My Art

I wish to sing a song that evokes. I am a bit naïve as to what it takes to evoke. The bardic tradition is not lost to me but was never my path. How to tell a story that instead of just telling what happens makes you feel. I read from people daily who write about their lives and I am envious. Sometimes of their lives and opportunities that are different than mine. But mostly of the ability to make me feel. I want it. I want to write something that leaves someone else with an emotion. I write silly things, funny, sexy and humorous. Rawness is the answer, to have the naked truth, ideas there to see. Pain is so often the feeling shared. Love, sex and feeling.

How to share the music in my head. I can’t draw or play music, I don’t sculpt or paint. I can write and speak and act. My art is an invisible one. My talent one that can’t be measured or criticized because it isn’t seen. My songs are the twisting of lines of power, the sacred circle made just so. I have built a fortress for the safety of my loved ones, twined the power of chaos and order to an ever moving changing symphony where constant battles and power used to make it last until chaos no longer changes. The light passes in and out of me as I heal. I’d like to say it was something unique, but it is the white light even to me. I know it is there, it is just out of sight, just out of reach all the time. I can bend myself under its rays, bathed in its glory and also the child I hold in my arms. I let it wash over me and into my charge, love so strong I sometimes wish to cry, peacefulness that is addictive, sense of rightness that I lack most of the time. I know when I do things right, because I am always more energized than before I started. I showed this to a girl once, spread this power over her hands, dancing like white fire and she smiled then pulled back. She was scared of taking, scared of draining me dry. I looked on at her and didn’t understand. How can you drain the infinite, how can we who are such small creatures every hope to put a dent into the energy of the universe? Painters paint, writers write, singers sing. What of the Magician? What of the Sorcerer? What of the Witch? There is a ringing in my ears, an idea that wishes to be expressed. How to get it out. How to practice my Art.