I am marinating in these writings. Feeling a bit of satisfaction again.
For such a long time my words felt like names and faces I couldn't connect. I had gotten used to them being there to call on for support, comfort and expression for so long. Then a wonderful shift in my life happened. I was being with someone new and not hanging around them so much. Yeah, once in a while I'd scratch something out when I needed them, yet for long periods of time they waited so patiently in the dark.
I recently Googled myself. (There was a stranger with the same name that wrote alternate episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer...they weren't so wonderful, so there is no mystery as to whom they belong. If they were palatable, I'd leave it a mystery.) I was surprised with what my curiosity found. There were reviews and titles I recognized, yet did not remember writing. Odd, because they rattled off so easily in my second story apartment on Court Street not to long ago.
I had a hero of mine find a poem in one of these reviews. It was years ago and I have the poem packed away with other important papers. It was such a rush receive token of literary affinity. I also remember seeing the moon rise as a translucent tangerine slice over the mountains in Acapulco Bay. I've caught those simple, golden threads twining the divine, artistic expression and my own reality. I felt I was holding a mystical secret.
"As artists, we do not often marinate in self-satisfaction. We do not often say to ourselves, 'This is the greatest' --although it might be.
- Julia Cameron
I know that somewhere in the shadows there are words and more words. I will find that poem so I can post it where I can see it often. I will feel the moonlight juice from that tangerine drip down my chin again. I will hold tight to those secret, golden threads. They are my accolades, my trophies and my ribbons.
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