Connection

RELEASE

Release the urge to get it right
Perfection is the joy destroyer.

Release the desire to sound eloquent
To have the right words delivered
At the exact moment.

Release and trust that I will receive
What I’m meant to.

There is no end goal
No finish line
No final product.

We are all works in progress
And there is always room for more:
More edits, for rewrites, to rehashing
And then what’s left?
Hacked up, tattered words
Left on the page.

Torn fragments.
Might as well make confetti
And see where the words land.
That would show perfection.

I don’t have to do it right
Or get it right.
There is no finish line where 
I suddenly become who I’m meant to be.

I am her now.
I embrace and embody her now.
There is no “there” to get to.
I am the joy, the connection,
The creator.

I am the words that you see,
The sounds that you hear.
They are all a part of me
And a part of you too.

Where does creativity come from?
The seed of the soul is my guess.

What seeds are you going to plant today?
What nourishment does your soul desire?
What would you like to plant?

Place them in your palm
And touch the earth.
You are forever supported
And nourished.
Connection

What’s missing these days?

Time to pursue my creativity;
Too many distractions and obligations
That eat away my energy.
And then when it's a good time 
to do the one thing 
I most want to do,
I put it off, yet again.

In the moment,
Dusting the shelf 
just seems easier 
than writing.

Just when I’m getting myself
Motivated to start,
There’s always one more thing to do.
And that seems to take priority
Over my creative pursuit.

What’s missing?

Time to connect to myself and others.
A sense that there isn’t enough time;
That I could or should be doing more.

Although, how can that possibly be true?
What ifs, coulds and shoulds
are easy to be explain and defend
When there’s no evidence
to the contrary.

And it takes me further away 
From my desires, my dreams.
Even though I know the reasons are untrue
That I can prioritize myself,
My creativity,
My movement,
And the momentum gets started again.

Everything ebbs and flows.
Energy and time.
Winter is the season of quiet reflection
Of taking stock 
And not regret for what never was
And couldn't ever be.