When I see people wanting to explore their creative side, their inner artist, and not doing it for whatever reason, I always find it so hard not to wade in and start imploring them to please just begin! To not get evangelical about it because of what I know it can do for a person, what a difference it can make to a life.

There is a point beyond which I cannot go, and that is the gateway to their own realm, the place where they must choose for themselves.

All the support, encouragement and permission in the world is no good unless it is absorbed and turned into action by each individual.

I must acknowledge the limits of my power and remember to allow others to make their own choices unpestered, even if I see those choices bringing limitation and pain to them.  So I will content myself today with a poem to those people, the ones dear to my heart because I see the gifts of creativity in them and they don’t see it yet, not enough to take the step.

And of course, it’s for me too, because there are places in my life where I am just like those people I wish so dearly to help. I wrote this poem about art and creativity, but I suspect you may find in it a message for you even if you have that side of things down. :)

 ***

When the desire is there
but everything else is louder

When you feel the pull
that tug inside
that has no words
but insists
like a mute but stubborn child,
I want this.

The only way

The ONLY way
to silence it
to feel the peace
that comes with
a sudden stopping
and the fullness
that comes
when a true desire
is made real
is to listen
and respond.

That mute caller
you’re ignoring
sidelining
not now-ing
latering
squashing

is you.

How long can you
ignore yourself?

Sure, a lifetime
but how tired you will be
at the end
from all that
unanswered wanting
how hollow
how unfulfilled.

Better to be filled
with things tried
with experiments that
didn’t work
with colour
and texture
and the song of joy
your body sings
when you
answer the call

than to be filled
with regret
that you never listened
because the later
that never comes
always seemed
like a better time.

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