by Thimble
Before I get started, I want to say that although this article
will deal mostly with the medium of Poetry (for this is how I let my inspiration
flow), inspiration and its expression is almost limitless. Art, sculpture,
plays, screaming, teaching, living. These are all perfect ways of honouring
that which inspires.
Inspiration as a term and a concept is almost impossible to define. Within
Druidry, the concept of Awen is sometimes interpreted as inspiration itself,
an ever-flowing energy of new ideas and ways of being. The symbol often used
to show Awen is: /|\ and it is believed to show this inspiration flowing down
from the heavens (although I read the idea, on this very website I believe,
that perhaps really this is inspiration flowing from the mouth/mind/creature).
In other cultures and languages, inspiration is defined as the fire in the
head, that sudden urge to create. In fact one of the most inspiring things
about inspiration is the fact that it has no clear definition. It belongs
to everything, and everyone.
The thing about inspiration is that it ‘strikes’ at anytime.
From sitting on the bus, to lying in a dark field watching the stars. There
is no notion of time (or, I’m starting to think, helpfulness :p) when
it comes to being inspired. And often, these moments are lost, for that is
all they are, a moment. And the first bit of ‘advice’ I’d
give on inspiration of this type, is let it go. Sometimes a poem or song that
appears in your head, but is forgotten by the time you reach computer or pen,
was meant just for that moment, that instant.
But now for inspiration that sticks! I find that anything inspires me, from
simple garden benches, to deep connections with people. And nothing, let me
write that again, NOTHING is too ‘stupid’ or ‘unimportant’
to inspire. And that is where the freedom of poetry blossoms. The pure fact
that you can write about anything, means that the world is literally your
oyster. But why stop there? Other Realms, the Mind, Emotion, everything is
there to be inspirational, if you feel it to be so.
That leads me quite nicely onto another thing J, don’t feel, if you
have decided to follow Druidry or indeed any Pagan path, that every poem has
to be of a spiritual nature (that’s ignoring the idea that essentially
everything maybe spiritual). Don’t feel every word has to be an ode
to the Gods, or about the tree spirit you communicated with. By all means,
write about these things whenever you want, but always remember that a poem
on any topic is worthwhile.
There will of course be times where you want inspiration but you just don’t
feel it. Unfortunately, I stumble here. I’ve found that different things
work for different people. For me, I always wait until inspiration hits, quite
unexpectedly. Others find that meditating over an idea or object will inspire
them to write a poem, whilst some may simply decide “today I want to
write about a poem about frogs” and go off and look up all things froggy.
In the end, whatever works for you, is what’s best. And don’t
worry about finding which way works, you’ll find it J.
But what does Poetry mean? Well I can’t tell you what it means to you,
but I can tell you what it means to me. To me, poetry is the one moment, where
language, that incredible creation of humankind, looses its formality and
rules, Grammar goes out the window, the modern and the archaic join forces.
But even more than that, it is an opportunity to express yourself, in a way
that is bound by nothing and no-one. It is a creation that is entirely your
own, and yet belongs to everything that inspired you to create. It is like
a sacred relationship, enshrined in words. Without Poetry, a little piece
of me would die. Although many of poems are, undoubtedly, bad, this is of
such insignificance, because they are a part of me, they are my words, and
my journey in this life.
This, somewhat, leads onto the Poetry that is created for others. When I
write, I write with the intention that people, other than myself, will read
it. But this doesn’t stop me from writing whatever I want, because in
the end, if someone doesn’t like what they read, they don’t have
to read it again. But that doesn’t mean everyone’s poetry is there
to be read. If you want to write poetry that will only be yours to read, then
go for it.
The thing about sharing poetry, is that ultimately you will be opening your
soul to another. To some this can seem scary and overwhelming prospect, to
others thrilling and exciting, and even to others it can seem a necessity.
I’ve shared my own poems with many people, but the most important of
those sharing moments has to be with an English teacher of mine at college.
We first discussed my poems, both on a linguistical/analytical level, but
also on a spiritual level. The conversation went off in hundreds of tangents,
but it was a powerful and moving experience. However, the major turning point
of this, was when she shared some of her poems with me. It was in that moment,
as I was reading them, that I realised a poem has the power to connect you
to another soul, another being, another truth even if they are miles away
or tucked safely away behind a computer screen. Deciding to share your poems
must always, and let me emphasise ALWAYS be your decision. But I will not
deny that I believe this can be a truly empowering experience, and is a wonderful
way of saying to someone “hey! This is me”.
Poetry honours so many things, so many influences on life. But in the end,
I think the most important things, is that poetry is a way of honouring oneself.
Poetry, and indeed any artistic expression, is a sacred way of exploring the
way in which you react and interact with the world around you, and indeed
with yourself. And if you always hold that in your heart and your head, every
poetic/artistic/lyrical creation, is perfect.
To finish, I shall share with you one of my own poems, one that to as much
as an extent as it is possible, explains why I write poetry.
May you always find inspiration in everything you see and do, and the brightest
blessings on your artistic journey.
The Spark Is Lit
Every nerve is screaming at me,
Imploring me to write,
To put down my ideas to you.
Every sense is tingling,
With a fevered anticipation,
Of the beauty that may appear.
Every tiny neuron in my brain,
Is sparking like a lightning storm,
Ready for the intricacies of creation.
I cannot hold back this flow,
I cannot stem this rush of thought.
To do so would be to dishonour,
The very core of my being.
