Bowing to the Bigness inside

What does your Bigness look like?

Feeling big like this light that wants to emerge through the dark

(Hello dear reader.

It’s been awhile.

I have so much to say,

And nothing at all.

Things are changing so fast

In the unseen

And yet my life looks so simple,

Almost stagnant,

On the outside.

So it’s been hard to get to the page,

Because I don’t even really know what’s going on.

I bet a lot of people are feeling that way right now.)

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I have a bigness inside of me;

Too big for words.

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My body feels like a cage

(I promise I’m not trying to steal from Arcade Fire).

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My body is too small for the bigness inside

Although it has also grown

Too big for my physical comfort

These past few years.

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Doctors would say I am overweight.

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My last partner doesn’t understand what I’m up to.

I don’t fully, either, but I know it’s not nothing.

She tells me she wants me to thrive.

(The unsaid words are that she is worried.)

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I am worried, too.

Not that I am falling behind,

Or failing,

By the standards of this too-modern, too-fast world.

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No, I am worried

That this bigness inside

Will not find the place it can release

Before I die.

Is that dramatic?

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I want to move to Hawaii

Because I think it is a place where bigness is welcomed.

Could my bigness be welcomed anywhere I go?

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Bigness exists down here in the swamp, too.

The brass horns that blow all night long are not known for being shy.

The people who know too well that any day could be their last.

The Black folks who party more on any given Sunday

Than the puritans of the North may ever party in their lives.

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Set me free

Set me free

How do I set myself free?

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I am remembering my mom smashing glasses on the ground

At a too-young age.

Why was she doing that?

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I remember a lover long gone asking me what I do when I get mad

I break things, I told them.

But only things that are already broken.

I keep them in a broken clay pot under my outdoor staircase.

And when I get mad, like really, really mad,

Beyond words mad,

I go to a quiet, safe place

Where the ground is hard,

And I smash the broken things into smaller pieces.

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What is this bigness inside?

What does it want from me?

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I want to create,

But I want to create in harmony with others.

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Is my dream their dream?

Is my dream the dream of Gaia?

What is my deepest dream?

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I want to create with my love.

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But my love is long gone.

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What is love?

I guess I won’t be able to create until I am in line with Love.

And then things will flow, right?

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Is there some grand utopia on the other side that I don’t know about?

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Is it all really all love, like the giclee print that I have in my Etsy cart says?

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I’m having a hard time believing that these days.

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Life is art, art is life

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Life is Love, Love is Life.