The Kingdom Has a New Heir, and I Can Finally Breath Again In Its Uncommon Purpose

God, what seems like years ago now…

I composed a dream and a plea – a cornerstone of what I hoped would become the fortress shared by all people. The deep sleep of the reverie was intense, and I began sleep walking, screaming for impossibilities, and in the end fighting illusionary beasts of an endless, fevered dream. Drained of most everything, I finally crumbled, awoke, and found myself far away from where I had started – in reality.

Once reality struck, I looked to my own “home”, and realized it was an aged and abused lean-to in a lost wood. Clear then it was that if my own protection was so shabby, I could never have hoped to balance stone slab upon slab with strength to support and protect much of anything, let alone the world. Hit hard by the stark contrast between the commanding dream and the unsteady waking-life, I fell – I fell right upon what little there was of my shelter of twig and leaves, what kept away at least most rain and burning snows. It was a destruction of everything I had at the point, and along with my cuts and bruised mind it hit like death – the death of another.

In proper form I began the stages of the grieving process, though textbooks aside my own five periods are detriment instead of healing peace: desperation, bargaining, self-pity, anger (blind rage), and finally, abandonment. That’s right… the last phase is cowardice. I simply run as fast as I can and don’t look back. Once I feel safely distanced, I have my mind skim over what was left behind, not allowing it to register or even be read. I do this for a good period. Then, however, my race past the unwanted memory slows a bit. Escapes work like grudges for me, as they both lose their appeal and firmness of purpose rather quickly. I most commonly run from what I was surely created to ever cradle, and my eyes begin, once the fear of looking is gone, to peak back at a former embrace. For people, fools say, to love is often to let go. I cannot forget passions. I always return to lovers. This tragedy of well-intended errors was no different. Debacle, yes, but in the life it exuded I know the breakdown was my doing – it was too right to choose its steps so wrong.

So, though (and thankfully) I no longer feel dire for my cause, when I recently glimpsed it in the distance once more, I ran back to it. I found the dream and I have both changed some – it is no longer a nightmare in scope and intense direction, but more like a daydream, and I have lost the desire to elevate what is to be purity into something sullied by exhaustive grandeur. My keywords throughout the first midnight waltz with this vision – ambrosial, divine, campaign, panacea – all so lofty in connotation of power and godhead, have lost their luster. Still, one old friend remains. The basis, the beginning, the bastion of inspiration, the innate and oh-so necessary Default Application which every human possess remains – simply, it must. I can see it these days though as a child, a follower, a criminal, a cast-off, or even a 25-year old, left-handed, often-neurotic redhead, and it remains ever as relevant as it was when I had glared upon it as a tyrant. My eyes once saw barricades, fortresses, and bloodshed in want for our long overdue respect. My steady, soft gaze is upon fields now, with no need for shelter other than the sky. As for my thoughts on rain and blistering snow, well, we can all take turns being the shelter and the sheltered. We, the creators, can simply create of our bodies yet a different kind of masterpiece – a home that is also a family. We have to find kinship amongst one another, whatever our gift at birth, or nothing much any of us make can be truly beautiful.

Ok, I got off on a bit of a sappy, performance art rant there, I know. Human bodies sheltering human bodies in the lush belly of a vast meadow may be metaphor-too-much. Yet the fact remains, as does the sentiment, and so background information now well enough conveyed I am ready to put forth my newfound sounds of a shifting. “The Revolution of Divine Aesthetic” has through much pain birthed an heir, and “The Revivals of Uncommon Purpose” will be ready to come out and play soon. For now though, I can say it spoke to me like this in its first words for change:

“_Art is a presence like a soul upon the earth, each artist endowed with a grain of this spirit. Like puzzle pieces, seemingly unlike one another in so many ways, each one does fit into the rest, and each one is required to make the whole. The deserved future of our artistic passions, be it to teach another, please oneself, earn a living, or be remembered through history, can only be found in that whole. Striving must be a constant, and even at completion never stop – you’ve only finished one of everything.

Remember always that the possibility of anything is far better than the actualization of everything._”

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