Shame On Me

You probably thought I was never going to post again. I, too, was beginning to wonder. The thing is, I haven't wanted to write. I've been aware that I could. I've had plenty of ideas. I just haven't wanted to. I've been stubborn, as if daring The Muses to walk away in resignation. My reluctance has had me curious. Why the resistance? It's because I deplore being a slave to anything. Not that writing is slavery exactly. Still, I was beginning to feel that I was writing simply because I felt I had to and not because I wanted to. While there is some sense of innate imperative to what I do, my personality is such that I also have to want to do it.

Sadly, my artwork has been suffering much the same sort of demise. It's pretty much the same mental struggle I go through over wanting a clean house and actually doing the housework. Well, almost... but not quite.

And then I heard myself giving someone else hell for not using their abilities, for shrouding their amazing talent. Yeah, I'm a real piece of work.

Who am I to deny The Muses? Who am I to say, "Gee, thanks for the creativity and talent, but I'd rather not today." I mean, I've got all the toys I ever asked for and now I don't want to play?! Christ in a sidecar, but I can be insufferable sometimes.

I've been taking it all for granted when in fact, there is nothing that can't disappear at a moment's notice. Shame on me. I apologize.

We do ourselves and others a grave disservice when we deny whatever it is in us that sparks the fire. We rob the world of our essential selves, our own unique greatness when we refuse to do what we were born to do.

Shame. Shame, shame, shame.