For the Love of the Ordinary

To confess:  the Arts and I are in the midst of a passionate love affair.  Whether they have come to me on lined paper, on stage, or simply lay vertically, suggestively, on the wall; I could drink of them forever. Each a jealous lover, and

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I have been captured length and breadth and soul, in a thousand, thousand shades and sadness by Hue and Tint and Clay and Chord. 

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I have seen this cosmos writhe between the stars,

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and I have loved the stark nobility of black and white, of staccato notes, of arrogance tinged with lust.  I tremble and I breathe in these embraces; these sinuous curves and elegantly awkward abstractions -

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draw in,

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these ticking scenes of everyday, distilled -

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let go.

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The reassuring strength of these vertical lines and shuddering chords pulls me heaven bound, while a sweeping silhouette buries feet in damp earth.  I am stretched between these poles until I can scarce draw breath and I am

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held up

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through these frames to see the vastness of the world and left to languish in its terrible grace.  This rolling into greying dawn: like breathing, ordinary and painfully beautiful.  I am drowning, pleasantly,in a sea of deepest blues and golds with each rushing water, every crash, and soft retreating pull as whispers into curves of seashell ears.