I lay in bed last night, at 4am, thinking of the tortured artist, thing.
We feel so deeply, us creative folk, and therefore, we capture the world in its fullest expression.
Which is beautiful. Really, ice-shatteringly beautiful.
But we are often not understood, at best. And at worst…we are grossly misunderstood, usually by the logically minded folk of the world, who do not (perhaps cannot) see the world the way we do.
Sometimes we are judged as weak, overly sensitive; irresponsible, messy. A lonely human, this does make, at times.
A lonely human this does make, at times.
I remember sitting at my piano as a nineteen year old, feeling the world in all its depth; the beauty of the autumn leaves outside the window, a huge comfort as I sat and wondered about my place in the world.
These creative eyes.
They make everything a little more beautiful. A little more horrible. A little more alive.
I’m grateful, for them, I am.
I’d imagine all the tortured artists out there were grateful, even the ones who battled to a sometimes tragic end.
Misunderstood, they were, and a little bit lonely, maybe.
A little bit scared of the depths that dragged them beneath the surface, on occasion, maybe.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I keep my distance from the news.
I have to, because the moment I face the full ache of this thing, I feel the pain of the entire world. Already, I’ve felt the fear of the dying and the sorrow of their loved ones. I’ve intuited the secret shame of the many humans walking the earth who are afraid that they will be next. (It’s okay to be afraid, by the way. You already know that, though, don’t you. )
Anyway, I’ve felt it all, and…I’ve felt helpless, quite frankly— especially since I’ve been wallowing in a pit of my own selfish pain for quite some time now. Because life (all of it, the whole joyful ache) still happens, even when there is a monster on the loose.
So I zoom right out, and I really look at it all.
What can I do about all these aches everywhere? All the lonely people. All the fearful people. All the dying.
Guys. I know what I can do.
I can write.
With all my heart I can write, with all my days, I can write. For you— for anyone that needs something more than what they have—until there is some relief in sight. Until we are all able to live fully and wholly for ourselves again.
I can’t cure this disease (omg, lol, no ha ha ha) nor can I erase the ache of a world in despair.
But I have lived. And I can write.
And so I will write.
Over the coming weeks, I will do my very best to show up here every day, and often, with new life, new breath, new feeling…just because I know that it is right.
I know that it is right.
So get ready to live it all through me. Love. Heartache. Tenderness. Humanity. Peace. Fire. Sex. Sensuality. Softness. Community. Spirit. Sunshine. LIFE.
Everything. All of it.
Because that’s what this place was always meant to be:
The Little Blog of Everything.
With all that said…let’s kick this virus in the butt with all the bloggy goodness.
Just because we can.
So much love, bloggy family. I may, or may not, love you all dearly. (Oh, okay. You’ve got me. I so completely do. 🙂 )
I’m sitting up in bed, leaning against the material laden backboard of the bed I bought when my life tore into two separate pieces. It makes me feel more comfortable than the old wooden one. I feel safer, more at home, to have a bed clothed in the softer materials of life.
I’ve just been crying. And you should know by now that I don’t consider crying to be a bad thing at all. It’s one of the most beautiful connections we have to our bodies and souls; a bridge to connect the two, you might say.
I have a feeling— among all my so often elevated feelings— that I am here to teach the world this, and I will not stop speaking my truth until I’m satisfied we’ve all heard, and understood, that it’s really quite beautiful to live and love with all of your heart. To laugh and cry and feel it all.
And be grateful for it all.
The reason I’ve been crying is: a few minutes ago my insides were melted by the most beautiful music—music that has just tumbled down my cheeks in the most blissfully warm river of tears. It wasn’t the music itself that drew the tears. It was the life and meaning that lived within it all that moved me, so.
This is a gift, this beautiful life.
Music. Friendship. Love.
We are so lucky to be touched by the people who feed us beautiful new parts of ourselves. We are so lucky to have these legs, these hands, these eyes, these voices, these hearts.
We are lucky, no matter what the outside of it all looks like.
Don’t waste a minute wondering what if, my lovely bloggy friends. Don’t fight the logistics of circumstance. Just take a deep breath and jump in.
Turn your heart up to the highest notch, and go and find— and live—your truth.
Who are you? What do you want? Where is your real home? No really, ask yourself these questions, guys…because what else is there to do? Truly. What’s the point of life if it is not to live?
So, please, you guys. Post your artworks on Instagram. Look into that yoga teaching course, even though your Mum and Dad think Yoga is for ‘that dreadlock band of tree-loving hooligans’. And for heaven’s sake…tell that girl/guy exactly how much you love them. Tell them with your eyes.
Because surely the point of this crazy wonderful life is to know there is more,
and to be it all.
Anyway, I’ll pop back into my cave now, I suppose.