"To begin, begin." William Wordsworth
Today, I begin afresh. I've been moving around a lot lately. Since college graduation, I had a brief stint in web development, took a few trips in pursuit of forbidden love, and worked several weeks of backbreaking labor. I found my mind and my heart stretch to the utmost reaches of my universe until the fabric was so thin that any miscalculated movement would cause it to tear. And, tear it did. Like pantyhose. Like pizza dough. Like paper.
This isn't the first time. This isn't the last. I've been here before and I know how to get out. But, every time is different. There are new elements. New rules. New opportunities. New impediments.
Whenever the statues fall, the buildings crumble, and the near one's pass away, it takes us a little while to move forward again. We sit. We cry. We wallow. We fight. But, we move. We always move on. It's just a matter of time.
There's this old world story of a Phoenix. A bird of fire, she lives for a long time, then spontaneously burns too brightly, crumbles to ashes, and dies. In some stories, it takes a few moments. In other versions, it takes her many years. But, she comes back. In every version, she comes back as beautiful, young, precious, and passionate as ever.
Today, I am a phoenix.
(Inspiration for this post comes from conversations with my good friends Oakley and Louisa Coburn, and Sharon E. Rawlins. Louisa is a potter at the West Main Artists Co-Op. Sharon is a resilient artist herself. Check her work out here: http://www.serawlins.com/)
Today, I begin afresh. I've been moving around a lot lately. Since college graduation, I had a brief stint in web development, took a few trips in pursuit of forbidden love, and worked several weeks of backbreaking labor. I found my mind and my heart stretch to the utmost reaches of my universe until the fabric was so thin that any miscalculated movement would cause it to tear. And, tear it did. Like pantyhose. Like pizza dough. Like paper.
This isn't the first time. This isn't the last. I've been here before and I know how to get out. But, every time is different. There are new elements. New rules. New opportunities. New impediments.
Whenever the statues fall, the buildings crumble, and the near one's pass away, it takes us a little while to move forward again. We sit. We cry. We wallow. We fight. But, we move. We always move on. It's just a matter of time.
There's this old world story of a Phoenix. A bird of fire, she lives for a long time, then spontaneously burns too brightly, crumbles to ashes, and dies. In some stories, it takes a few moments. In other versions, it takes her many years. But, she comes back. In every version, she comes back as beautiful, young, precious, and passionate as ever.
Today, I am a phoenix.
(Inspiration for this post comes from conversations with my good friends Oakley and Louisa Coburn, and Sharon E. Rawlins. Louisa is a potter at the West Main Artists Co-Op. Sharon is a resilient artist herself. Check her work out here: http://www.serawlins.com/)
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