renaissance.

at first i found it hard to understand. what did renaissance have to do with me or my life? i used to think art was veiled. i felt that it required some superior intelligence to make sense of it. i saw art and i could formulate an objective opinion of what it looked like, but beyond that i was at a loss. i create art, or what i like to call art, but would anyone else call it that? i would hear what other people thought, their objective observations, and subjective insights, of art, and i would sink further down, keeping my lack of understanding all to myself. the one thing i always did know, and fully trust, is what art made me feel. i am always in close connection to my emotional response to things such as art, music, and other creatively inspired and nurtured things. But sometimes I don't always know what i think. and the most startling thing about thinking that is realizing that it is our thoughts that further us, that make us. how have i stunted myself? i keep looking at everyone else. i keep admiring these people who invent things, these people whose hands create beauty, these people who fall in love, and have careers, and make families. i watch people who sew, paint, garden, and do work beyond my understanding, and i am in awe. i feel alone, on the outside, as if there is nothing more i can contribute. there are already people out there who write the best words in the best ways. there is already someone who has thought up and painted beautifully, what i've yet to have the courage to put pencil to paper. there are people right now creatively imparting knowledge and cultivating the spiritual development of others in ways i could never even think of doing. there were days i aspired to be more than this. i had this fanciful idea that somehow these things would just come to me, in some sort of magical way. i've allowed hope and expectations to slip away from my grasp. the more i think about what i've let myself lose, the more sad i get. there were days, i thought i'd be an artist. there were days when i thought i was a writer. i call myself a teacher. but what am i really? that is such a paralyzing thought. what am i? i can make myself something. that is such an unbinding thought. i can make my own life. still, even now. there is a renaissance to happen here. this day. today is my renaissance. my renaissance is personal, internal, and deep. It is deliberate, beautiful, and worthy. my renaissance follows my desire to impact the world. this poem is my renaissance-

I felt my life with both my hands To see if it was there — I held my spirit to the Glass, To prove it possibler — I turned my Being round and round And paused at every pound To ask the Owner's name — For doubt, that I should know the Sound — I judged my features — jarred my hair — I pushed my dimples by, and waited — If they — twinkled back — Conviction might, of me — I told myself, "Take Courage, Friend — That — was a former time — But we might learn to like the Heaven, As well as our Old Home!"