The linearity of this level of consciousness
Preoccupied by past, present, future
By the rational, practical and ordered mind
By survival and shelter
Is so dry and barren
When left to it’s own devices

It is only salvaged by creativity
By the artist
The poet
The mystic
The wild one
Who goes beyond
Who stumbles into the unknown
Who goes beyond the limit

They bring meaning
Something extraordinary
They shine a light
Remind us of our mystery
Our fragility
Vulnerability
They show us our own soul
And our broken hearts
They cry for us and with us

The artist
The beautiful, crazy ones,
Fit for nothing reasonable
And mostly hopeless
At fitting into anything
Save us from
Rigidity
And the constant sameness
Of things

For god’s sake
Buy their stuff
Share it, rave about it
Love them, tell them you love them
You may be all they have
You may be what stands between them
And giving up

And if you are one of them
Know this
What you do is of value
It doesn’t matter who sees it
Who hears it
Who reads it
What matters is your soul
What matters is you do it
Just do it anyway
Give up on the reason why
Or the outcome
What you do matters
On levels of consciousness
Unseen and invisible
If you get reward on this plane
Great
If you don’t
Great
Do what you must
And do it with your brazen
Broken
Wounded
Wild
Crazy heart wide open.