This I wrote as a tribute to all writers, poets, musicians and artists, who from time to time experience bouts of what I call the nasty, malodoros S.S.E. (shitty self-esteem). Consider this as a pat on the back which will encourage us to keep on creating and hopefully ward off the regrets.
All artists, writers, musicians and poets have the uncanny ability to tap into the realm of spirit. It is a gift that enables us to transcend the mundane, and experience the world as we see and feel it, and know how it should be. We have the ability to turn what to most people, are chaotic thoughts and feelings, into beautiful and meaningful works of art. We are blessed with the grace that enables us to never stray far from our original nature, despite having to live and survive in the material world. We pass on what we have learned through our words, which are the manifestation of our collective knowledge. It is a shamanistic quality which we possess. If we believe as I do that we are gifted and if we further believe that a gift only works when we give it away willingly, then it is our duty to pass it on.
All cultures revere their artists, none more so than my own, the Irish. We call them Seanacchie (shan-a-key) the storytellers, the bards and the minstrels.
From "Don't Die with Regrets: Ireland and the Lessons my Father Taught Me."
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Also for Sale:
The Journey: A Nomad Reflects.