What am I committed to?

What am I committed to?

Like someone, something shaking me awake, as I drift off, over and over again, pulling me back from deep unconscious waves and that slow yet fast sink down into the dark places of unconsciousness and sleep.

Sleep.

What am I committed to?

You see, it’s easy to say, freedom, truth, beauty, honesty, kindness, being in service, showing up, and any or all or one of the values or places of deep resonance that we know sit seated firm in the still silent unshakeable place within us. Yeh, it’s easy to say that but what happens when we’ve lost the key? When we’ve been spun around, once a child’s game of laughter and dizziness and off balance tumbling willingly and in the name of fun, too many times that dizziness is a familiar and we’re all sand stormed up, no trooper to blast away the debris that lands flotsam and ash pieces falling all around?

If I am committed to making life art and art life, if I am committed to speaking the unspoken, and if I am committed to showing up no matter what, the deep violet and violent truth of whatever is, then I have to choose this. Over and over and over again.

That’s all fine and dandy when life is good, when the rocks have been lifted and only insight remains. But what of the other times? What if we’re still in the wounds and…