Good morning, Sadness

 

Yesterday, I received some sad news. 

After the wave of shock receded, I was newly reminded of the fact that you can make plans and do everything right, follow a step-by-step program, a schedule, and a system--but still, you can't be prepared for everything. The world doesn't work that way.

One day, a mighty wind will blow through your house, tearing down the walls, overturning furniture, crashing lamps and vases, ripping the curtains and destroying all the artifacts that signify a comfortable life. All your carefully conceived plans--vanished. Gone.

You will sit there in the dark, in the middle of the wreckage. You will look up at the black hole in your roof and ask the night sky--why? But the night sky will not you answer you.

But, wait. Inside this stillness, tender fingers are reaching out. Accept what has happened. Embrace the silence. Feel its finality. And then, look up, because--in the middle of this wreckage that was once your life--something is looking for you. And this something is called joy.

Yes, joy. And art. And beauty.

Creative friends, great art doesn't come from a place of perfection or happiness or satisfaction. It emerges out of the darkness and the pain. Your assignment for this week is to sit in the dark space--the ruins of your life, your home, your country, your world--and search for joy. And once you have located authentic joy, pick up your pen and paper, go to your piano, put on your dance shoes, open the windows and sing. 

Love,

Jamie