I want to write. I
have ideas in my head and a laptop in front of me, and I even have time on my
hands… and yet… I do everything to stop
the creative process. Why do you suppose
I would choose to fill my life with noise… with distraction… with things that
lead to the destruction of the muse? She
is begging me to set her free – to unlock the chains that bind her – to let her
run and dance and fly… and instead of
listening, I continue to turn up Netflix and YouTube and NPR and Pogo and chat
and phone calls and anything else that will stop me from hearing her
cries. Why, why, why???
There once was a woman named Lori
Who deep in her heart had a story.
And when she would listen
The words – they would glisten
And make a superb allegory,
Though life gave her many large hurdles
It made her mind strong and quite fertile
But most times instead
Of forging ahead
She’d hide in her shell like a turtle.
Inside this shell she felt protected
Much less chance she might be rejected
She could hide there, unwary,
Feeling not quite so scary
Safe and alone, disconnected
Old habits, so hard to be broken
Left Lori with so much unspoken
And when she did speak it
She still had to tweak it
For fear judgement might be awoken.
One major and true explanation
For holding back and hesitation
Was that in the past
When truth tumbled out fast
It was mostly met with condemnation
Hard facts in her story’s rendition
Should they not give her some small permission
To keep things inside
To tiptoe and hide
And not add to a life of perdition?
The gurus of New Thought would say how
It’s the past and you must move away now
Just let it all go
If you choose not to grow
It’s your fault – and your faith’s not okay now
With winds of uncertainty blowing
She turned to new places for knowing
She was seeking more love
But most times got a shove
Back to where guilt and shame were still flowingThere still is a woman named Lori
Who's still finding her heart’s allegory
She’s trying to listen
For words that might glisten….
But until I love Me – there’s no story
