Sometimes your life and art mesh. I’m in charge of the Treasure Island cast & crew after party this Sunday. My son was cast as Long John Silver. I have not had much time for other pursuits, but I realize that creating things for the party is art. Life & art can intersect in wonderful ways.
Note: I decided to remain true to the Artist’s Way journey and handwrite my morning pages. I don’t know what pushed me to reconsider other than a desire to accept what I don’t know and immerse myself in it. I was inspired to write this after my morning pages today.
The Bird at My Window
A bird came to my frosted window this morning.
I looked at it through the broken glass of frozen crystals creeping along the pane.
Its pin beak was a needle meant for nectar not ice.
Its song was desperate.
Shall I let it in?
Its song was insistent.
Shall I respond to its plea?
Its song was just a song, meant for the sky, not me.
A bird came to my snow globe window this morning, and it wanted nothing but to sing.
A banjo is an excellent story writer. It’s a 5-string choose your own adventure. It’s a thriller. It’s the romance writer of stringed instruments. Go down the neck, and you get some science fiction and fantasy sounds…the bard of a space court. It’s African poetry. It’s a medical drama about a woman needing a musical cure for a rough week. The banjo is a story, and it is the cure.
“When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
It starts with the rhythmic tapping of the first drops
On the roof from which you touched the stars
There is a grumble in the sky, a call to action on the horizon
And electricity traces the line of your quickening pulse
Today will be different. Today is the storm.
The dark clouds are now pushing up to your horizon,
Making you search for shelter in the eyes of the unaware
They are in their own storm, unable to bear witness to yours
You yell out while knowing you have to be your own shelter
You were made for this. Today is your day.
Now comes the torrent, the lightning, unforgiving noise
The deluge hydrates the landscape of your soul
While eroding the surface, a runoff of who you were
Your foundation shakes with each strike and boom
Today is terrifying. Today is your storm.
The minutes pass, or maybe the hours, or the years
The storm chooses how long it stays and batters what was
And your choice is to weather it, a stalwart sailor, or wash away
When you think it will stay forever, sunshine finds the crack in the clouds
The storm is done. You are the sunshine, begun anew.