Saturday, May 14, 2011
In my wildest dreams I dream of being an inspiration. I dream of being a voice that resonates, that is listened to and heard. In the shower, I perform pieces about homeland, love, longing, fear, and power to an audience of a near-empty bottle of Dr. Bronner's and a washcloth. I sing songs and imagine myself on stage, with some kind of real, human audience. Always, even then, it's equal parts about the glory of being seen, noticed, and applauded and about wishing I could be some sort of inspiration . . . that something I'd say or do would help at least one person dream bigger, be nicer, act better, love harder.
I try to imagine myself with a microphone. There seem to be so many barriers to actually getting on stage with a microphone with people watching and listening (believe me, I've tried), that I've all but given up. I take to the internet and say some things here. It's never quite the same as those impassioned moments where my voice, a hushed whisper in the shower or as I walk down the street, improvises, channels words and melodies that seem to move through me, in a way that's so different from this calculated writing that is static once posted.
My fumblings, my imperfections . . . documented here for you. Perhaps they will inspire you to be boldly imperfect as well?