My world is a war zone and my senses have committed an act of treason. Engaged in an operation, they have coloured my perception with cognitive misdirection. How can I orient myself in the world properly when external stimuli can no longer be trusted? Imagine if when a particular event occurred you believed for certain that you knew the meaning of it, only to later reveal your error in perception. Now multiply this scenario by 365 and you have an accurate representation of my mind. A focus on detail; all senses stuck on magnify, seeing only the letters and failing to observe the sentence.
Now what to do about this? I’ll let you know when I find out…
Suspended in free-fall, held up by the force of a hundred thousand butterflies.
My entire being overflowing with warm vibrations, oscillating at a frequency forgotten.
My feet swept out from the mapped path under me, o’ lady uncertainty, what do you have in store for me?
Her smile reinvigorates, the surface of the sun does not come close to the warmth I feel.
You make me feel alive.
I wonder what the future holds, open, unafraid and ready to embrace. A metamorphosis from boy to man, student to teacher. My energy was once guided, I was lost; I am ready to guide, but knowing always I will be guided still.
There is hope, a clearing through the trees.
My inspiration resides in a well. This well has no floor and within it resides an opulent liquid, dense with creative energy and overflowing with ideas. I cannot reach this well, it is always out of my reach; I cannot access my inspiration from atop this bottomless well.
I reach for sustenance only to stretch forth without triumph. Why can’t I drink from this well?
I float, completely immersed in creative thought, and in this liquid, my ideas flow easily and manifest on the page. Why can’t I reach my ideas from atop this well?
I yearn for the day I can reach for that opulent liquid whenever I desire, with this liquid, I will bring to life words that generate inspiration in masses.
The puppet dances at each whim of its master; unknowingly dominated. Wide-eyed the puppet gazes out into the world ignorant. He feels a feeling of safety, a feeling of ultimate fictitiousness…the strings make him feel like he belongs; wanted. None of it is real, his life is a scene in the master plan.
The puppet is free.
Scared, confused and disorientated the puppet steps into an unknown world. Walking without guidance, panic-stricken and unsure, the puppet makes his first step…another, and then another. He is walking without support, albeit shakily.
Time goes on and soon he is running. Sometimes he falls over, sometimes he stays down for long, but he pulls himself up. He pulls himself up by his strings, he is his own master.
When your supports are kicked out beneath you it’s an uncertain experience. Your entire life tilts into the unknown and you are afraid. You can do it, push on, pick yourself up and keep walking. You are no longer a puppet, you have value and you are the master of your world. You are free to create, produce and explore.
A world exists inside of me. In this realm exists euphoria, melancholy and enigmatic sensation. Enigmatic beings live here too, producers of the greatest creations and the most blissful sensations. However, these beings possess antithetical energy, an energy of which brings such ecstasy rapidly to baseline.
A world exists inside of me, this inner manifests the outer. Erratic, sporadic and impulsive, inconsistently consistent and resistant to my resistance. Controlling, overwhelming and paradoxically positive. Strange?
Although I am possessed by pure unrelenting turbulence I embrace it. This energy lights my fire and inspires with feelings of pure ecstasy to push onwards. This energy creates my greatest moments and allows me to become a source of inspiration for others. This is my calling.
Turbulent emotions are tough, but life is tougher. I will endure so that I can inspire others to create a better life.
I will endure.
Within each of us, an artist lives. Sometimes it takes a muse to awaken the artist that is hibernating within. My Muse is gone; Metamorphosed into a rogue angel. O’ sweet angel, please don’t go. I live in hope of another…light my fire again.