Outlets in Crisis
Something I've noticed - I turn to back to creative outlets when I am in crisis. They rises up and comforts me, an old friend to depend on. And the words just flow out of me. Magically escaping my fingertips over keys or out of a pen. It doesn't always happen here, but it happens. Art suddenly overwhelms the walls with tacks and clips, dripping with the passion built from crisis. Surrounding me like a forest of reminders that beauty can stem from thorns.
Life has been too hard.
Creating has been a nonsense plea for a moment of peace. But the pain means there is growth, or at least life? And I am trying to be grateful. Something about being forged in fire, right? I don't really know and I don't have any answers.
There has been too much suffering.
Too much hurt.
Too much confusion.
My method of coping is to put a pen to paper, to let the creativity escape through any and every avenue. Paper and ink, paper and brush, fingertips weaving diligently, coaxing life back into my heart and mind through the magic of words and art. Flowers in china pitchers and wine corks in glass carafes. Leaves pressed against untreated paper and books with flowing stanzas of painfully honest poetry. Tears and hugs from tiny humans, screaming into pillows, running with the sunshine grazing my cheeks, hands held with my berry stained fingers, paint on clothes and tables, music beating the speaker of my doubt into submission.
There seems to be no purpose except to allow a space to bleed freely. I've gotten so tired of hearing people try to bandage wounds that need air. I don't want this time in my life covered up by well-meaning comfort or spiritual bypassing. As much as it hurts, it needs to be felt. All this creating allows it to be felt and expressed. And for that, I am actually grateful and I am looking forward to sharing it all with you.