Messy Choir Rehearsals…
If I let my voice be messy, what would it sound like? Perhaps a choir at their first rehearsal, half of them forgetting which parts were theirs. It would sound like belief; belief in the understanding that what makes the messy so magical is allowance and authenticity. My two best friends.
The sun meets me with a kiss on the cheek as the wind strokes the blonde peach fuzz along the length of my spine. The birds sing their tune, a song they never had to search to find. And ah… the choir finds its harmony.
At times we can question if anything is even real anymore. I’ve had my fair share of love–hate moments with AI before I learned how to correctly use it — instead of allowing it to strip my vocal cords down to something that felt like an electrical wire plugged into the matrix we call “tools.”
At times, it may feel fizzled out by the expansion of tech, but still - here I am, writing these words, reaching for something deeper than anything beyond human experience could. Sometimes it lands. Sometimes my brain says, ehh, maybe?
Where does creativity go when it seems to have lost its way? Can we reconcile our marriage? Creativity is the only thing that has ever come naturally to me in this human experience. I was a singer before I could talk. A poet before I knew how to write.
To be but a flame of creative passion for those around me.
To be but a flame of curiosity that brings hope to humanity that the inner child lives.
What inspires others through my actions is not up to me - but there exists a mirror of potentiality in them. And so, I hope.
The creativity and beauty I see in others is also in me. So when my creativity feels like a kink in a water hose, I remember: the water will change temperature when it begins to flow freely again as it always does.
I will forever be an advocate for more individuals to live in ways that inspire… that bring hope… that whisper:
“There is still love left. And thank goodness someone is alchemizing it into medicine through words, through song, through presence to inspire another.”
I belong.
You belong. Creativity belongs.
And we belong, everywhere, when we allow ourselves to belong as does the rippling what true humanity can feel like.
Perhaps this landed, perhaps not. In other words, I am here to write, even if future me is the only one to read it.
Bless the Journey.
-T
