It's moment like this when I need a stage and a blue light, just one, at most two, casting plenty of shadows between them. I'm trying to put wings on the male felimantia, and juxaposed to the pre-existing template, I can't find the muse to graft a believable wing. It's the shadows and light that bring anything to life. Without perfection, your art does not have the shadows to bring it to life.
The shadow of my artistic...talent...is not a strong one. It's not a thriving eagle bursting to flight, marvelous to behold. It's true, it's pure, but it's small and insignificant, but I choose to raise it anyway, as one raises a sparrow to become like any other sparrow in California, not a great one. I don't find the alternative any better. Letting the chick die, ignoring it, means denying a part of myself. There are many others in whom the artistic spirit flares, but even if mine simply glows, I will lose a part of myself if I let it die. I want to remain intact.
My friends call me the spirit, but that does not bring any comfort. The soul of a forest taps into the life force of Earth through its roots, welcoming yet not needing any wanderers that venture into it. The fires live on every scrap of air that surrounds it, and there is still much air in the world to sate its appetite. Water binds itself to the Earth's core then spends its existence rolling in pleasure, embracing everything. The wind is bound to nothing, but it's existence is defined by its collision with physical objects. The soul exists unto itself. Bound to anything and it becomes part of something else, and is no longer itself. It simply amplifies the object, making it greater than itself, but it does nothing for the spirit. Sometimes the object captures the spirit against its will, and is fueled by insanity. Withdraw, and the spirit is at once again itself, merely existing, unconnected.
Can you imagine nothingness? Absolutely nothing, a dark void, and existing within that void with nothing but your own embers glowing in the dark? Its existence describes no connection, separate, distant, apart from everything else that exists and which depends upon others to exist. I am not tied to anything, and when I try to tap into the talent I cannot ground myself to something real and channel the artistic flow. As spirit I cannot force the skills to come to me, or else I rage, and as spirit I am not naturally bound to it, or anything. As spirit, I can only wait until it comes.
That I am Spirit is truer than I could ever want it to be. I hate it. I can't force it, and it doesn't come when I need it.
This is why I choose not to be an artist. I choose instead to let my spirit empower other's and their cause. My own talent does not match well with my soul, and I cannot spend a life time negotiating with it. Nevertheless, because I am spirit I cannot let any part of me die, so I nurture the sparrow.
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