Archive

On inspiration

‘Ring!’ goes the alarm.  The morning wake up call.  To another day.

Of drudgery, toil and dreariness.  A Nine to Five ordeal.

Eating away at you, day by day by day.

That’s dying.  Don’t die.

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‘Ring!’ goes the alarm.  The morning wake up call.  To a new day.

Of giving, inspiring and aspiring.  A daylong enlivenment.

Feeding your soul, day by day by day.

That’s living.  Do live.

When you grasp the box in your hands.  And you tear its wrapping paper – patterned and colored.  And you untie the ribbon – satin to one side and velvet to the other.

Your heart skips, your eyes twinkle, your fingers wiggle.  Not knowing what’s inside.

It could be chocolate.  It could be a book.  It could be a sweater.  Whatever it is.

It is simply exciting.  To be lovingly gifted.

So give.

Our minds are closets with many little compartments.  In each compartment we stash away a memory, an emotion or experience.  Some compartments we open and close.  Some we leave ajar. Some we keep shut.

From time to time, we need to empty the closet.  And separate things between ‘keep’ and ‘forgo’.

For a thorough spring cleaning of the mind.

One coin in the wallet.  Lingers inside the dark pocket.  Rolls to one side and back to the other.  And stays inside, idle.

One coin dropped into the piggy bank. Clinks and chinks against others.  Travels miles, travels a mile.  Crosses borders, crosses the street.

To save a man.  To save an animal.  To save a tree.

Don’t save the coin.

What if the train had said, ‘I think I can’t’?  We would have nothing.

No hero.  No triumph.  No story.

But the train had said, ‘I think I can’.  And for that we have everything.

The hero that we reincarnate.  The triumph that we realize.  And the story that we relate.

Of great people.  Of great deeds.

And for that we have our little train hero to salute, ‘Choo choo’.

In each one of us resides an artist.

Some of us have met her, came to know her and made love to her.  The rest of us have ignored her, suppressed her and denied her.

If you are of the former, your artist is waxing day by day.  And if you are of the latter, your artist is waning hour by hour.

If you are of the former, your artist feeds her soul to inspire.  And if you are of the latter, your artist wastes her soul to expire.

If you are of the former, your artist lives on after you.  And if you are of the latter, your artist deceases before you.

And you, have you met your artist yet?

Sometimes we find ourselves running and running and running and running and running and running and running.  And then we stop.  We realize we’ve been running in place.  Running on a stationary treadmill.  How about we step down from the treadmill and walk.  To see where our feet take us.