The Downtime.

There will always be a downtime. You can't have a high without a low, it acts as a reminder to balance. The downtime as I call it happens to everyone, creative or not.  It's a sort of sit back, throw your hands up in the air moment.  Could last a month, could last a year. Each time you deal with it differently, either way it happens.

I went into hibernation after my first album in order to create a second album (which is done). It was my longest down time to date. It's like you have waves of inspiration and then none at all, it can be maddening. Learning to ride the wave of inconsistent creative madness until beauty appears once again. I think the older you get the more space appears between creative bursts. You do get better at the downtime but you still feel it linger on. Sometimes you unplug and find inspiration in other mediums or for some this is when they give up.  I understand why now.  There is no map on this lonely road and the support as most move on and get married and have babies starts to consume most people's worlds.  I promise though if you hold on long enough, something will give way.

As a slow processor of downtime I have found the months that pass and suddenly turn into a year  (for me) was in some way supposed to happen.  Other mediums started to grow and develop and my friendship with time doesn't match those around me.  This human developed concept of time and getting older seems pressurizing especially in a smaller town.  Time slows down then I look at it and it almost feels sped up, this downtime thing blurs reality. I won't lie, it does suck most times.  I promise it gets better though.

To be creative is to fight against most common peoples reality. Making a path all your own and walking it not just talking about it.  If I have learned on thing it's that most artistic mediums aren't lite up at the same time. My downtime with music was my time for growth in poetry.  You see they all do a beautiful dance with one another, just perhaps not at the same time.  The biggest difference is to stay inspired and marvel when beauty finds you during what feels like a drought. Realize most people  are too busy to stop and see the beautiful things, be grateful if you seek it or if it finds you. I promise it always will.

Keep on.

Pattern.

He was younger.
Similarities shocking.
I found his Marliyn pictures.
There was a flower,
The same I put in my hair.
He reminded me of you.
We listened to old records,
He played The Doors.
I found a poem you once sent me.
It wasn't from you but he had it.
Same words.
I paused.
Thinking,
This road I have been down before.
It felt all too familiar.
There was a darkness to him,
Seemingly attracted to it.
Why resist?
I drove down the road to meet him.
He even kissed me like you.
But better.
He couldn't resist me.
So why fight it?
We didn't.
I'm reminded of you still.
I wish you would go away forever.
Erased away like some washed up
Has been.
I don't think about you like I miss you,
I think of you with deep regret.
And now you continue to haunt me.
Only because he reminds me of you.
This time I'm not gonna let you.

A Thousand.

The smell of her haunts you.
Like she left notes on the sheets.
Kitchen pans she once cooked in.
The tasting of the love she sowed.
She haunts you when you close your eyes.
It's enough to make a man not sleep.
In fear of thinking you kissed her,
When you didn't.
Touched her porcelain skin.
Knew what it meant to lay next to her.
Waking up with disappointment.
A let down.
Because she wasn't there.
And never was.
You are the one yearning.
Just to touch her skin,
One last time.
You would wait a thousand lives.
Be pulled through the trenches.
Eat nothing.
Drink piss and vinegar.
Forget everything you knew.
Never take another breath.
Because you loved her.
In at least your dreams,
You are with her again.
And that's worth sleeping.
A thousand times over.
Just to be with her one last time.
You would sleep your life away.
To live in that place.
At least there she was with you.
A thousand times over.
You would.

Disproportion.

I didn't love you the way you loved me.
That disproportion wasn't a secret,
I think you wondered when the sand
Would run out of the hourglass.
Don't think I didn't feel that too.
So I guess we were just waiting.
Like grains of sand that collect on the beach.
Eventually picking up with the wind.
Going to separate places.
I went to the sea.
You stayed on the shore.
Always wondering of my return.
That will never happen.

Come As You Are.

Since coming home from a big city to a small town the adjustment has been interesting. It brings up an interesting topic that has been on my mind. A topic I feel close to and one that I have given much thought to. It's called judgement.  I think we get better at judging the older we become or at least we think we do. We are critical thinkers latching on to things that we can relate to and not so much to things that we can't relate to.

