renunciation

“I very much love those mysterious volumes, both ancient and modern, that have no definite author but have had and continue to have an intense life of their own… True miracles are the ones whose makers will never be known…” - Elena Ferrante, reclusive author

forged in the furnace of an eye,
seen somehow and thus validated,
I could be alone but feel real,
I thought.

true self, however, comes from awareness.
and with awareness comes no need
to be seen in a collective eye,
to be public at all.

you rely on yourself for validation,
having processed your thoughts
and forged your self anew
in the furnace of your own eye,

allowing you space to produce
that which satisfies your need
to make art and communicate.

the nonsense of celebrity recedes,
whittled away by your self-awareness,
as in the ritual of renunciation
you stand before your priests and say

that your life is your own,
but you have a need to make art
and that’s why you’re here,
to talk without posture,
to say in your turning away
that what you have to give matters