Ordinary

Standing single file,
like druid prisoners of war,
the suburban trees line the streets.
Quietly rebelling in their allotted plots
roots buckle cement
and limbs stretch out across the roadway
to tangle themselves inextricably together.
These are my comfort,
these ancient survivors
clawing toward the sun
and cradling the moon in their branches at night.
Like me, they pass for ordinary here on Sycamore Street
but for those willing listen
they share their secrets
in whispers hung with moss.

Fog

I've been feeling panicked and edgy and, ok, angry. It has seemed like I'm in a fog -not knowing for sure which direction I'm going. And, when you're in the fog, it's probably best to just stop until you gain clarity. At first I was pretty pissed off about the fog forcing me to stop. But, as I examined the fog I started to remember all the old fairy tales and how the fog or mist surrounded a place of great knowing. You just have to find your way through the fog. That's given me hope. Perhaps somewhere in the fog of my life there is a tiny beam of light leading me to a place of greater wisdom and understanding. So, I'm going to try to summon what little patience I have, still myself and look deep into the fog for whatever answers and light might be there.

February Sunset

late winter sunset

casts an autumn orange glow

upon the treetops

Untitled

Forced blooms,
tiny daffodils live their kitchen table existence
green stalks straining awkwardly toward the window
not aware or not caring
that beyond lies cold, snow, and death.
Even days later,
the delicate petals dry, brown and withering
still reach with heart breaking determination toward the sun
perhaps no longer for survival
but for joy.

February Promise

Darkness

Still Pondering "Success"

It occurred to me today that I am thinking about this in a dualistic way. Either I'm a success or a failure. I'm both - the two co-exist within me. When I look closely at each artistic endeavor of mine, I can see that there is a bit of success in each failure and a bit of failure in each success. They are inextricably intertwined. It's only my judgement that causes something to be one or the other. This is why it's so much easier to just let go of the judgement and let the music, painting, character flow through one. The art is what it is. The judgement is what others will place on it. To the artist, judgement is irrelevant. Art remains, perception changes.

More Thoughts on Success

I think I've always been a little bit afraid of success. I've felt that if I did well, people wouldn't like me. I've also been afraid of the stress and responsibility that can come from success. But, it has recently started to sink in at deep level that we all are connected. When I don't succeed that also effects everyone. Lack of success comes with it's own responsibility. It may be less obvious but it cetainly more insidious. My shrinking from success serves no one.