Recently, as I was turning through the pages of one of many journals, where I write my film ideas, goals, tasks, poems and so much more; I had seen in my list of goals that there was no incentive to write a book of poetry. I had several other screenplays and books that I had planned to write but poetry was no where to be found. And though I have written poetry on and off most of my life, I never knew I would become a published poet.
What lead me to write poetry religiously and also as a daily creative warm-up, was not only the beauty and admiration I’ve had for dancing words, but also to get truly inside myself and be completely present to the now and effortlessly access consciousness, there is no other way to write than to write from beneath your heart and beyond what makes it beat – and being that at the time, all I felt was pain, grief, living death; all that I could create were words that danced with one and other passionately without stepping on each other’s feet.
All this pain and suffering I felt could only be expressed one way – through poems and short stories. And the life-changing event that lead me to this bone-trembling suffering was the loss of my great-aunt, my best friend. The hardest time in my life has brought out words and a deeply rooted hyper-sensitivity that I had never known I was capable of. Suffering manifested an uprising and an overcoming of myself and my grief and my loss. Though it will haunt me for the rest of my life, these nightmares will be my best of friends – they will forever liberate me and in their suffering I will continually find meaning.
I and They are two different species but non-existent without one and other. There is greatness in suffering, and there is meaning, no matter how devastating the situation is; there is always a choice – it’s how we choose to look at out suffering that truly makes us suffer.
I’m grateful for the depth of absolute meaning that Rose Renna made me feel and continues to make me feel on a daily basis. I dedicate all my books of poetry and films to her, every beautiful word that I speak or write, and even every ugly word.
There is freedom in suffering, and I am free.