Blessed are the weird people: poets, misfits, writersmystics, painters, troubadoursfor they teach us to see the world through different eyes.
Life loves to reveal herself to the raw, courageous doubters; to those who are willing to live inside the question.
Every pain, addiction, anguish, longing, depression, anger or fearis an orphaned part of usseeking joy, some disowned shadow wanting to returnto the lightand homeof ourselves.
Living is art.Breathing and heart beating is music.Seeing is painting the world with our eyes.Touching is sculpting the shape of everything.Life is the most intense art of all.
With poetry and writing, the question isn’t “do you know the right words?”.The real question is, “can you make words from the unwordable, chisel blocks of raw silence into shapes and touch our souls?
We are doing the most important possible work in the world when we open the door and reveal our creative nature. It is the work of the Universe itself.
We wait, starving for moments of high magic to inspire us, but life is full of common enchantment waiting for our alchemists eyes to notice.
I have come to differentiate not at all between what is spiritual and the rest of life. There is only Life, all of it is good and the more I am aware of this in every moment, the more my spirit comes alive.
I don’t analyze beautiful. I sit in its presence and love the wholeness of it–the sweet and sad and raw and bright together.Poetry is that, the weaving of light-shadow. Making words from the unwordable.
We are, all of us, always only one breath or softening of our thought away from an invasion of divine wonder and fresh miracles. Soul waits for any small opening of our hearts to steal into everyday life.
Dare to dream again.For dreaming is the language of your soul,And nothing your soul truly desires could ever be wrong or impossible.
Your enormous soul had so many choices of who it could show up as. It chose you.