Thou Shalt not Kill….or Death is a Myth
I’m a lucky woman who has very cool friends who invite me to their homes to make art. On one of these occasions, my brilliant friend had inspiration cards in a basket to choose from. On the card I selected was printed the following prompt:
“Tell the story of something you have killed. Or make a list of everything you have killed, including relationships, ideas, etc. Begin with Once upon a time…”
This prompt seemed harsh, yet I immediately remembered the ill fated pair of my own pet turtles from when I was five. And the Daddy Long Legs Spider whose legs I heartlessly plucked. From there I segued quite easily into the story of an early, decidedly doomed relationship:
Once upon a time there was a young girl. She loved a boy who loved boys, but he didn’t quite know it yet. Well, he kind of did know it, and so did she, but it was so very hard to be in the world as a boy who loved boys, and equally hard to be in the world as a girl who loved a boy who loved only boys. (sound familiar, anyone?)
So there they were, playing house and playing at love, looking up at the NYC sky populated with planes flying by that professed others’ love on unfurled banners of “Will you marry me?”, holding hands, the one dry and calm, the other hot and sweaty, expecting and wishing for sweet unreality, the wish that could never be real.
So she killed it.
One afternoon, a boy who loved girls but wouldn’t love her because of the Holy Ghost in the sky invited her to dinner.
And down she went with the yes that led to a long line of NO’s.
No to art
No to light
No to sex
No to mistakes
No to love
No to the boy
No to the girl
No to the body and no to life.
And so she killed it.
This may make sense to you or it may read like nonsense, but don’t let me stop there. Because what I came to realize as I wrote this little story poem is that you can’t really kill anything. Things must be allowed to pass and transition in their own time. You can witness, you can support, you can deny, or repress, but you can’t entirely obliterate that which is.
Putting the energy into killing something, shutting it down, repressing it, denying it – things like your creativity, or a love, or a friend, or a part of your life you would rather forget – the act simply feeds its existence on a spiritual plane. Maybe even distorts it so that it begs for healing. But healing happens. A bigger wisdom is at play that cares nothing for ego, fear, or limitation. Everything has its time, it’s season, it’s cycle, and killing is a myth. (just like race is a myth, but that’s another topic)
Is there something you have killed? A brilliant scheme or hopeful dream, a friendship, or a beautiful possibility? Is it begging for your attention? Is it waiting for you to notice? Draw it, paint it, tell it’s story.