I am an artist, but I am not a professional.
I am an artist, but I don’t want to make art. I am an artist, but I am sick of projecting meaning onto junk. I am an artist, but more than that, I am a believer. Or, at least, I desire to believe.A dreamer? But a dreamer means nothing.
Take me home!!
That’s all that it is: a search for heaven on earth. Where the hell is it?
In service. I can honestly believe that the secret to happiness is service to others.Perhaps I am so unsettled because I haven’t stopped searching. No. More than that, I am beginning to believe that I am unsettled because this is not my true home. I desire the Garden of Eden and the way things were meant to be, and so I will never find it. I must come to terms.
I know I am going home in the end so I should just enjoy my time here, right? The end. Stop thinking. I can try that.
But I can’t shake the cursed blessing of being a privileged American. How dare I “just enjoy my time.” It’s checks and balances: wealth and poverty. I am privileged that I may be of use in helping the unprivileged. Or, perhaps I am privileged that I may challenge my fellows: the other numb-suckers with two cars and nowhere to go.
Okay, I’m done. This is turning into a rant.
1 comment:
It is strange to say that you are often in my thoughts?
Continue searching, it's good not to settle. Continue to ask and seek. This particular string of thoughts reminds me so much of C.S. Lewis and his unquenchable desire for something more. We have that longing etched in us for a reason. Careful to not let your dreaming make you lose sight of the day-to-day realities, dreary as they might seem at times.
Artist commune neighbors sounds lovely. So does tea. Someday we will really do it. :]
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