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one layer of learned coping
now moved aside
the cost too much
newly opened caverns reveal
rawness writhing ripe toward awareness
bittersweet taste of clarity
nightmare visions invade fragile peace
sanity ******* urge to escape
but still explore the crypt
all but forgotten
*I remain awaiting my own  embrace
create with no shame
create with no measuring stick
use only this:
everything that is done well
                           is good art

explore and excavate forms,
churn the ether

within you is the sleeping artist,
tap yourself awake,
yet be silent,
be intimate,
with the unconscious plateaus
with in you

be intimate
with the making
and the doing,
the fertility
of creating

you will require silence
to allow for reflection,
communication

Childbirth is noisy, messy,
Birthing art is different

understand your language,
mine it, taste it,
it is your play dough

avoid the chronic,
habit is slavery

collaborate for
there in nothing new
under the sun,
but the constant rediscovery
of the old
in new forms
when ideas are exchanged,
every partnership is a solo

Experience anew,
Each time,
Say:
This is my first time,
This is my first work

I do not need your validation.
I validate myself
and in doing so,
who else
comes along
for the ride
on our tide?

create with no shame
create with no measuring stick
only this:
everything that is done well
                           is good art

Be Fertile and Radiate
Most of the words and ideas here belong to Alonzo King, a choreographer, whose company I saw perform Wednesday evening.  I threw some of myself in here and there.

Art is the path of the creator to his work. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
in grievous deity my cat
walks around
he walks around and around
with
electric tail and
push-button
eyes

he is
alive and
plush and
final as a plum tree

neither of us understands
cathedrals or
the man outside
watering his
lawn

if I were all the man
that he is
cat--
if there were men
like this
the world could
begin

he leaps up on the couch
and walks through
porticoes of my
admiration.
Feelings twirl in ceaseless
circuit;
pacific passion becomes
a rivulet.
the moon is waxing
the tide is flowing
my soul is coming into estrus

there are no answers
only decisions to be made
actions to be taken

the universe is waiting
courting my being
an invitation to expand
Blooms of hair, shimmers and starlight,
Face of dream, gathers in lighted loom,
Wakes of morn, spotty forest fawn, child
To magi moon, maid of golden orchards,
Of faraway seas, world opened vastness,
Temptress of foreign fruits and the giving
Sun, where blue, blood oranges old, ripen,
The dark vines grape of ancient olive, red
Lamb and wine.

What enchanted lands are you made of?
Where the diving seas of dolphin, sponge
And whirlpool weave, wherein Gods must
Have loved and making you, left this earth
In beauty and peace, burnished with dream.
Fand (pronounced: fawnd) is an early Irish sea goddess.  Her name is translated as "Pearl of Beauty".  She is seen as the most beautiful of goddesses.
In a parabolic sort of way,
many otherwise seemingly "opposite" elements
become elegantly symmetrical;

funny how that works

Balance is key;
attain both sides
of the symmetry
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