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Accounting for Everything: Motherhood?
I dreamt there was a baby in my belly. Growing bigger and bigger. Me, rubbing it in circles. Around and round. Nursing, encouraging, bringing her to the surface.
Then I gave birth to her, she bubbled to the waterline like old familiar feelings coming to light. Journeying to awareness.
After she was realized and launched into the world I abandoned her. Everyday I would find myself in a café/library/nightclub and the memory of her in her crib would jolt me into reality. I would rush home to see if she was still alive and not starved to death.
The panic was overwhelming and the guilt staggering as each time I would find her gurgling and smiling up at me from under baby blanket. Snug in her little sleeper. Waiting patiently.
What was wrong with me?
I had an idea for a song and it grew in my 5 speed heart. Bigger and brighter. I would roll it through my mind's processes. Over and over. Mulling, chewing, tasting. Realizing it's potential.
Then I let it pass out over my vocal chords and out my mouth. Sweet and clear like an old familiar feeling. Expression.
After that I played on the computer, painted walls, counted money and checked coats. Everyday I would wake up sweating. Have I forgotten something?
I am running through the halls of my mind searching, terrified, for my muse. My art. My song. My guitar.
In real life, opportunity-like an infant child, will not survive without it's mother.
My poor, lonely, orphaned craft is lost and shivering and will surely die if I don't get off my ass and fucking DO something.
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