The Divinity Of Tragedy

Hello, fellow Muse callers; welcome back to the inspiration holler. I am a survivor of a traumatic childhood; I have an adulthood undeniably peppered with disability and hardship. So where does the soul-searching and finding oneself end and the whining and complaining start?

Is there a point at which it becomes gauche to mine a painful past for material, turning your life into a circus if you will, and not simply a therapy device or “writing what you know?” I would say that point begins when the writer stops getting any emotional benefit from their writing and starts feeling like an exhibit put on display.

You can sometimes see this happening in real time. Usually, it is easier to see video “Content creators” turning a corner, from being open and honest in their healing journey to suddenly becoming combative and accusatory with their followers. In many cases, harassment and abuse from said followers is the root of that change, to be sure.

I sometimes see part of it is that the artist has found little need to keep delving into the painful past now that they have found some closure through their art. Or the loud, angry, hurt person they started as gaining “fame” and interest from internet people has been calming and softening. Still, they feel unable to show the new self they have presumably been working hard to create because they don’t want to lose followers or break the niche they started in. So, creating the content they once loved becomes a painful dredging up of personal history they would rather move past.

Healing changes you, just like trauma changes you. For that reason, I use a wide variety of tones in my poetry. Some days, I am wrought with despair and guilt, so much so that it’s all I can do to write about my situation to get me through it. On other days, I feel good; I want to revel in the beauty and wonder of life. I have to take full advantage of those good days.

I am not going to miss opportunities to dive into my heart’s tender joys because some might expect another sad piece of depression fodder. I cherish the opportunity to express what joy there is to be found in life right along those deep, mournful sorrows. All of us are affected somehow by the rich tapestry of human emotion, and though I certainly think we all should find our voice and style, poetry is for playing with. Writing is a wonderfully healing art with mutable limitations constantly being pushed and warped.

In my opinion, recognizing my tendency to write purely from a place of emotion, looking deeper than my trauma, unlocked my greater writing potential. If I only write on bad days, relying purely on the pain, I will find my work dwindling to a place of writer’s block and frustration and constantly beating my head against a wall of agony. With the occasional bout of intense productivity and relief. That a professional writer could never make.

Here is a Muse calling exercise:

If you are not already otherwise inspired, walk away from your devices but keep something to write with handy. Make a short list of a few favorite pieces of media. They could be books, paintings, TV series, anything. Don’t go interact with any of these, but pick the one that seems most striking and start the ole noggin a-runnin’

• Give a short summary or description of the piece (without cheating)

• Give a thorough description of what you find entertaining or inspiring about it.

• Critique it, both the positive qualities you admire and find the negative qualities that could be improved.

• How does this one piece relate to the artist’s overall body of work? If you don’t know, this is where you may need to do some research.

• Now, write something inspired by what you have considered.

I hope if you are prone to writing in one tone and you find yourself leaning in a different direction, even if, for a moment, you will explore those uncomfortable feelings. Maybe bright, love poetry is out of your comfort zone, but that doesn’t mean your heart may not yearn to explore that area. Not everyone has to be as boldly ridiculous as me and give their poetry to the person who inspires it. Still, the next time you feel words start to bubble up inside your heart, no matter who or what motivates them or how insignificant or silly they may seem, run with it!

Right now, it feels like I will never run out of light or dark shades for my writing; that is not to say I will never take any breaks from writing again or that my muse will never take on another form or even go quiet. It is why I keep a daily writing habit, letting myself feel, exploring what is inside, and expressing myself freely. There may come a day when I will have very little to say regularly on the topic of trauma and grief. I will have plenty to say on other topics; I already do.

I look at other writers, I read on other sites, and especially here on Substack; I read so much outstanding writing, and it speaks to the universal truth. Writers and people generally want to be heard and understood, no matter where they live or their age or socioeconomic status. More than that, we want our words to resonate with others and bring value to their lives, not just ring out on deaf ears. It is why all these apps, websites, etc… have likes, and claps, or little hearts to light up. It isn’t just for an ego boost; it is so we can gauge whether or not what we put into the world resonates with those we are communicating with.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedThe Divinity Of TragedyPraying for rain to Wash away these bloody tear stainsProstrate in supplication Sending our anxious beggings awayThe only entrance fee to The temple of inspiration Flesh-twisting agonyBathing in milky charity Dropping the coppery coin Only if everyone can seeUnwilling to heal the pain Since it's the only thing Fueling the life-giving fire Energizing the iconic images We desperately create with broken fingersLiving in fear of the day anger fades Without it, who will remember All the injustices Living in our white-washed headsOnce we have given Satisfactory proof of conceptShown we can stand In the hallowed place we once satDo we then keep at it Make it a habit, ritualize it?Undaunted by the lack Of saintly recognitionDriven back To creation in the naked blackNo one is owed a pat on the backWe all must live For the love of the actPouring ourselves into the arcane craftSoul bound to our callingInfusing each work with rapturous rhetoric

—Poem first published in Bouncin’ and Behavin’ Poems on Medium.com June 7, 2023