What is art? When your parent s don’t love you, where do you go? When every day is a fight for life, wondering if you make it through the night what do you do? Where can you go? You can pray for life to end - as I have many many times. Just wishing this would end. You can make a deal with Jesus saying you will take his place, because the pain you feel is so great what is a bit more and say if I do this can I just rest when this is over? Can I? No, you can’t. Life goes on, that is the only constant. And your pain will continue day after miserable day. An invisible burden you – and only you – can carry. A burden no one sees – none believe. This is what we have. Us lost, us unloved. This is our life, our heritage. We all carry this burden differently. Some lie, steal, and kill. Some are held in place unable to move. Some of us move forward hiding in the shadows. Smiling to the world while the hallow unquenchable pit inside consumes us from within. Rotting away all we are, all we have. Tainting everything we touch. Keeping us at bay – screaming deep inside as we watch life. Seeing and longing, yet unable to …connect. To trust, to open. Walls are so high – so thick no one, not even us, can ever tear them down. To the world we seem normal. Moving through life – adjust functioning. Smiling, laughing, crying. But inside – behind the walls – no one can understand. No one can understand the passion, the desire, the longing we have. The fire like a Russian poem. Each of us has our trigger, our escape. For some it is painting, for other writing, other – like me – music. When we hear/see our trigger it stirs a passion so strong, so deep it cannot help but believe though who know us cannot help but see it. See the passion, the sorrow, and flicker across our continence. But they cannot. We have become so adept at hiding. Burying ourselves so deep nobody can see. Not one can know. Not one can fathom the depth we have, the pain, the love, the loss – the sorrow. Not one. No one. So we move forward. Some create – other consume. In our consumption we taste and feed on the sorrow. We live…we understand. It is the salve we seek.
Posted on: Mon, 10 Mar 2014 02:14:51 +0000
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