Needless to say my personal journey has been anything but normal and a good test for a small town. A town that most people never leave, which is to say is they're journey.  All can be judged because as we age we think we know what's best.  The real understanding is knowing that we all are on our own path.  That it's no better or worst, it's just different.  It's easy in the community that I live in now to all be doing the same things and for me I feel different.  I am looked at differently or simply ignored for lack of understanding.  It's important to note that I'm not complaining but rather observing  That's the thing about individual consciousness, it can be short-sided and is based on experiences.  It's finding the group that feeds you and understanding that no one truly has this figured out.  It's also letting go of people that no longer share in your thought. This is a truly difficult lesson.  It might mean your sister or your best friend. Once the mind expands it can no longer go back.  Some people want to stay in their consciousness  which is to say they will not relate to your new way of thinking. This is noones fault.  Your way isn't everyone's way. Your way might not be best for me and my way might not be the best for you.  I think that is the exciting part about life, that either way is a choice. Instead of thinking it's predetermined it bestows choices upon yourself.  For the randomness of life this choosing is wonderfully powerful.  It's a celebration of the human spirit and the power of choice.

When I feel judged I take a deep breathe and say to myself " I don't judge you and I would like you to not judge me." Im not saying this always works but it reminds me to be kinder to my fellow passenger.  We don't always know of a persons individual journey and I would challenge others to exercise a more loving approach to this experience.  Our brains are wired to evaluate and judge and this is to say it's not always right.  It's keeping love in your heart and an openness that comes from understanding your journey and the journey of others. Be thankful for the expansiveness of just being alive.  All the other details matter today and maybe not so much tomorrow.  The true test is in the support.  An unwavering support to not judge but expand our minds to a deeper understanding.  To not shy away from not relating but to center ourselves with those that might be different and learn something new.

As you are.

Do You Have It?

Did she ever have it?
The girl with flowers in her hair.
Dances with the moonlight.
Sings sorrow.
Sings of love.
Maybe she was.
Maybe she wasn't enough.
We hold memories of her,
Shining brightest like a sun beam.
She's gone.
Leaving those around her to wonder,
Where did the imagination go?
The glimmer of light might have been taken.
Or maybe it was a dreamless existence,
That took the light for themselves.
It's a fickle thing.
To dream in a world that's unkind.
We grasp to anything showing hope.
Then we can say...
Did she ever have it?
And she did.
After we have taken it for ourselves.
Shell became her heart.
She wasn't ever understood.
The songbird.
She knew at least one heard though.
She sang in the dark to an empty room.
Filled with only the thoughts of an even one ear.
She still dances.
When no one is looking.
When the manontany of life is so real now.
Where everyone waits to die.
She began to live.
Fly.
The dreamer.
The inventor of crazy things.
Wild thoughts ran through her like wild mint grew.
The crazy one.
It brought her to tears, sometimes.
Holding on to a secret she felt.
The world always had many no's.
But she did have it.
All along.
It was the way people looked at her.
It was as simple as people knowing she didn't belong.
Dear god, who belongs?
It's that difference that strengthens a soul.
Some people never leave that place.
Then she wonders if they ever had it?
It's noones fault.
We do the best we can.
I just would rather dream something crazy.
Then never dream at all.
Do you have it?

To Hope.

It's been a journey. From a small town to a big city of lights. From a hippie beach town called Venice. Every chapter seemingly more exciting then the next. I live for experiences that have changed me.  That give me something to write about.  These eyes are not shy to the things I have witnessed. There is a time though of true darkness.  Every great artist feels the brakes slam.  Watches the wind pick up, feels a relentless rain.  To say it's a low time is an understatement. Every artist, everyone if they are lucky will be humbled.  It might seem like what you went through wasn't worth it but there's a small piece of you that doesn't believe that lie.  Or some days you do.

I have lived from a suitcase for what will be a year in August.  Bouncing around with what feels like a fallen plan. A plan unraveling as I write these words.  I write from the room I grew up in feeling humbled.  Most days I am here other days I am my old self in New York.  The constant ache for a city that made me in a town that grew me.  To say this is a low time is an understatement. To flirt with the idea of giving up is soul crushing.  The highs and lows feel daunting.  It's like walking in a foggy forest, every turn offering some hope that the clearing brings a road. But there is no road just hope.  Maybe that's enough maybe it's not.  It will clear though because it has to.  That's what having a relentless faith does to you.  It reminds you that you were your biggest fan first.  That whatever you created was inside of you all along.  Support helps the most and it's needed for moments when the fog doesn't seem to clear. When the rain feels like nails. No one said this was easy and that's why most never take leaps.  Never fly or forget to dream when they get older. It's easy to live a simple life it takes courage to be brave.  To dream something crazy, to do something wild.

It's terribly lonely but let's not pretend that everyone has it all figured out.  We don't know what tomorrow brings but at least I hope the fog is clearing.  My humble moment in the room I grew up where my first dream began as a seed and grew.  Continues to grow like golden sunflowers under the sun, is my only hope.

