4 days ago
I rarely step back from own narcissism and let the art of others speak for itself. I suppose that's the selfish ambition present within all creativity: by proxy, it is shared with others and, thus, subject to their diverse and personal interpretations, but it ultimately serves the ego of the creator. I'm no different, and I'm certainly not immune to self-importance.
I write because I'm fucking good at it, and I want to be known and seen and heard among the voices clamoring for the same. I write because I love the way my words find their way to one another, coming together to become and say things that they never could fragmented and apart. I'd be lying to everyone, most of all myself, if I said that I didn't have a difficult time giving others, even those with far more talent and prestige, their well-deserved credit and respect.
In this case, I've set aside myself to reflect on the wisdom of those who've influenced me best, those who continue to inform and inspire me in ways that have changed and challenged my own writing for the better. Those whose words and beauty have given me the courage to speak my truth even as I learned to suppress or lessen it.
However you choose to celebrate or observe tomorrow, whether that means looking for hidden eggs scattered in fields or churches, drawn to the secrets that you believe or hope they contain, I invite you to consider a different view. It's not the violence carried and sustained by religious and economic systems--that is, those institutions which derive their power from blood and sacrifice and fear and the inevitable bottom line. Perhaps it lies in an altogether strange, but familiar truth: that the way we live and embrace the world reveal what we truly believe.
That our search for meaning and love and grace were always waiting to be answered in the questions represented by the poor, the suffering, the oppressed, and the vulnerable among us. That we either affirm or deny our gods when they visit us in the "other," whether they take the form of the stranger, the neighbor, the foreigner, the one we so readily accept, or the one we reject and kill because they are nothing like us. **Continued below⬇️** at Mount Lincoln, Colorado