Letters to a Young Poet(ess) VIII

September 15, 2018
 
Ahavati  
Charlotte, North Carolina  
 
Dear A,  
 
     I am writing to you amidst an approaching hurricane, Florence, who is currently battering the Carolina's coastal regions with heavy wind and rain.  We are expecting 15" by Sunday.  She is a slow moving force inching her way across an uncertain path of terrain.  The wind is an angry mistress, and the rain a lover's tears upon being dismissed.  The rest is breaking chaos we listen to from behind closed shutters and doors.    
 
     So many friends were forced to flee the coastal areas, leaving their homes at the mercy of nature.  My heart is heavy for their loss, and the lives of those who didn't evacuate in time.    
 
     I cannot tell you how happy your return makes me.  The empty space was deeply noticed after your departure.  I think it's very important all poets realize their absense severs a stitch in the fabric connecting us all. Poets gravitate to that which resonates, and are drawn as kindred seeking solace. If we don't share our innate gift, how are we to ever know what could've manifested in our lives.  
 
     The Masters knew this by virtue of their own experience and relationships with mentors. Even beyond are  connections that span generations of poets who never met by virtue of time.  Imagine your favorite poet never having opened publicly, or even in a small poetic community, where I believe reside some of the best poets in the world.  Poets who intimately pen away, and in doing so awaken others by inspiration, who, may or may not, venture into the world themselves.  
 
     And to think the inspiration they carry is in every breath they use to create, all the imagery, each metaphor, every syllable.    
 
     I remember first reading your poetry, and thinking how brave you were for sharing an ordeal you were lucky enough to survive.  This was the very beacon that shown out to those who've also experienced a similar circumstance.  I watched poets migrate and support your journey from the heart of their own. Together you all became One in strength and support of one another; you grew.  
 
     And, it was beautiful to observe.  
 
     You grew beyond the timid hesitance of sharing pain into a confident certainty.  This, and only this is the magic of poetry.  It awakens the spirit, frees the mind, paves the way for inevitable change.  This, this is the test of the poet: to accept that change, and release the beauty of their Muse wherever it should choose to go.  For we do face dry spells, and yearn for its return.  
 
     We must always walk forward. If we remain we become stagnant.  Up ahead another Muse waits beyond the wilderness.  In the interim we absorb, we support, and we believe by faith in the power of poetry to sustain our need, whether written or read. And, most importantly, we do not cower from storms that present themselves.  We do not hide our faces in shame for what we've experienced.  
 
     And we never, ever, apologize for how we chose to survive.  
 
     Instead, we strike lead to paper and we write, we spill, we bleed, and we allow poetry to pour from our veins.  Poetry that will stain our existence with truth; poetry that will outlive even us to inspire another generation, and so forth.  
 
     Never allow circumstance to rob you of your joy.  What or how others perceive us is not our responsibility. Our only debt as poets is to the written word from within ourselves.  Afterall, one does not light a candle and hide it under a bushel.  One lights a candle because one tiny flame illuminates the darkness and becomes a multifaceted Gem shattering color in all directions.  
 
     I look forward to your poetic contributions and presence once again.  You're a true gift to the community, for which most I know most of whom are grateful. Myself included.  
 
    Until such time, I remain in Truth and Love,  
 
    Ahavati  
 
P.S. Your hair is rad! Totally.  
 
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