clay

I'm not sure when it really happened.
This idea...

It appeared, and I grabbed it and I decided to just sit with it for a while.

In my hands it just looked like a ball of clay and nothing further.

When I started to sing or think of new dance ideas, the look of it changed.

It was exciting.
At times, it was intoxicating.

How could I alter this experience and transform it so that it would flow into the next?

When I was afraid- it would shrivel up like a raisin.

It would grow cold, damp, and crumble. 

I tried to patch it up and put it back together with pretty words and phrases.

Nothing really worked.

Then I knew.

I knew that this idea...

The thing I had inside of me would never grow without truth, compassion, and real love.

It would never evolve or change without a little mystery. Intrigue. 

This thing would only stay in the form it was if I relied on it to be more than what it started as.

I had to create a new portrait.
I had to give it a new voice.
I had to take the first step into the light.

Then I knew.
But sometimes, I feel like I know and learn things too late.

This thing has come and gone in many life times.
It has been many muses.

Who passed it to me and expected me to create anything out of it?

I can tell right now that all I see is the ball of clay with a few fingerprints in it.

I have not even scratched the surface.

What is this thing?

What do I do with it?

What am I supposed to feel about it?

Should I feel anything at all?

this thing...

It's just... there.

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