“If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, will answer you: I am here to live out loud.” Emile Zola
Playing your own pattern
The theme is seen, under the hidden meanings that are lost by others – the little chords that ring within when deaf ears stroll on by and you let out a sigh because the beauty is lost. Let it not. Fret it not. That is your melody to follow, your pattern that joins it all. Your poetry. Let it be. And the themes of your life join up like dots lest you be distracted by the plot and instead flow with what feels to be good, what you know to be, what you sense but discard to join the madding crowd of disbelief and doubt. A tragedy. A travesty. My heart breaks for the old me.
Shedding the skins of the old and slithering out into unknown terrain and surviving through draught. Misty, hidden, shadows are given to dodge between and remain unseen but each twist and turn takes you closer still to be free to move in the way that you please in the way that you see to be who you really are. Who really you are? Which fallen star are you yet to be, are you burning inside to let out your surprise uniqueness, your uprising phenomenal dance born out of a trance-like dream. That nobody saw you dare to believe in.
Is it in the taste of your strawberry sweetness that you think of the fruits that you nurture in others, that bloom and unfold out of all the bleakness and there you see your flourishing friends that join in a salad of laughter and dance and all that art that dabbles with the meaning we lightly pick and pluck and place for the party. Is it the slow, steady clearing of the residue of the evening celebrations where we carefully clean and tidy the space where we partied and roll with the flow of the up and the down, of the creating, the commiserating and everything in-between.
Do you see what I mean? It’s hidden in my own little trance of words like a tune to carry to your own. A song that cannot be ignored. Did you hear it in a lyric? Did you read it in a book? Is it getting louder and louder, like, pull your fingers out of your ears. Yes, it is meant to be heard – every word – cast over by fear, shredded by your thoughts. Did you feel it? Did you unravel your riddle? It’s coming, it will come closer still, wherever you go, just know… twilights and sunrise and all that twinkling luscious awe where you thought you saw more. It’s coming. It’s real. So do not discard what you feel.