Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring. - Marilyn
Monroe

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

who you are



Change is real but it doesn't have to mean you change who you are. It means you change.. the way you are. And the way you are is the way you've become. What's the difference?

There's a big difference.

Who you are is who you were born to be. It's your animus - your dispositions and intentions. It's your spirit-self. The one that says: hey, be an artist! Or hey, go save lives in the Middle East! Or hey go do some scary shit that will make your journey so breath taking you won't know where you began. And all that changes with time because change is real and being a glorified soul whether you paint or save lives can be a real struggle, and a lot of people don't survive the fray of being duty bound in constant creation mode. Because to be a prodigy is to be a survivor of your own fear and doubts and those inflicted. Ergo, we adjust our perspectives thus changing our dispositions and intentions - our views. I don't want to save the world, we tell ourselves. My art doesn't matter. Nobody cares. Blah blah blah. Our policies and standards all change, with time. Some for the better, some for the worse. Some for the worse and hardly ever for the better. Cue the alcoholism and/or drugs, or depression, or pure mediocrity and a lack of inspiration. Boredom.

But even that doesn't change who you are because who you are is who you will always be. Minus the booze. Minus a revolving door that closes more often then it opens. Minus our views and standards. Minus the boredom and the mundane. You've got to subtract the shit that makes you who you think you are first. Like your car for instance. Or your bank account. You might think it makes you who you are, but those things do not define you.

The way you are is the way you react to people who cut you off while you drive your nice car, or your old ugly car. It's who you are at events. It's the way you react when faced with circumstances, confrontations, hardships etc.... It's the way you carry yourself and speak to an audience. It's the way you are when relaxed, or when you refuse to relax. It's the way you work or don't work. It's the way you think and over think, and then think some more, and then some more. And all of that... can change. Because it's not who you are.

When I was young, my mother would lecture me in parking lots and on sidewalks. Anne-Marie. Why do you walk with your head down? She would ask me in a tone I didn't prefer. I would stare at the ground when I walked. I had no confidence and well, my mother was.... impetuously brash. Still is. But was it the way I was born? No. It was the way I became. It's the way I started to think.

No child of mine walks with their head down. Lift your head up. Pull your shoulders back. Be confident.  She would say... on every sidewalk. At every dance rehearsal. It wasn't who I was. I wasn't confident. I was broken. Too much divorce and instability will do that to a child. Confident is what I became, but it took time. After another handful of years surviving my mother's life, I started surviving my own and I did it with confidence. But I don't just survive. I enjoy life too. And that's who I am. 

It's not the way I am though. My ways can be quite reckless. But I'm working on changing that to better myself. Because the way I am is OCD as fuck, schedule bound, restless, always in need of creating something, fitness fitness fitness, being something, thinking I'm not anything.... migraines, stressed, happy and excited. Up then down. That's the way I am. It's not who I am.

I am quite grateful for my mother's sidewalk sermons, now relics. Confidence is a keepsake and it's the reason I even bother being an artist, because without faith in one's self, an artist is nothing more than a crazy person. It's harsh but true. Artists are tortured, in a beautiful way. And I'll admit... I have my crazy person days - those days when I can't get my heart out of my head, and those two fight like a couple on the verge of a nasty ass divorce. My heart and my head rarely get along much less work well together. Why? Because the head (aka) the mind is a thought machine and the heart is not a machine at all. Rather, the heart is ethereal - self sacrificing, dream aligned. Not afraid. And that is who we are and nothing can change that unless, well, you think it can. The key to being who you really are and not who you think you are is knowing how to control your mind, because when you don't how to do that, it does in fact get out of control...and waaaaay out of control. And guess what? You turn into a crazy person! And you didn't even need a paint brush to do it either.

You see, the way you are is a perspective. It's all in your mind. It's who you think you are. It's how you think you should respond because it's the way you're hard wired and conditioned. You are the way you are because you learned how to be that way. But who you are isn't learned.

It's understood.

Who you are is who you'll always be and who you've always been. It's who you know you are, it's not who you think you are. It's not what mom told you to be, or what dad told you not to be.

It's freedom... from all of those things. Who you are is... free, and that's sacred. This life is sacred because we have no clue when it ends or why it even began. We didn't ask to be here but we are here, just trying to be who we think we should be.

So, whether you've got confidence or not, remember your freedom. You can be totally, utterly and completely free from who you think you should be and, instead.... just be who you are.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

monster mind

I called you a monster this morning and I meant it. So go home monster because you're in my head. You're in my words. You're in my prayers. My pillow turns to stone when you don't leave me alone.

Today I felt like something divine joined me in my office as I gave myself some down time to reflect. I was looking at the walls pretending the walls were listening. Maybe they do, listen. If only the walls could talk. The decorative fixtures made my eyes move waywardly. The knick knacks, the green and yellow galore. It makes me smile. Then... a transcendent moment of observing with my eyes closed took presence as though it was standing between me and those decorative walls. It felt like an angel blew her breath across my arms. Goosebumps, but for just a brief moment.

Then my head spins and the spinning is loud like a rusty old marry-go-round on a grassy dune, but the grass needs watering. She spins with the wind, not with a child because she's old and won't be bothered. But she's not old enough. A child's freedom could be a good thing for her nuts and bolts. Make her remember, oh youthful spirit, how to be free the way you are and how to run the way you run. Because a child doesn't run... away. A child runs a different way.

A sudden breeze inside my head and she squeals. I get a migraine. When she stops twisting in circles making me dizzy again, she runs like a rabbit -- hopping but not too high. Only high enough to irrupt like a volcano. Down pours the obsidian -- the hot lava my temper perspires. She's a bunny. She's a volcano. She's whatever I want her to be. My mind is my inception, an opening.

She's my birth. I can react and die a little or I can react and live a little more...

She often recoils inciting a marathon and I have to run for miles and miles. Chasing her for days. For years. That crazy rabbit. She won't stop running away. And by the way... Tricks are for kids! But are they though? I'm tricked more than I ever was as a child, running in a mental and emotional contest. Hopping, jumping. This way that way. Not sure about the future. I get tired. Fortunately her shoes are neon colored, making her easy to catch in the dark. And when I don't catch her I wonder who I am. When my own mind has forsaken me in her neon colored shoes, who do I become?

I become who I really am.

So, then what stands between us? A prayer. A plead. Please Monster... go home! She's a rabbit. She's a volcano. She's a runner in neon shoes. She's a monster.  Without my monster marbles and reasoning - my wits, thoughts and confusion, I'm unfamiliar... and it's really quiet. And it's a beautiful thing. And I didn't even have to pay someone. But, I'm used to her song. I'm a musician. I'm used to the music. But her orchestra is confused. She's dazed but marvelous. Her symphony is perfect for something dramatic. So, please Monster... go dance! Go sing. Go heal.

Because music is not music without the dance.

Just let it go in those neon shoes. Go waltz amongst the ash that your volcanic temper gave life to. You give life to death. Ashes to ashes. Hop away from me now because without you I'm free. Without you I'm still. I'm still waiting for you to return to me. When I send you home I'm peaceful. But I still need you. So please monster. Go home! Come back when you're older. Return to me when I'm younger. Because if we're going to do this thing together... we need to do it better. Forever.