“Use what talents you possess; the woods would be very silent if no birds sang there except those that sang the best.” – Henry Van Dyke
Alan Watts made this point in his story about dancing, he said we don’t dance to get somewhere or across the dance floor, we dance to dance. I am happiest when I I dance and sing and play, but I am also unhappy, because I’m never good enough for the social separate self. Separate conditioned self want’s a reason to do anything, if I’m singing it has to sound good and someone must hear and approve, if I dance it must be for a reason.
I started writing poem and musings in grade school, which doesn’t mean I’m good at it, but indicates how much I love it. Yet, writing poems is one of the few things I do just because. Just because I like it. Lately I have been struggling with the idea of publishing a book of poetry and verse and I wonder if can do so without being attached, without concern, and without worrying about how others will receive my offerings? But that’s it right? I am offering freely and why would it matter how someone receives a gift?
I’m learning, slowly, that self expression stands alone. To express what sings to be expressed, what whispers to be shared, and to do, just because I can. Perhaps in this way I can diminish my fears and phobias of what others think, and dance for no other reason than to dance.
Dance, sing, and write poetry today, for the days keep moving on and the future unknown.
Sitting on my cushion, she on her web,
we sat in silence, she by default, being the quiet type.
Surrounded by the debris of past encounters, she ate insects,
I eat my beliefs, leaving dead and empty beliefs.
My web didn’t exist anymore, hers was more gossamer than weave,
she kept time in a way that made Zen masters weep.
I watched and cried, in the salt lamps blessings, sans zen, sans master.
New beliefs are truer than old ones,
yet here I am again,
this time feeling lower than truer, killed the Buddha, ate the Ox,
and now we sit, in silence, on cushion and web.