The above word has taken on a whole new meaning for me of late. For example...
Last night at IAO Gallery, I witnessed silent tragedy. On shelves, there were jars. [glass jars.] The jars contained wings. [of birds.] It hurt me to look at this depressing spectacle - I instantly felt pain in my gut upon seeing them.
A scene flashed into my mind at this encounter :: Picture the birds, the ones whose wings were encased on a shelf, high above their reach... Think of their invisible prison, barring them in from reaching any of the heights they know instinctively they're intended to reach, but can't articulate the right questions to ask in order to get there. Trapped unaware, they live. Pieces of their very being are hidden away from grasp...or knowledge of an ability to grasp.
Some of these wingless aviaries will live the majority of their lives resigned to do as they're told...to believe the nay-sayers of flight when they say, "It's not your place, little one. You were meant for the ground."
Travesty has officially hit - we are no longer 'allowed' to do what we were meant to do.
A bluebird discovers a door behind a bookcase. With assistance from loyal friends, she advances past the books and passes through the door - she witnesses a piece of herself, tucked into a corner shelf.
The rest is history, still being made.
So this is art - some people get it, some people don't. That's ok, though... [maybe you weren't meant to.] Regardless, it's vital to my soul -- expression of life/death, joy/pain, abundance/lack.
Everything gets sorted out in time (which may or may not exist as we think it does). The journey from now to later will yield beauty...progress will show her work... God will do his thang...and my joy will praise him, his name praised will satisfy me, my satisfaction in him will tell on my being, thereby praising his name...and the circle continues, mutually beneficial.
We're all in this together, people. Don't make things harder than they already are.