lucid dreaming [poem]

smiles in rearview mirror

fedora over beach hair

bouncing down urban road in

red pickup truck

nose ring yeah i'm cool

folk tunes stampin stereo

red light guy in next car 

looked over i swear be cool

windows rolled right down

but that was just a dream

yoga star om expert 

sweating thru anti-corporate

tank and coloured crops

smiling thru pain and 

posing each moment for Yoga Journal

hair tossed carelessly

elegant earthy top knot

waterproof mascara

breath perfection alignment perfection

but just another dream

cute blonde office girl

tucked neatly behind desk 

smiling hiding

long finger nails tick tak typing

little wink for the silver-haired 

executives patriarchs

dressed up just enough 

but not too much

so sweet so quiet so dumb

but yeah it's just a dream

book and bag on arm

a poet on the beach

wind blowing thru pages

don't look distracted girl

fedora makes a second act

not worried where sand sneaks in

looking out to vast blue ocean

believing she understands

beauty and love HAH

what's left after the dream?

the pursuit of perfection will always be a pursuit

"Nothing stops the forward march of any creative endeavor like the need to do it absolutely perfectly. And who is to judge what is 'perfect' anyway? What I have judged full of flaws so many others have called terrific. Maybe the definition of Perfection is something that actually gets done."
~ Neale Donald Walsch

I have often been paralysed by the fear of getting something wrong. 

This is the reason why I hid my creative side away for many years. I couldn't show it to the world until it was "perfect," until it was "ready." I thought, surely I have talent. I could catch glimpses of it here and there, but it wasn't good enough yet. It wasn't ready to go out into the world until I could know for sure that it would be admired by all who saw it. 

What I realised when I started putting myself out there is that, for all your anxiety and pining over perfection, other people simply don't care as much as you do about whatever it is you're doing. And this is truly a great and liberating recognition. I realised that all I can really ask of people is that they allow me a space to do what I do, to wiggle around, squirming awkwardly into my "art." Maybe some people will like it, maybe they will care, but the vast majority won't even notice. What power this is, really, what freedom!

Not only will I never be perfect, I never have to be perfect. No one expects that of me.

I also realised that I'm never going to get it done completely. There will always be something I wish I said or did better, and you know what, that is exactly the inspiration for the next piece and the next piece and the next one: trying to touch something more and more real. 

I will often be reading something from a writer that I love and I will think, "wow, this is truly great, I never could have come up with this." And it's true, I couldn't have. Those thoughts and those words are uniquely theirs. It is their precious gift to the world. 

I also have a unique and precious gift to share with the world, but more importantly, I now understand that the only way I can do that is to actually do it. Like, Neale Donald Walsch says, stop worrying about perfection and just act, create, put it out there. The consequences can't be as bad as if I stifled that creativity.

Maybe we pursue perfection or truth or beauty as an ideal goal in our creative endeavours and the actual pieces that are born into reality are just symptoms of that pursuit. This one might grasp some little kernel of what we are reaching for, and that one something else. Or maybe we missed the mark on that one, but at least now we can see it. It doesn't matter. 

Everything we create are merely offshoots of something greater that is within all of us. What we create doesn't make us great or loveable or perfect. It is our innate greatness, lovableness and perfection that makes whatever we pursue, whatever we give form to, great if we can tap into it. 

Like many failed experiments, we hone in closer to discovering something about ourselves and our lives. No more hiding. No more excuses.

Love,
R

"I know I need my instrument but does my instrument need to be mic'd?"

It's official. I've been outed.

My friends and family now know the dirty little secret I've been keeping tucked in the darkness of my inner life for all of these years....

and I feel...afraid.

Yes folks, I like to write. I need to write. If the words don't get to the page they gradually suffocate me.

So with the start of this blog I've begun to breathe again, after many years. But there is something different this time. This time other people can...well, they can ...see...it...

Which brings me to these words from a song by Ani DiFranco:

"thinking maybe I'm just standing here

because I want to be liked

yes, I know I need my instrument

but does my instrument need to be mic'd?"

I know I need to write, but does it need to be on display for all to see?

I have struggled with this one a lot (understatement) and it really comes down to a feeling I can't quite put my finger on of ....completion? It's like the words are conceived in my brain and take form through my fingers and they need somewhere to go; they need to be born into the world.

Like exposing a wound to the air so that it can heal.

This brings me to my fear around hearing the opinions of others about my exposed wounds/newborn babies. What if the external manifestation of this is enough to change it for me on an internal level? What if I begin to write for all the wrong reasons?

This little doozy was running all over my mind during my yoga practice today. But I found, as I let the fear come through me and settle in pieces all around my mat, that when I came back to the breath, there I was. The same Me. The eternal Me. The Me that is "independent of the good opinion of others" (Wayne Dyer).

That Me doesn't change because of anything anyone says.

I might get scared, but that doesn't mean I stop. It means I recognize that fear as thoughts in my head and feelings in my body and I return as soon as I can to my inner home. If I write from my inner home I will maintain my clarity of purpose. Things will occur for the right reasons, and fulfillment, peace and joy will be in the realm of the soul as it sings its music.

Wayne Dyer also says, "don't die with your music still inside of you." So here I am, flailing and caterwauling, a baby magpie learning its tune.

Love, 
R