born of a visionary-
one gifted with the ability
to farther see,
one who then generously
takes us on their journey.
Legacy…
what is left behind,
that which will stand the test of time.
planted seeds
the rich harvest of which
will not ever be seen.
lessons taught
from painful battles fought.
inspiration elicited
from a long gone Heart that contributed.
the many lives transformed
from a Life that is now in another form.
a world made brighter
from a dimmed Light of significant matter.
“When nature has work to be done, she creates a genius to do it.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
The presumption being then that when “the work” has been done to satisfaction, Nature calls genius back home: “Your work down here is complete; you’ve fulfilled your purpose. On to the next.”
In my mind and heart, this is what transpired in the case of our dearly beloved and departed Prince. Nature so stunningly and (in the moment) inexplicably ceasing him back to Her bosom, shook something deep inside of me that continues to tremble and uncomfortably shift.
I’m feeling unmoored, disoriented – not quite certain why. What exactly is going on within? As I cannot articulate it with any real coherence – just a thick mixture of sadness, dread, fear, confusion – I desperately seek both answers and comfort by delving ever deeper into The Artist’s life and music. It’s bordering frighteningly on the obsessive, this I know! Yet, I cannot turn away – it is an internal draw beyond my conscious control at the Moment. Truly I tell you, resistance is futile. So, I reluctantly relent – too tired and enthralled to do otherwise.
In an interview, Prince astutely observed that any interest in him beyond his music speaks to a lacking/a need in another – nothing to do with him. He is absolutely correct; to that I can wholeheartedly attest.
My sojourn into the Purple Rain continues to yield much and rich fruit. Presently, I am ruminating on the concept of “genius” – a word that is synonymous with Prince. Very few would dare argue otherwise – nor could do so convincingly.
Yes, Prince was a genius; he embodied it in a way that is breathtaking and astonishes, this he knew from early on until the end/beginning (how could he not?) Nature wanted to fill its world with music and showmanship not since seen or experienced and – poof – Prince Rogers Nelson was created for such a time as that. It took only 57 years for Nature’s work to be done through that relatively small human vessel- exemplifying just how bright and blindingly brilliant Prince’s Light shined, how singularly focused he was on his work, mission, purpose.
As my insides churn with envy and profound inadequacy (comparing and despairing), a little voice, whimpering and seeking some solace, whispers: “Is genius/an entity, a creation such as a Prince the exception or the rule?” This voice is challenging me to step back a little from the haze and explore further: Is genius exceptional, elitist, reserved just for some, a very select few or is it a tad more generous and democratic in its form(s)? Hope for me comes with a belief in the latter. Perhaps, this explains the inexplicable pull I’ve been feeling into the Purple Rain – the message I desperately need to hear repeatedly, grasp, own, and, ultimately, share – the work/message that genius in the form formerly known as Prince was really placed on this Earth to do/deliver.
I am reminded of these words uttered by genius currently in the form know as Marianne Williamson:
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world …We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
Heartfelt many thanks for the coming liberation my dearly beloved Prince!
I am
out
of
service.
No longer will I do only as told;
I will, instead, endeavor in all ways to be Bold.
No longer will I relent to your perspective on what is deemed art;
I will, instead, succumb only to the rhythm and vision of my own Heart.
No longer will I heed passively to what feels and sounds to me utterly absurd;
I will, instead, be Heard and not part of the herd.
No longer will I merely accept what is;
I will, instead, search, dig deep and extract from within for without what is authentically His.
Your definition of “success” I will choose to categorically reject;
For, you see, I am
now and forever more
out
of
your
service.
The great Ernest Hemingway is said to have drafted the following six-word story:
“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”
Inspired by Hemingway, the following six-word story comes through me in this Moment:
“stifled creativity: perennial abyss, life-altering maceration.“
I watch O, J. Lo and the Queen Bee
My heart swells with envy and boundless possibility
I yearn for uniquely Me bits of what they manifest:
Abundance, self-actualization, adventure, creativity
Big, fat, juicy lives – nothing less
Lives lived relatively
Unconventionally
Authentically
Beyond fully
They – and other Souls of their ilk – will depart
With nary their songs left in the Heart
No what if, little – if any – regrets
Just a deep sense of giving life their very Best
Leaping to fly
No hide
Daring greatly
Loving bravely
Following bliss
That is a Life well-lived.
On this day, thirteen days ago – just five days after 9/11 – my beloved Grandmother Julie left the Earth. Her passing was the first significant loss I had experienced, and it changed me – forever. It changed what I thought I knew about death and dying. I have come to see now that her passing was yet another invaluable gift she bestowed upon me. I am forever grateful.
Mummie Julie, as we her grandchildren lovingly referred to her, was always gifting me. Whenever I saw her, she would sneak me a twenty dollar bill or more. “Do not tell your mother,” she whispered with a mischievous glint in her eye. “This is between you and me.” If it wasn’t money, it would be her glorious food (how I miss her cooking) served abundantly and with much love.
A few days before she was to be rushed to a hospital emergency room, at a birthday party she hosted for the latest addition to the family – her great-grandson, she gave me a most unusual gift. It was a large laminated picture of me taken at my college graduation. In it, I am chubby checked and smiling. As I looked at the picture, I recalled the deep pain and darkness that lurked underneath that smile. Sensing my heavy heart, my grandmother had me turn the picture over. The first words I read, written in delicate cursive:
“A smile never makes an enemy, but often wins a friend.”
I chuckled. My grandmother was not one for a lot of words. Still, she knew her granddaughter very well. I was always smiling no matter what was happening inside of me. She wanted me to keep smiling, to see it as a gift rather than a weakness and a burden, and to then use this gift for good.
Just to make certain that I received this message (again, this grandmother knew her granddaughter’s stubborn heart – I could not hide from her), there was a poem written clearly in print. The poem, You Tell On Yourself resonated deeply in that moment and continues to every time I read it to this day – thirteen years later.
LOL! Grandma was prescient – no wonder she laminated her last gift to me. If she had not, it would have been worn down by now! I read that poem, savoring every beautiful word every year at least three times a year – sometimes more. I cling to it whenever I forget or dislike who I am. It has saved me from delving into The Abyss almost as many times as has chocolate!
Truly I tell you, this poem has become my guiding light – it reminds me to foster integrity, it reminds me that we are indeed each other’s keeper, that we are connected, that we influence each other and that we, indeed, are always telling on ourselves – there’s really no hiding who we really are no matter how heavy and elaborate that mask we so carefully craft. The poem also reminds me to pay close attention.
I still do not know who authored You Tell On Yourself . I send countless thanks to that creative Soul!
Until today, I have never shared this story of my grandmother’s last gifts to me – the picture, the saying, and the poem. They were mine – between my grandmother and me, our last little secret. It just dawned on me that grandma did not ask me to keep this gift between the two of us. I think this was deliberate. Again, this grandmother knew her granddaughter’s heart. She knew I would share her last words – her precious lessons to me – when I was ready.
And so I share:
You Tell On Yourself
You tell on yourself
By the words you speak, by the friends you seek,
By the way you employ your leisure time,
By the use you make of your dollar and dime.
You tell what you are by the things you wear,
By the spirit you, your burdens you bear,
By the kinds of things at which you laugh,
By songs you sing, just a paragraph.
You tell what you are by the way you walk,
By the things of which you delight to talk,
By the manner in which you bear defeat,
By so simple a thing as how you eat.
By the books you choose from a well-filled shelf–
In these things and more – you tell on yourself.
burgeoninc 