However you express yourself it is for relief. We are exhaling creatures. Our many orifices can atest to that. Bottling up stimulation bloats us. Saps our energy. We lose psychic sensitivity. Spirits must be burped.
Exhalation takes many forms. Powerful expressions of war and murder are far too commonplace. Syria is one big murderous belching orifice. It’s already descending into sectarian savagery. The religious mad must be licking their chops in anticipation of a violent rapture.
When exhalation is artistic we feel the real fulfilment of our purpose in the universe. We gain clarity. Questions are answered. Bolted doors fly open. The road spreads far and wide for renewed adventure. Many artists were consumed by their expression. Maybe they were the lucky ones. Their unique bursts will shine forever.
Sometimes I am swamped by negative retching. It takes iron will to keep from drowning in the deluge in my head.