Light the Fear

Prove It

Have you ever backed yourself into a corner, made promises you didn't keep and generally put things off until the last moment when you see your dreams dying on the vine before you?

I have, and I am.

This whole year has been a tortuous and expensive lesson in circular reasoning, and yet in the end, none of that matters.  The world moves on, with or without you.

Crunch time is here, and only these written words will tell if I respond or I fold.

Yet I write today with the intention of proving to myself that I can keep my word, proving that I can finish what I start and that I can believe in my own art (and my own Self) to see it through to completion.  

Good or bad, it is time to be done, and I commit today to write every day until it IS done.

The world is full of average artists, and in this unfair and unjust world, it may seem like there is no reason to add myself to their ranks. But then there is the most important reason of all: YOU.

I don't know who you are, and I've been struggling with knowing who I am in your eyes. But none of it really matters; so much noise signifying nothing.  Grief, like ambition or faith is relatively fleeting in the broadest of contexts, and reach as I might, I will never prove you exist more than I believe it today.

In the end, there is only the blinking cursor, the moving hands of the clock, the yellowing leaves falling from the trees and the shortening light of each day.  Yet my heartbeat's silent companionship is hopeful.

For I must prove to myself now that I am who I have always felt that I could be, and I must do it, not for myself as I've been struggling to find the confidence to do, nor for my family and friends, nor for any abstract lost souls out there who might find comfort in my story. 

I must do this for you.  For you, and for me.

Game on.

Fear of Success

I have held myself back for too long because I have not been able to see my own success.

It is still hard for me to see, but I feel it.  And I'm not letting go.  Not this time.

Sometimes trusting in that feeling you have inside is the hardest thing the universe can ask of you, and yet when the call comes, it comes.

All that matters now is what I produce.  My thoughts, my insights, my understanding are but water running away out of empty hands if I do not use them to fashion something else.

I am here to write, and to make you think with what I write.

And so I shall.

My Heart in a Headlock

I stopped writing my blog because I lost confidence (again) that what I have to say means anything.

I stopped writing my novel because I got scared of the failing author's market.

I stopped writing my screenplay because I'm addicted to high grade perfection.

I stopped writing my short stories because I'm lazy and lost.

I stopped writing emails because the world is going to hell at mach five.

I stopped writing my journal because I'm tired of me.

I stopped writing.

I stop.

I Was There

I was there before the collapse, before the loss of chance, before the shackling of love to the limits of growth.  I grew up in a world of sunshine laced days, racing down the block to the cool metal poll, chalk on the sidewalk and balmy rains every afternoon.  Winning some and losing some, yet knowing the game was fair, the sun my friend.

I was there before the hate and the vitriol and the diatribe tribes propaganda propagated their profit mantra, before the fundamentalists peeled off and ex-communicated science, before we each were so willing to sacrifice the other in our own personal visage of truth, when truth meant something shared, something given and something uncertain accepted.

I was there before the abuse and the sexualization of honor, before anyone snorted meth off a toaster, before reason was overtook by blind faith and fear raped love then married her to raise their incestuous child on a reality show conceived in the test tank of a tube mogul's island party house.  I remember silence and the soft skin of lizards caught dashing between blades of solid green, a mirage fading with interconnectedness and digital everywhere and everything bleeding us into nothing.

I was there before tears stained my cheeks and hope wracked her bones on the shoals of a muse unable to see the tragedy of her song, compelled to sing yet ever hopeful to the future as the blind can never see the light yet bathe in the photons none the same.  We were opportunity and the chance was ours, slipping like a free market failure to find us the right solution in time to make different the trends that reveal unreal feelings failing to fulfill our falling call to destiny.

You've Got Me So....

"Give me the words, and I'll say them like I mean it," begins a song I recently discovered, and I can't seem to get enough of it.  I often play it before I sit down to blog...

I'm really scared about all of the stuff on the blog here.  I'm scared of trying to write a book.  I mean, who am I to think my ideas have any value?  Why does any of this matter?

Since I was a young boy, I've had adults be more like friends.  Yet with those friendships, they invariably put some kind of head trip on me about my own potential, my own responsibility, the value of my voice.

Now I'm old enough to know that everyone goes through this, whether or not they feel force-fed a new model for human thought and human interaction.  Everyone wants their words to make their life worthwhile, to make themselves deserving of what comes next. 

I want to be worthy, to deserve the visions I see of how we could all be together in joy and peace.

I don't know what will happen from the blog or the book.  Maybe nothing, or maybe as I have dreamed since I was a little kid, there is a reason for me to be doing all of this.  Maybe it is a very, very important reason in the form of people reading the information, in them taking it further, believing more, trying harder in their own lives.

Maybe I'm not the only one struggling like this, and maybe I shouldn't be so afraid, so worried.

The question of to write or not to write, to do the book or not do it seems still a daily struggle for me.  The more I know, the less I know, and yet this moment in time is just as important as the next, this entry as cathartic to birth as the next.

I never know when I will touch your heart, whether you are here or in the future, whether you are only inside me, a future me or truly other people, coming together through thought to manifest great changes in our world.

All I know is I can't stop trying.  I won't stop trying.