Telling stories is sacred to me. Completely, utterly, down on my knees at the alter, while incense nestles its way into my nostrils sort of sacred.
With sacred things there's always an amount of fickleness, DETAILS and ceremony involved-it's like each story is spun into something beautiful, but only if each individual thread is woven, perfectly.
My threads are strewn through so many different outlets right now. At the moment I'm writing a TV show, writing a book, starting a new business (MORE ON THAT LATER), booking music shows and writing bits of scenes everyday and then when I come to sit at my blog, I've used up all the threads. I'm delegating where all of my stories belong, "Ah, that story has to go into the book...." then a lightning of inspiration will come up and My Love will say, "Write the down! That has to go in your show," or, "OMG- stop what you're saying, write it down before it gone...." clinging to the words....donnn't gooooo.....
I live for these moments. LIVE. When The Divine opens a door and welcomes itself into your brain without permission. Why hello, yes you may have a seat- you ask if The Divine would like some tea, or a glass of whiskey (depending on how The Divine is feeling, of course) and then you sit, in reverence and awe- give it to me baby, give it to me, I am here and I am basking. Sometimes The Divine stays for whiskey and other times it's all, "Hey can I use your bathroom? Sweet, then I gotta run." And you're left sitting there alone with your whiskey, or your crumpets or whatever else, just a faint outline of this mystical beings apparition is left. Why, that was.....glorious?.....or....what the fuck was THAT?
Well thank you for giving me the most beautiful, sacred, inspiration-fucking and running, ever. Fantastic, I wasn't finished, punk.
That's just how inspiration works. Indulge it when it knocks at your door, but don't spend all day staring at a tray of stale crumpets waiting for it, sometimes it's a house guest that uses your shampoo, eats all of your dried cherries, cleans our your liquor cabinet and then leaves a Thank You note signed, "Until next time...." Other times, it uses your restroom, gives you a swift kiss on the cheek and leaves you hastily. Welcome its visits, but don't welcome them with expectation, or you'll be disappointed.
This has been the LITERAL THEME OF MY LAST WEEK. Notice how I did that, with the caps? Yeah, that's called Anger Typing. See, I'm trying to be all "unattached" to it, but the what happens when you get an inspiration "high" and the high isn't received, you feel a bit like someone spit cotton candy right in your face. Why cotton candy? I don't know, I wouldn't reject cotton candy. Or apples if you prefer a healthier bent on the analogy.
The point is, my projects are all hanging in various parts of the air..... I'm IN FULL FORCE DREAM WARRIOR MODE. Don't risk takers get rewarded? Right now, I'm thinking no? the words, "DON'T FUCK WITH THE SYSTEM" are stewing in my head, knees close to buckling....
Truthfully, I could use a little nudge. Like, even one tiny bone.
BUT HERE'S THE THING- I'm truly not complaining; I'm surrendering, I'm invoking, beseeching (especially beseeching, in an English accent), affirming, worshiping this beautiful, odd bravery that one must have in order to GROW. Reminding myself everyday, in each challenge, I am setting fire to fields infested with burs and that I am blazing a new trail, where only my foot steps can show me the way there and then lead me home again, when I've covered all the land and am ready for a new adventure.
I am gambling with the most TENUOUS emotion; TRUST and I'm forced to believe in myself, again and again and again- instead of timidly believing in myself without ever experiencing the push of opposition.
And then, I'm finding lightness- a little silliness that's squeezed itself under the Heavy, for instance;
I spent 6 hours last night after a long day painting the characters in a carved wall hanging of The Last Supper neon chartreuse- I know how that sounds, ridiculous?
A. because I'm not Catholic, or particularly "religious" or particularly into Jesus-
B. I was painting a wall hanging of The Last Supper chartreuse. For what purpose exactly? That's the thing. There really wasn't one- other than, I'm on a crafting quest to make old things beautiful, make serious thing playful, and turn trash into treasures and because I have this idea that that "supper" was a lot more colorful than we're lead to believe, so, I painted it.
My Love sat across from me painting a vintage chest, transforming it from evergreen to bubblegum pink, with black accents- one of my pickings from an impulse thrifting spree- paint fumes mixed with garlic cous cous and turkey sausage mixed in the air and The Weepies played in the background, "I made due with gray, but I didn't stay. I was made for sunny days, and I was made for you."
....the sound of living happened outside, and I thought to myself, "Ah, this isn't so bad." I'll just make sure to have whiskey next time The Divine comes to my door, maybe it'll stay longer.
HOW DO YOU BRING IN "LIGHTNESS" WHEN YOU'RE IN THE "HEAVY?"