Face it

"The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, 

who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time"

                                                                                                                                             - Mary Oliver

Knock out. 

Det føltes iallefall som det når eg leste sitatet til Mary Oliver. 

Det kom og reiv meg overende sånn heilt uten av eg var forberedt. 

Eg kjenner virkelig at dei kreative kreftene i meg tar tak og sprenger på. 

For ei tid tilbake leste eg om ei som fortrengte kreativiteten og fekk brukt den mest til å skape flotte barnebursdager. 

Jepp, den kan eg kjenne igjen. Vi har hatt nokre heftige bursdagfeiringer her.

Og i mai neste år har vi konfirmant. Planlegginga og innkjøp er i gang.

.

Mary Oliver hadde eg ikkje høyrt om før i dag. Ho er visst den bestselgande diktaren frå USA gjennom tidene. Med forbehold sjølvsagt, då Wikipedia er kjelda. 

Ho treff meg veldig med ein del av det ho skriv. 

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it lovs.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

.

Eg elsker å skape. Gjerne rått, rett i frå hjerte - intuitivt og nært.

.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save. 

.

Så seier eg til meg sjølv om og om igjen. 

Eg har ikkje tid, eg har ikkje plass, eg er ikkje flink nok, det er ingen vits i å prøve ein gong.

Og så lar eg det bli min sannhet.

Fy faen så patetisk.

Er det rart ein blir deprimert ?

.

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?” 
                                                                                                                       - Mary Oliver