Whatever you work in this life
Whatever you create with
If you strive
And give of yourself fiercely
If you surrender to the art
It will answer
And its reply
Will in turn create you
The painter will be painted
The musician will be played
The sculptor will be moulded
The writer will be written
And the poet becomes the poem
It’s the old adage
10,000 hours
Will bring the artist home
Nowadays I don’t reach for words
They are already writing themselves
I take notes.
And if I am speechless
Wordless
Still
I observe
Because in the silence of no words
Contains all wisdom
Palpable
As a tree
A stone
A bird in flight
These things have no words to describe
People try
But when you stop trying
And you are told
There are no words you may use
That is the rule
All that is left is feeling
And breathing
Into the quietude of still places
In order to make the leap
Between words
Without falling
We must learn to suspend
Not fly
Suspend
Judgement and fear
These things and everyday places can knock on the outsides of the bullet proof glass of the heart
But it will not shatter
Bring all the precious things inside
Then
Lock the door
Nothing out there matters
Some people are concerned for writer’s block
But all they really fear is a loss of control
Once you realise that you have no control
It is all an illusion
The next move is surrender
It’s the only conclusion
that springs instantly from the silence
All is stripped back
Bare
Away
And the tenderness of the moment
Is heartbreaking
So clear
We were born into this
The baby’s fathomless insightful stare
The world breaks it
Bit by bit
until a child will barely hold an adults eyes
And the adults eyes forget the child’s entirely
But with ten thousand hours of surrender
We land lightly
Back in the body
And mind
Of an innocent newborn child
I laugh aloud that I thought myself grown at forty
Pffft
I hadn’t even begun
All this time
I was in the wrong room
And now I only have a few thousand days
To work my way out of the womb
of this floating world
