Free me from chasing me | An question of differences
How many people can relate to really wanting to do the expressive thing (writing, poetry, singing, theatre) meanwhile arises the voice that lies, “not me.”
How do images represent your relationship with public expression?
In a world that has lost its ability to see differences as source of strength rather a threat, we have constructed all these rules that dictate what is and isn’t ok. HR in organizations. PC culture dictated by scholastically educated. In every context someone holds the key to what's right and rights wrong.
Is rule bound culture decreasing our capacity to relate, explore new experience, and connect in a realm curiosity rather than assumption?
What would it be like if our relationships operated on a system of expanding expression and recognition and celebration of differences rather than a narrowed sense of completion in sameness? An empty validation of living because we can recognize the thing that “is me.”
I definitely think there is a LOT more pressure now for all things creative to “fit” within a set of parameters, and if it doesn’t fit in the current social narrative, it doesn’t “count.”
I saw a lot of that when I did a short stint of work as a short story writer. Stories had to fit within a fairly narrow set of literary conventions, anything that smelled remotely “genre fic” (i.e. sci fi, fantasy, stuff that people were actually reading) didn’t get published because it wasn’t considered intellectual enough.
In the music world, it’s similar, in the art world it’s even more so....
I personally want to know where the joy went? What happened to creativity as a form of play? When did it morph into this weird posturing?
Ah thanks for these reflections. Yes to creative free play! And to connecting with sources of creativity and imaginal realms beyond intellectual "knowing."
Now that our labors are ready to bear fruit
Our fates have run dry
Still you watch us without expression and mute
As all our plans go awry
: )
And you see this energy is exhaustible
Though expanding beyond the planets I've heard is possible
Amidst anger and fury I've had a good sit
Not before seeming insanity to release to body of it
As I wait for your verses to come
While in turn writing more and some
My ponderings' have taken me beyond mars
With some help, I just might aim for the stars
Starts expanding
As grains of sanding
From woodworkers sculpting of trees.
As I gather the words to say
Only to stutter and then delay
The hour of solitude is now upon me
but the unsaid words won't let me be