![]() I also taught a class on the science and manipulation of sauces. I cooked some parsnips and rutabagas in a demo class yesterday. Was there no one to go home to? No one who listened to his heart, and his breathing? No one who loved him despite his great, bleeding weaknesses, weaknesses that daily made life more difficult? When was it not that the struggle to choose created the exhaustion? Ezra Pound was a deeply wise artist, but his sanity was questioned, he spent years in confinement for treason. And we learn, in literature classes, or in art school, that many of these creators were “unstable.” I wonder how many situations we could look at in depth and ask the question of whether the person was volatile, or the environment. And I look at Plath not only for what she accomplished in our emotional consciousness, but also for what she achieved for women, and modern poetry as a whole. I have so much respect for these people, who showed the world a way of seeing that was not mainstream, or comfortable. I think about writers I have looked up to. And I wonder if the bitter root of living a life in service of connection and expression requires people to live in exile. Still, I find myself, in moments of vulnerability, wanting to choose somehow, between art and society. That I, like it or not, am a person too raw of soul or uncompromised of spirit to peddle myself out, strategically, just as the world becomes ready. I have, at too many times in my life, felt that the fun was not worth the game it required. But connection and fun are only sometimes found together. ![]() I continued to desperately want to find connection with my peers, but what I found more often than not, was fun, which I also value greatly. So, as a child, I found acceptance and comfort much more readily in adults than in my classmates. I find that people older than me are much more capable of seeing the complexity in me, and in others, and in situations of life. I realize that I have felt this way for much of my life- torn between social acceptance and independent creative expression. I feel exposed, unearthed, and somehow alienated. After putting a lot of spirit and emotion into reflective writing recently, I have been feeling extremely vulnerable. ![]()
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