Write.

It’s been speaking up over and over every few weeks for the past five months. “Write” it says with a cadence that both pulls me in and frightens me. I’ve never tried to write, not for any purpose other than academic or professional work. “Writer” or “artist” are not terms I would ever associate with myself. Yet, without missing a beat, each night, something would emerge to the surface, something that yearned to be written, heard, seen, and shared. It gripped me; and once I glanced in its direction, it didn’t let go. So I spent a few months introducing myself to this mysterious soul that lived within my body. As we got to know each other we both grew, we each lovingly put forth a rug of support where everything was ok and anything could be explored. From this space I leapt forward into possibilities abundant in sharing the creative entities that ooze out through my pores. And so, in this little electronic nook, I shall share my creative explorations. These are pieces of myself that live amidst other parts; some are reflections of my psycho-emotional state, but others are artistic organisms that materialize on their own and do not reflect my feelings about the people in my life. This hyperawareness of interpretation and all its judgement baggage has been the loose crutch I’ve leaned upon to keep myself shielded, to not step forth into the world with my heart, but to rather step into the world with my outermost layer, the one that’s got it all together, the one that doesn’t actually step forth very much.

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