Tag Archives: writing

on the ash heap

Job art

I’ve been putting a lot of pressure on myself this month to create meaningful content. But I don’t have much to say.

I rant and discuss and reflect often enough, but my brain is too scattered, too absorbed in the task of figuring out what I’m going to do with my life, to spew out anything coherent or meaningful.

Everything’s been fine. But as I settle into living here – as it becomes less like a vacation – I’m restless to just get on with my life:

To change the world, or at least a small part of it.

To know my path.

To achieve something visible, tangible, momentous.

To feel, each day, that I’m living life right.

And I’m past the point of thinking that there’s one particular right path I was predestined to follow. I recognize the big lie that success is measured by high levels of both stress and income. And I daily stop to remember that I’m young – and I repeat all the cliche phrases that accompany that thought for good measure.

There’s a misplaced, or displaced, drive, I think. I want to Do Something. I’ve gotten used to people telling me what to do and how to plan my time.

The whole point, I guess, is that it’s up to me to create and follow all the steps. The safety wheels and floaties are actually off now. I have to make decisions and follow through. But I also get to be in charge and achieve something and bask in the results.

I’m mostly afraid that I will collapse into the ashes of my bankrupted dreams – that the light will flicker out, that I’ll end up a prisoner to absolute failure.

* image source: JOB ON THE ASH HEAP, JUSEPE DE RIBERA

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See! I am doing a new thing

The planting is hard but
the Sprouting
it hurts.
Imagine! Writhing
Up against nature’s grounding force
through mildewing grime
Would you – human –
with free will, with choice
ever push? Eat dirt,
awaken?
The mums are stronger
It wasn’t their choice
It’s nature
Look! If it’s light and
dew you want
you already have it.
Dilluted/deluded
in your watery
thoughts, you were
already taken Up
You have already fought
You are a golden mum
echoing light on each
dewy drop.

“Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland.”

meditation on fear

Observe the browning leaves:
do they worry
as they die, and fall
and fall to graying earth?
Do they fight and struggle
and scratch against
the muscled fingers of gravity?

No.
They willingly go to decay,
to shrink,
to crunch under foot and
Not return.

They green in strong winds
and spackled springtime light alike.
Then, knowing it would be so
all along,
They die.

Give their pigment up,
fearless,
joyful, willing us,
Hope.