Thursday, July 6, 2017

A Few Kind Words for Suffering

The hill before my destination is no marvel of incline or height, but it demands some effort, some desire to get up and over. The skein of thoughts between my ears complains, tells me to back off, go home, take a nap, turn on the telly, reel in the longing. The roots of this nagging voice can be traced far back into the nether mists of childhood. I did not want to be responsible for anything, but the father was gone and I was the son. That was the beginning of running from being responsible to myself and others, especially my heart's desires, those having to do with art, music, and writing. I turned away from the suffering that goes along with following a desire, made it a habit, my MO. So here I am, clawing my way up to a wifi cafe where I will write for a bit, dance with all that is scary and forbidden, be responsive to the voices calling me to get something down, something true and beautiful. The old habits want me to stay away from such dangerous behaviors. I stand and pedal hard against the old ways, against unrelenting inertia, gravity.It hurts a bit, but in a way I find lovely and welcome. Up, you old dog, up.

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