365 days, 365 days 365 poems, adolescence, art, aspirations, Brain Pickings, Courage, Creativity, daily poetry, discipline, Fear, perspective, Poetry, Rene Magritte, Teaching, The Blank Page, Water, Writing
“In a fear based, failure adverse culture, people will consciously or unconsciously avoid risk. They will seek instead to repeat something safe that has been good enough in the past. Their work will be derivative, not innovative. But if you can foster a positive sense of failure, the opposite will happen”.
I’m feeling that, tonight. If I had room for the fear of failure, i’d have stopped hitting “new post” months ago. These words are my own, and that has to be good enough, or else what is this for? Why do it? If they were afraid, none of my friends would be making anything, and that would be a damn shame.
The thing is, I’m always afraid when sitting here, in front of the blank page, it’s like wrestling with a bear.
The Bear nuzzles with lions and tigers, and creeking through the woods, invites you to join in the cuff. Wrestling or boxing with whim, what would you like to strike a blow at, strike a chord, or a pose, or up a band for, today? Donning the gloves of care, what would you jab at? A haymaker of kindness or community would be a g-sharp rebellion, played with your grownup orchestra. Every key and brush stroke is a landslide of courage. There are so many sounds to join, and so many fur capes to shoulder. Gently, oh, gentle, in between the jaws, the worst of all could be playing dead. The only thing to do, when confronted with the jaws of cold water, is to jump. The only thing to do, when the earth rises up to meet your soles, is to stand firm. The only thing to do, is to stand like a camel at the bathtub and drink. The only thing to do is to feel the breeze from the rocks, and step off. There’s so much to get rid of, to slough of the time. Shed the voices of doubt, shed the liquid inside that runs cold at the thought, shed the wish for wings to carry you upward, shed the invisible fears. Nothing in the darkness isn’t there in the light. All the creatures are the same in all hues, all the plants, and the rocks. Shadows hold no terror now, for us when we wake from long and hungry slumbers.
Last vacation poem! I know I promised a lengthy one, at some point this week, but this is all the bear left me. It’s okay, I think. Happy Sunday!