to those who came before me

I feel a responsibility, a weight, a mantle, to do my family proud. And not the ones I’ve known, no the grandmothers and ancestors who had not the tact, resources, and freedom to be creators and artists. It would be a disservice and shame to the gift of my life to not pursue what they could not. 


And I do not think me big, important, or even particularly skilled, simply stubborn. Simply unwilling to settle for less than what I am capable of, and better yet to rocket past what ought to be my ceiling. Because why dream of lightbulbs when stars wink from heavens above? 


It would be a waste, a damed waste, to give up now, to have given up years ago. Because I was given a gift and I intend to make good work of the life I was given. 


So I will write my book, no matter how silly it may be. I will write as many sequels as I can barter from my soul, and I will paint the stupid paintings that scare me shitless. Apologies, but I truly am sick of being scared of the very things that might spring from myself, of the very things that may be meant for more than myself. 


Whether it be a mantle, or a dream I’ve chosen, I will see it through to as far as I may reach of an end. It’s important to me, and maybe that’s all that’s needed. For someone to care. For someone along the line to have cared enough to lay it down and make the sacrifice. To sacrifice being understood, comfortable, and having a safety net. Because this dream is bigger than me, and bigger than I think of myself truly. 


Its about breaking the starving artist and inspiring the thriving artists. Because the sign of a decaying, rotting, society is the disparaging and destroying of art. And what if not that speaks of a great creator. That the first sign of decay of would be the loss of His character, the first characteristic He showed us. 


I will not lay down this dream, and I will not cease this fight, even as I long for a rest and a peace. Because I already gave it away, sold the oxen and burnt the plows, took up the sword and shield. Dug past the dirt and grim, polished the pallet and preserve the pages. I will go further, and lay down more and more, will trudge through deserts, up mountains, and rest only at the wellspring set forth before me. Because it is more than just about me, for those behind me and those before, I will lean on the those beside and hope to bring them with me. 


Will you follow me? Into the next, onto greater things than these? 

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