The Art of Transcendence

It is the art of knowing that nobody reads your words-

and writing them, anyway, because to not write

is to die 10,000 deaths instead of just one, in those

small ways that could never be measured solely in terms

of lost hours.

 

It is about almost dying of what you mistook for love

last time, rising from a curled ball on the floor,

washing the dust off your heart, and offering it

again, to someone else.

 

It is suspecting that that nothing you make or think

or do or say will ever be remembered, or important-

and with your body aching, rising another morning to

continue creating, speaking; doing.

 

It is recognizing that he has not called or written

for the last 3 months when he said he would, and

still drowning in his beautiful eyes and kind smile

every time you get 15 minutes to see him.

 

It is being told by the man you love to forget him,

let him go, move on- that some things, no matter how

beautiful, are not meant to be- and then searching for

him in every new soul that encounters yours.

 

It is the realization that you are incomprehensible

to almost everyone, but continuing to extend your hand,

to make your art, love the entire damned world and

everything in it. Waiting for an ax to fall,

 

living for those special, rare, infinitely precious moments

those magic words, “You matter. To me, to him, to

all of us.” It is waiting 15 years for that thank you

you know will probably never be received.

 

It is being told, every day, in dozens of ways, “you

do not belong here,” and slapping on that fake smile,

straightening last night’s curve in your spine, looking

the world in the eye, and daring to simply continue.

Existing. On your own terms.

 

Author's Note

A writing exercise for the poetry club I belong to, a meditation on the word "transcendence." Inspired partly by a major spiritual crisis, and partly by the Bob Segar song, "The Fire Inside." This was translated from its original in Spanish, which can be found here:

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/zorra_encantada/1919416/

Picture is my own, just a pansy from my garden on Mother's Day.

Reviews

[Poetic Beauty]

The world can be a cruel place. Writing leaves a piece of our soul in each word written and when it isn't acknowledged it hurts but still we write. Love the comparison in this piece. Amazing story telling

[Patrick]

A deja vu moment when reading this...sure I had read it before and commented upon it only to discover that I hadn't. Which surprises me because it is so engaging. Had never thought of transcendence in those ways. So good.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you for the wonderful review, Patrick. For this one, I looked at Viktor Frankl's view on the use of situational transcendence to rise above any situation and find meaning in depression, horror, boredom, deprivation, and difficulty. I am glad this piece spoke to you. Blessings.

[SSKaitlyn]

A true masterpiece, love. It's breathtaking in everyway and you should be beyond happy, and proud. I've already added it to my favorites. And it's well worth the rating.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, kaitlyn for letting me know in this kind review that you enjoyed mywork on this. I am so glad to know that it spoke to you!!!

[Emily B]

This is everything. Every sound my heart makes. I am grateful to read it.

[Marie Anzalone]

You know? I actually thought of you, as well, when I wrote this one. Because you also continue to extend your hand to a world that does not always appreciate or understand you. I admire your dedication often.

[Emily B]

We have to