It is the oddest things that touch me at times. The strangest events or discoveries that move and inspire me.
For a long time I think I have fought against it, wanting “normal” inspiration from sources that made sense. Well-vetted, broadly recognised and widely acknowledged sources, like the works of the great Masters in arts and literature. Maybe I have felt that it was… safer(?) somehow, because I didn’t need to explain or validate why on Earth I was touched by something like that. Everybody already gets it – or pretends to anyway. Maybe it has just been easier to read in a book or be taught what to think of something, rather than seek out an original thought for myself.
The truth is that most of what mainstream opinion reveres, I can appreciate but not “feel” anything for. Most of it just doesn’t … impress me. Or impress anything upon me, perhaps is a better way of saying it. When I last read Shakespeare (Macbeth) years ago, it seemed that of the entire cast, plot and action only the three witches were capable of stirring thought within me. Actually, they continue to do so, even now almost a decade later – long after I’ve forgotten most of the story and the tragic destinies put on display within it for all of humanity and time to see and lament. It almost feels like sacrilege to say that. Or blatant ignorance. And maybe it is. Maybe it is both.
Some may read this and shake their heads, compelled to chime in with the ever politically correct “inspiration doesn’t conform, it creates”, meaning that it doesn’t matter what hat or shoes my muse wears – she still gets the job. They may tell me not to care about what others say or think. Tell me to believe in myself and feel blessed to be open to a view of life that not everyone can see. But I might roll my eyes at that too and shut it out – or at least keep it to myself, well-hidden and secret like I did in the past when I felt something I was embarrassed to admit to.
I don’t know why now is different. I don’t know why things that mattered so much in the past seem insignificant now. And I don’t know why tomorrow seems a new day, not just another day. But it does. And it is. And I do feel blessed. And warm. And alive. And I do have a quirky eye for odd little details from which I meticulously gather the meaning of life, carefully extracting and applying them in ways they were probably never intended or imagined by anyone but Those who put them there. And like anyone who suddenly unearths a hidden treasure I waver between keeping it to myself or showing it to the world.
Whatever it is, we all cherish what we each find for ourselves. We know that some will roll their eyes and others will frown with envy. And some – perhaps most – will not care at all. Whatever we choose… however we react… and whatever we find, I don’t think it sets us apart as much as it makes us the same. We all have our secret moments of feeling blessed and inspired. And whether we choose to share them or not… as long as we keep them with us they’ll make the difference they were intended to make.
At least, so I believe…