Wrapped in the cocoon of night, where great wisdom and enlightenment reside, I thought I had something to say. Something with deep power, insight and truth.
These were words to shape a world...to alter and influence. Yet somehow in the light of this lamp, coffee brewed and in hand, I have nothing. Vapor. The art of words eludes me and I only see cobwebs hanging from my fireplace mantle and the chaos of real life around me. Who do I think I am? An artist of the highest order? Ha! A street sweeper, that is truth. I am the most common commoner. The janitor of this realm. There is nothing more common than art. We are all artists, every last one of us whether we recognize it or not. It is the common denominator of this life. How strange is it that as a society we lift up a few and give them great acclaim awed by their talent, their expression, their art when they are just the janitor next to us who happened to stumble into this revered place. Silly. That is what it is. But can I be less than I am? No, I will continue to sweep... to grasp at gossamer threads of lofty thoughts. Dreaming that I can be more than I am...
No comments:
Post a Comment