E9w-Vg&list=PLY4gRtK2vPT35_MoDQPun1jxuZ35t49es&index=8