I had a very long, strangely not-so-strange talk with a dear old friend very recently. I’ve also been privy to the privies of a few others through their own very honest, open, naked blogs and letters and posts. I’ve even been blessed enough to recently be able to spend time face to face with deep, thoughtful people with whom I share some of the past, both specifically, and because we come from a similar place, and been able to open my heart and mouth and eyes and ears and hands to them As strange as modern communiqué has become, as seemingly surreal as “reality” can be – it is what it is, and I am in awe of whatever it is that makes it possible for us to try to reach out to each other in these ways. This was my post (here) on Friday, April 21, 2006:
“we've had a strange tragedy touch us recently, and investigating it led me to read the blogs and live journals of some sad, desperate, broken, lonely - to the point of dangerous to themselves and others - people. i wrote this in response to that, as a prayer, as a message to people to ask for help, as a reminder.
A Prayer for Strength and Time
God make me a prayer wheel.
Let me be a drum that hums and sifts the sins of our imagining.
Let me be the etched, worn, scarred and resonant cymbal that sends the pleas of broken people to your infinite ears.
Let me be spun, and sung to, weathered by the hopeful pressure of all hands, each different, each worthy of at least one bid to Heaven.
Let me be a voice,
Let me be a vision,
Let me be a call to fall to one’s knees and weep, open-hearted in gratitude.
Let me be part of the subconscious tremor, deep and rhythmic as the night sky,
that breaks mountains and moves your Heart.
-s.l.lovelace 04/21/06”*
I find that when I am either completely unable to express what’s hurting me, or when i truly need some creative comfort – to feel like i am DOING something – that I go to prayer. I think: what does my heart really desire? What can I really do to try to help, and I am always called to prayer. For me (and I think a lot of people) that means trying to calm myself, find some peaceful place within, no matter how small or temporary, some little inner shelter where I can stand long enough to light one spark, and then I try to magnify that into the best, most loving light/thoughts/intentions I can imagine and pour it into the direction of the sadness/pain/worry/fear, sometimes specific people or creatures, sometimes whole nations, sometimes the universe, if I can stay peaceful that long. SOmetimes specific words come to me, and I write them down; sometimes I write them into songs. [i see that the link doesn't work - i'll repost it in a day or two, along with another i wrote.]
After a few long talks in one long day, and a good long talk with myself, I broke down again, poured out my own misery and found myself once more praying. I wrote two things down
Poor us,
poor beloved Us,
with our flaws, passions,
insanities...
Whatever ‘mother feeling’ there is in this Universe,
call it compassion, call it love, luck or glory,
but shine it on us,
help us to shine it on each other.
I just wanted to be able to hug the whole world and let it cry and then help it clean it’s kitchen.
I wrote this too, I guess always with levee on the mind. Not my metaphorical one either, it is a minute pathetic joke to the reality of what happened when Katrina hit the Gulf... I am haunted, and partly because I believe I should have been there to help. That does affect my metaphorical levee, as does the fear of it happening again. There’s always an ecological thought in my prayers and day to day actions, for the whole world - that is a constant prayer. I also read that my "oldest kid" (16) doesn't know what he'd do if there was a fire (though I think he would know, immediately and instinctually...). I know that might seem odd - for me to worry about that, I mean, but believe it or not, it bothers me that he doesn't swim - nor my little sister. I knew how to handle pretty much any emergency by the time I was 10, and it's a good thing. I worry, though. I can't imagine how actual, 24/7 parents cope, day in-day out... I guess on pondering all of this and thinking ‘what’s right and wrong? what can I even do? what’s my purpose here?’ I scribbled this.
If water rises fast – help your neighbor move his life,
If water rises slow – teach children to swim.
If house catch fire, save the life.
If you can, save the house, if you can’t, let it burn and
know you tried.
Then in that silent gratefulness, you can see the face of god.
I hope no one thinks I’m pretending that I’m Blake here, or some visionary. I feel more like that old artist in Junebug who’s developmentally disabled and yet compelled to do these strange, primitive but beautiful and compelling things. They’re from some place outside of me, I think. I’m just here for them, in a way. All of my spontaneous art – meaning art that I do with no direction other than where my mind and hand go when they touch the medium (my comics, my sketchbooks, my big ink drawings and paintings, collages, books, big and small sculptures, a lot of my photography, and all of my music) - is like that. I don’t know what I’m going to do until I begin, and if I try to plan it, it’s very hard. It’s why I don’t take certain commissions. I guess with ‘art’ like this, it’s not whether it’s good or not, it’s whether it makes a difference to someone. Inspires someone else in some way. And it really does sound good with a blues guitar and a mellow clarinet.
Thank you for sharing. Please keep sharing. Thank you for hearing me and for adding your prayers to mine.
-s
*James, if you ever read this, know I will never forget the look on your face the night I read this at Melrose. And thank you, no one has ever asked me to read a poem immediately again. I felt like a poet just then.
