We are the music makers…
Theres this passion in making. Creating something from nothing. Watching it grow, seeing it take on a life, take on a spirit of its very own. In my workings this year I promised to manifest magic into the everyday. Now I wonder if instead Im mean to hang and gaze at the world with a different eye, seek out the honest alchemy that makes these ordinary rituals gleam and shine. Breathing with spirit, bursting with potential.
Lately Ive been poised on the edge of potential. Shivering with the heady possibilities. I am intoxicated with the what ifs. Theres this sweet fire that happens in the before, subtle and changing underneath all of the creative bursts.It thrums in my veins. I cant relinquish that fire just yet. I dont want to sit down and spin into existence the glorious visions I see when I close my eyes. Im just not ready.
This waiting, hushed, life when a seed first pops through to see the sun has been perplexing for some of my companions. They want to know when, where, what, voraciously haunting me with questions I cannot answer. Its hard to explain. Whenever I sit down approach the stool and try to work, everything in me balks. “Not yet” I hear. Its still time to let these fields lay fallow, no matter how much Id like to produce again.
Craft happens in the little things. In the small places. I see no circles drawn in chalk, and hear no recitations in Latin. Its in every step, moment, play of our bodies. It rides along the words, breaths, and sighs we exhale. It pulses in out bones. We make art when we cook, step, sing, and sway with that underlying fire. That deep thrum. It calls out to us in the gestures, in the cracks and crevices. Im not manifesting anything right now. Im witnessing whats already here.
In the meantime I do hope my back wont get irritated by this Yew bark, nine days does seem pretty long from my perspective.