Into the Wild

One of the things I’m challenging myself to do this year is to go deeper into myself and find what I am yearning to say. It’s such a basic and simple idea but in practice it is exceedingly difficult. I find I have to break through many layers, many atmospheres, many illusions. The layers of fear, laziness, and judgment I inflict upon myself. The atmosphere of environment, media, discomfort, those voices which seem to emerge slowly and deeply from imaginary walls to make me uneasy, to question my ability, sincerity, resolve, dedication. Are you brave enough? Are you woman enough? Have you the spirit of the lion, the wolf, the dove? The questioning is enough some days to break me clean in two.

And of course, then too, are the many illusions which threaten to derail my inner quest by slyly and insistently (like a deceitful child who pretends for a kiss and then smacks you on the head) turning my attention outward. This is especially difficult because our entire culture wants us affixed to the illusion of “out there.” What will they think? Is this what they want, they need, they expect? Is it right? Is it good? Will it attract enough people to matter? The artist must cut through all of this to get into herself. To find what she alone perceives, what she in her soul, her heart, her mind, her body, feels, knows, believes.

What grows within me is mine alone. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to work to get to it. Inside I am wide open. Unexplored terrain. This is what it means then. To go into the wild.