I vow to be true to my authentic self. I vow to live by the muse. I vow to do for the good of the world by being exactly who I am as much as I can. I vow to let things take the time they need. I vow to always express myself as a tribute to my mother who never felt like she quite could express herself, but also as a living tribute to myself and the world now. For all the people I love I’ll do my own thing and be me. Hell, for all the people — even the ones I don’t love (but I love them, too, in the greater cosmic sense). I vow not to take myself too seriously but also to take seriously what needs to be taken seriously, which sometimes is being the silliest I can muster — which is pretty silly.
I vow not to “drag people up the mountain” (a friend dreamt about this), and I vow to live by example by being authentic and continuing my work, which also happens to be full of play.
I vow to say no when I need to say no so that I can say more yes to that which glimmers around the edges and calls to me — my reservoir of quietus and creativity. And I vow to let those glimmering things take their time to unfold. And I vow to record as much as I can that comes to me from source, from my guides and loved ones who have gone before me, but not get confounded with myself if I can’t record it all, all the time. I vow, when the inspiration moves too fast, to let myself be taken by the rollercoaster instead of grabbing too hard and getting all “Of Mice and Men” Lennie on it. I won’t crush any puppies in the name of art. But I WILL poke some bears.
I vow to continue to look over the precipice, feel the feels, write about them as best I can, and bring them back. I will continue to work with fear to breathe it out and always come back to the creative gifts.
I will remember that the elixir from the hero’s journey is, after all, elixir — and I get to sip it. And that should be fun. Not that I look at myself as some kind of hero. Just that we all get to sip that elixir.
I will bring the work and myself back to my heart whenever necessary. I won’t destroy it with my beautiful brain. But I will acknowledge and thank all the moving parts. Having moving parts at all is a goddamned miracle in itself. I will remember that.
I will trust in the process. I know there is always more. Pruning the bushes means better vegetation and fruit. I won’t feel terrible about editing. (There’s always a cutting room floor folder.)
I will let others show me my light and I will show them theirs. I will take time for myself when I need but I will also remember that sometimes it takes others to show me my light and I will forever be grateful for those who do and to them I will share my gift of eye contact, heart and brain.
I will hold paradoxes and I will share what I’ve found from the straddling therein.
If humans continue to war and hate the least I can do is align with source and my guides and loves and trust in this decidedly quieter but (arguably) more floridly-hued life of creativity. I can do my best to balance. But I will remember, too, that it’s not my job to figure where I fit in all of it (see: not destroying it with my beautiful brain). That’s taken care of. It’s my job to be, love, record, get silly, get serious, and share.
I will forever be grateful. I heard someone say, “Having everything that should make a person happy doesn’t create happiness. Being grateful for what you have creates happiness.” And I walked back down the aisle after getting married to “And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.” Thank you, Paul McCartney. So — that.
Endless inspiration. I will always be open. May I always be open to the love.