A little less than a year ago, I was at the Jentel Foundation in Wyoming, writing my new poetry book.
As the weeks passed, it became very clear to me that this book was the second half of the story that began in ‘Crisis’.
Then, one night while making dinner (Ok, Madelin was making dinner; I was drinking wine), we got into a discussion about the requests I’ve gotten to record an audiobook and my radically fast speaking voice. Post-dinner, the idea hit me like a lightning bolt in the shower (where all the best ideas occur) and today I am happy to announce that I am in the finishing stages of a multi-media work called:
The audiobook will feature BOTH Part 1: Crisis, and Part 2: Revelation, PLUS my new original song entitled Resurrection, produced by Arno Nurmisto. Also included are original art pieces by Justin Hoekstra, Anthony Pinata, and Madelin Coit, three of the incredible artists I lived with for a magical month in Wyoming. 🙂
Cover art was hand-drawn by my dear friend and multi-talented artist himself, Nesto Rhea.
Audio production has been beautifully handled by Vito Viscuso
THE RELEASE AND RECLAMATION OF VICTORIA KERYGMA
will be available in digital AND hard copy, so stay tuned for the release date!!!!
We were born with brains and spines.
(And the choice to use them as we see fit)
I experimented with various techniques
Weighed the dangers and benefits.
I struggled through years of trial and error
Of internal peace and war,
And gradually gained a truth worth all the pain.
Here’s what I’ve learned thus far:
When I slouched and let my thoughts run amok
Pain came, filled my body and head.
When I sat with care and reasoned with intention,
Growth and wisdom resulted.
Discipline creates character
And makes a brain into a mind.
And strength is built when we make the choice
To have backbone, instead of a spine.
I carry with me the magic of light dancing on a stream in a handful of glitter,
I remember the dusky clouds each time I pass a hand through my sunset hair,
The life and aroma of the hyacinth I keep close to my nose in an unbroken circle,
The beauty of love I carve into my skin, that my heart may be kept aware.
You may not see or hear or perceive the world that I do around me,
Or maybe it doesn’t mark your outsides, like patina, as it does to me.
But all that I am reflects my connection with the majesty and glories of this world.
Yet you look back at me, and say what you see is a person who is clearly- unnatural.
I write about the inner struggles of the individual; the pains of the soul, mind and heart. Is this because I am insensible to the struggles of society? Quite the opposite.
I believe that systemic persecution, oppression and inequalities arise out of damages unhealed in the lonely, singular being. Repair the damage in the man, and you prevent the damage he may do to a nation.
Modern rhetoric, with its dependence on pithy memes and ‘top 10’ lists, homogenizes the population, then offers generalized, flippant solutions to complex dysfunctions. No longer are you ‘John Smith’; you’re a ‘leftist, millenial male’ or a ‘conservative, white-collar Christian’, and once you’re categorized, certainly prescriptive guidance can be offered that applies equally to everyone of your ‘type’.
Our singularity is lost in the generic character of our problem-solving.
As an artist, I focus on the small wound, on the crack that becomes a break. In stories of failure and misfortune, I don’t indict; I console. We have all fallen short. I seek to examine where the trouble began, retrace our steps, and do better next time.
If you see yourself in a character, or hear your tragedy in a song, or watch your inner demons dance in a poem, you know that you are not alone.
In the strictest sense, poetry is words arranged into verse. But for me…poetry is the basis of human existence.
Certainly, the words are the raw material. But they needn’t be written. They can be spoken, sung…represented by drawings or sketches. They can be the thoughts that pass through one’s brain early in the morning, before logic and reason have warmed up their machines to make the cogs run smoothly.
When I came to this conclusion, I realized that I’d been a poet all my life. Not merely once I’d started writing structured verses in earnest. From the songs I’ve composed to the ink on my body, I’ve been searching for and creating meaning out of the occurrences, emotions, and phenomena of the human experience. All in the pursuit of truth.
And the longer I’ve pursued, the more convinced I’ve become of its mercurial nature. Truth is subjective. Truth is malleable. And it is the only thing worth striving for.
Not universal truth, for that doesn’t exist. Hold an opinion of any kind, and you will find numerous authorities and articles to support it. You will also be inundated by proofs to the contrary. So looking for truth from human sources, which are fallible, is fruitless.
You can find opinions that resonate with your own belief system. But that leads you right back into self. What do YOU believe is true? And why do you believe it? What comfort/fear/hope/despair/salvation does it offer you? And is it worth sharing?
This is why poetry exists. To share the truths that each poet has discovered on his or her path. These are as valid as the studies in medical journals, perhaps more; to wit, the scientific facts of cancer bear less truth about life with the disease than does a sonnet penned by a survivor.
Writing poetry is not a whimsical pastime. It is, in fact, perhaps the most important perpetuation of a culture’s humanity. Ideas and ideals that reveal prejudices and passions, sometimes timely, sometimes timeless, bleed through every line of a well- written poem.
I often say that I am not even real, that I am just a metaphor. That my songs reveal my thoughts, that my poems reveal my heart, that my outward appearance reveals my soul. Every part of me is a canto in the story of my journey…and I have miles to go.
