onefootintheclay

Creativity and Spirituality with Joel McKerrow

Month: September, 2015

Always and Always the Two Voices

I took myself apart this weekend. Blossomed vulnerable onto a stage. It is not often that I share of my inner voice. Well, of one of my inner voices. The OTHER one.

Always and always the two voices.

The one that tells me I am enough

and the OTHER.

The affirmation that I give myself

and the OTHER.

Whispers of courage

and the OTHER.

Every day every day two voices

and how I would love to silence the louder.

But he is always there,

in the background,

waiting, biding time, until he is not. Then he is yelling and tormenting and shouting.

Whispers of brave courage become so hard to hear in his loud demands.

So, this weekend, in the midst of performing and giving and opening and creating, in the midst of friends and stories and people who inspire,in the midst I found myself listening, to the OTHER.

He was telling me of the many, many people who are doing so much more than I and he was telling me how words are never enough and how poetry can never be that which truly changes a life or a moment or a world and he was telling me how I am only ‘just a poet.’

And I listened.

And I drew away,

for a moment.

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This is why I need you. This is why you need me. This. Right here.

She saw me. I let her. I told her of the OTHER. She laughed at it. Reminded me of who I was. The OTHER retreated. I walked away taller. Straight to him, who told me what he saw in me. Told me he had been watching, not my performance, not my words, but the lives of people touched, the ones changed, the ones now changing others. Straight up. Two voices. One after the other. They drew iron into my back. They silenced the OTHER. I did not ask them for it. But I needed them for it. So with a renewed back bone, I gave myself. Blossomed vulnerable onto the stage. I shared confession. She heard it, the woman who needed it, she heard it and she wept and in her tears she found healing and she told me. In the force of her words the OTHER declared a surrender. So I told them about him from the stage. Blossomed vulnerable once more. Shed skin. Let them see into the doubt, let them hear the inner voices. Shone a light on the OTHER. He did not like the light. The audience did. They came and told me of their OTHER. I helped them silence her. This is why I need you. This is why you need me. This. Right here. And this was the weekend and today is a new day and again there are two voices but its a little easier today. The OTHER sits in the dark and lonely room and there he sulks. Quietly.

BRAND NEW FILM CLIP…. ‘ONE PLANET’…

Hey friends,

I am HUGELY excited to bring to you my latest collaborative filmclip made with some amazing talented folks. In support of TEAR AUSTRALIA and their Live on One Planet campaign, produced by Kintaro Studios and music by Josh Fuhrmeister. I do hope you enjoy….

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http://www.liveononeplanet.com

I Cannot Look at the Boy on the Beach… (when the suffering is too much)

Where do we go when we feel so helpless. When baby’s bodies wash up on the shore of our impotence. Our inability to change things as we wish they would change. The powerlessness of knowing that one body on a beach is just one of a million grains of sand inhumanely taken from the world under our watch. I watch too often, speak less, act not half as much as this. I cannot even watch this one. I cannot look at the photo of the boy on the beach. It hurts too much. Like I have not been able to look at the bodies in Syria or the babies of Palestine or the children of Iran or the wounded of Iraq. The loss of blood. A gaping wound. I feel sick. Weak. Silent. Like my voice could never be loud enough over the din of war drums. My protest never powerful enough to open the borders, to open eyes. I am one grain of sand. I do not know what to do. What to say.

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Today I plead with the boys of the school where I teach, boys soon to be leaders and CEO’s and politicians and entrepreneurs. I plead for them to keep their eyes open. To hold people close. To act justly and love mercy. I plead for them to use their influence, to use their wealth, to use their words for something larger than themselves. For the boy on the beach. For the girl in the grave. For the Father weeping. For the mother left lonely. For the woman beaten. For the man broken. For the child slave. For the factory worker. For the sneered upon. For the feared upon. For the exile. For the displaced. For Egypt. For Syria. For Australia. I plead.

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I plead and I realise that this, this is what I can do. This is what I bring. I feel helpless, but I shall keep speaking even as I feel my voice is too soft. I feel powerless but I shall still urge those who will one day be in power to use this power justly. I feel incapable of making change, but I shall try to change these minds in front of me. Who is in front of me. This is where I begin. Right now. These grains of sand connected to other grains of sand. I can do nothing for the boy on the beach. I can do something for the next boy. Today, it starts with these boys in front me. These boys in my class. Tomorrow it starts with the people that they bump into and the people that I bump into. I feel so incapable of bringing about change in Australia, but I shall try do so regardless of this feeling. I choose today to continue to give myself to something larger than myself. Today I repeat Margaret Mead to myself over and over and hope to God that she was right,

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world;

indeed it is the only thing that ever has”.