Europa

And gradually she lost her fear, and he

Offered his breast for her virgin caresses,

His horns for her to wind with chains of flowers

Until the princess dared to mount his back

Her pet bull's back, unwitting whom she rode.

Then—slowly, slowly down the broad, dry beach—

First in the shallow waves the great god set

His spurious hooves, then sauntered further out

'til in the open sea he bore his prize

Fear filled her heart as, gazing back, she saw

The fast receding sands. Her right hand grasped

A horn, the other lent upon his back

Her fluttering tunic floated in the breeze.

Spring.

It was over. Like the way a snowfall happens in March when you think winter is over but it's not. The way it fools you. I know spring is coming and he always thought winter would stay. Now that's when we became different. You and I.  I always knew that and you didn't. Maybe that's when a change came because Sping was on us and we were having a bad day. It would pass and the birds would sing and the blossoms would bloom cause that's what spring does, if you only saw it. You wanted to stay in winter and for that I finally understood what would come of us. It never changed and you never saw Spring.

Drivers Seat.

Living in a creative city helps the juices flow. For sure you feel the spirits that still haunt a city. You can not not be inspired. I used to think that one needed to be in a city in order to be creative. Creativity lives in you either way. As my life has chosen different roads for me, I know this to be true.  My time in NYC was an education that money couldn't buy.  As the tide changed for me feeling like I was going to somehow fall off the creative train was a dooming thought that simply wasn't true.

I had a thought one day that I would never sing again and it pushed me into such sadness I knew I couldn't bare it. Sometimes a break isnt a bad thing but the process of what that meant has propelled me to continue to choose this dream.  It's not something you easily give up on. I remember what I learned and took away from that moment in time. It's a special part of what makes life so interesting.  I now what it took to end up in my small hometown again but the thing I wasn't gonna do is forget that. It's all a giant lesson and sometimes it feels unfair or stacked against you but if you continue to write and create then I know the creative city helped me but didn't become me. It was me along. It is you all along.

In that chapter of my life it was perfect and for this chapter it isn't. It's not to say that one day it won't happen again. For now the pressure is off and being true to myself will create even better art. Until the road changes again and who knows what that will bring. I am grateful for it all.  The good and the bad and the unknown future. I am a dreamer by nature and now I know it starts with me in the drivers seat continuing to make it happen. No one else will do that for you, so keep driving.

My Mother.

It's been a long road.
Mostly it has been good.
There have been times,
There are always times.
When we need a hand,
A look in the eye.
Just kindness.
Cause I'm not gonna break, you know.
Only she knows that.
I wish others knew that.
A mothers does.
And it changes you.
And you are better for it.
Changed because of her.
The single most important thing.
Just to have her.
And never let her go.
Or make her think you grew too fast.
You will be her baby forever.
She's the keeper.
My mother.

Something Beautiful.

The sun wasn't out much. When it did decide to show it was beautiful, and warm.  When you passed by there wasn't much, but snow.  I walked as I always do. It was white and it was something that stopped you. The way beauty has a way of doing.

The snow was melting, not a car in sight. As I walked I sought to see something beautiful. I would go for however long it took. I didn't care.

It was a bright blue day.  The suns brightness reflected the most glimmering light off the snow.  Entrapped by the smells of cold, my cheeks felt like rose petals. I felt I was alone and it was for the first time in a long time.  No traffic and no noise. I saw a snow storm coming our way and even though the wind pickup it remained a perfect mid January's day. The plants looked dead in color you still knew life grew around you. My breath was so vivid it fogged my sunglasses.  I could hear crunchy footsteps but no true direction on where the sound was coming from.

It was the most beautiful natural musical progression. The way the wind sung through certain trees.  Whistling and howling, deeping the sound and balance. Bouncing off of thick oak and twirling past the pines. Every so often a bird joined in.  This felt like a moment out of a Hemingway novel. It is something the whole body experiences. It stops you. Like the way new buds bloom in the Spring. When trees turn gold from the first frost in the Fall.  The way salt feels on your cheeks after wading in the ocean. The way the full moon cascades such a light you can see all its craters.

Being there and feeling like you are the only one.  The gravel road stretched out as far as I could see. A moment of silence in nature, now that's a beautiful thing.

The snow storm finally gave way and dropped perfect flakes from the sky.  Cold crystals fell onto my cheeks melting from the remaining warmth on my skin.  The sun was hidden from puffy dark clouds.  I turned around from the dirt road, passed the horses grazing in a wide open field. Felt the harsh wind pick up on my back.

My time was done I had found something beautiful all in a winters day.