A Mythic Hunger


Image: “Island of Life,” Freydoon Rassouli

Art is the delicious anarchy we should surrender ourselves to,


and whenever

and to whomever

it wants to take us.

We should do this without being

overly concerned

with ideas of

whether it will be

understood by a society,

infected with the disease of consumerism

or whether or not society will feed love back to you,

in return for what you want

to give them.

All judgments of your efforts are useless hindrances,

which block the aisle

down which our ever-awakening spirit

wants to run,

with great abandon,

and then

embrace our being.

We owe it to ourselves

to be sublimely deviant and to be creatively inventive

in ways never before seen before,

that even God herself will rouse from her divine slumber.

She will then ascend to a regal height,

and clap her hands in a thunderous roar

her giddy approval

echoing from the heavens.

How will your art will be perceived by the world?

Do you care, or

should you even care?

I think not, for the only way to be connected

with the powerful creative energies that give rise to

beautiful masterpieces of the imagination,

Is to let fall away

everything others can possibly think or care about you.

List every petty concern that you think might flit through the minds

of your brother and sister,

mother and father,

friend and foe…

Then add a hundred more,

a litany of every

possible horrible thing

anybody could ever say to you

take this list, and

burn it outside,

in the shadow of an ancient spruce tree in the woods

closest to your home.

The one that knows your secrets,

but will whisper them to no one.

and then feel a delirious

lightness as you free yourself of these worldly


This, my friends, is the way to be utterly fearless,

in ways that even obliterate,

the fear that lies hidden in others.

Fear that exists now,

and fear yet to be birthed

fear that that lives in innumerable

unsanctified corners of time

Your unrelenting belief in yourself will leap out across

the chasm of separating the worlds,

and waves of your unimaginable power

will annihilate these phantoms

that haunt

your mind.

Anything that does not feed your longing

to become a voice for that within you that aches to be heard

must go,

for the creative impulse that beats

the heart of the universe

must remain primal in you.

Because these great works come from the soul,

they have a singular ability to

touch the soul,

Like it has never been touched before.

Art should, and must, be wanton in its desire.

it is the deep russet flame that consumes everything in its wake.

It burns away the dullness of

our complacency

and our

conformity and

our ordinaryness,

Clearing away the deadwood in our minds,

and leaving nuggets

of radiance behind.

For you see, is the divine spark loaned to us for a time,

by that force that some might call


The fire that is a remnant of the first fiery dawn,

which contained all the whirling colors that will ever exist,

in a vast palette of loving desire.

We were given us the creative spark,

And now it dwells within us

An unquenchable hunger,

It is now an ever-growing flame that utterly devours us,

Leaving nothing left of us,

save that which is connected to deep channels of wisdom.

Creativity is an ache

deep within us

a hunger if you will

that knows no respite

It is an exquisite pain that awakens us to heady possibility,

The kind with a capital “P”.

But we cannot keep this heat within us forever,

for we are destined, as you may have heard,

to crumble into the welcoming dust.

Before that seemingly ignoble end, we have a duty

to hand the glowing embers of this gift over

to future generations, by using our artistic gifts to

inspire them.

Let them know, these future versions of ourselves

that creativity arose

in beauteous arcs above the grateful earth once before,

and that these voices not yet born,

to cry out into the void

can, and must, summon the same emotion,

forged from

the strange mutation of intellect

and heart.

Creativity, then, wants to take us on the wildest ride we could ever imagine.

Are you ready to go, at a moment’s notice, to wherever it wants to take you?

you can

you must

let it pull you

let it lead you

to uncover mysteries that are hidden plain as day.

Yet, can only be seen by those who have a fever,

born of imagination.

We harvest mythic treasures from the vast subterranean oceans

of our mind.

Gifts we then gladly trade to the world

in return, we receive the knowledge that our art

uplifts humanity in innumerable ways

both now, and until the end of time

Art will remain,