From the book "Being" by Amber Jade
Copyright 2000 Amber Jade
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Today was sunburnt skin A man balanced rocks by the seashore in impossible poses and she dropped a dollar in his tin We wandered barefoot on the concrete walls above sunbathers and basked in the newness of British Columbia air listening to foreign tongues stilt and slip away from us on every side, wafting in on silent breezes and out again We gathered fresh fruit in a farmer's market blueberries and raspberries, melons and peaches and filled our bellies by the light of the setting sun on the grass by the bay we watched the boats weigh anchor and yachts of partygoers motor to and fro until our limbs prickled with cold forcing us to run back to the van to keep warm Writing by candlelight we made poetry of our night on the north shore where the waters sparkled like fireworks with the city lights and we watched the moon hang low and full on the horizon the harvest moon lulled us to sleep From the book "Being" by Amber Jade
Copyright 2000 Amber Jade It has come time for endings It has come time for goodbyes With careful, slow moves I cut myself from the tapestry I unbraid and leave frayed edges swollen and stinging I work despite the dull ache of my muscles The tearing of some ephemeral skin I weep and the salty tears sting I crawl and my wounds scream I gather my pieces and cast off the limbs that refuse to come clean Only what I can carry heart, liver, lungs my backbone drags behind through the dust I am streamlined, next to nothing The golden arrow of my spirit nearly naked, translucent I pull dreams back in upon myself gossamer intentions flutter like the fragile netting of spider's webs that have been strung to the far reaches of heaven and will recess into the womb of my creation to be rebuilt anew From the book "Being" by Amber Jade
Copyright 2000 Amber Jade Glenn and Joe
Pull off their shoes Compare soles Rubber to leather Discuss the best floor for softshoe Dancing with bad knees Put back Bud Lights Keep jukebox time on the bar Sing along Glenn and Joe Comparing soles Discuss softshoe but Hardshoe themselves into the floor From the book "Being" by Amber Jade Copyright 2000 Amber Jade Don’t get too close, boy
I am not the daytime girl you read about in magazines I am more apt to be afraid I am scorching and careless of you These are not streetlights shining through my skin This is me, so bright and shameless coming through the cracks and I am not asking for repair Don't turn your back on me, boy I am not the late night girl you fantasize about in picture shows I am more apt to be brave I am rocking the boat These arms are weak with swimming but I am not worse for the wear and I am not looking for saving From the book "Being" by Amber Jade Copyright 2000 Amber Jade My dear ones…
We don’t know what we’re doing. Isn't it time to just admit it? You, me, all of us... just... like... duuuuhhhh. We give each other doctorate degrees for learning a lot about what other people who equally don't know what they are doing think. We judge each other, calling people we don't like "stupid", when we don't even really know why we're alive, or what life is, or what the point of all of this is... if there is any. We can get to the moon and we can push our children to score high in tests we invented based on arbitrary metrics, but we can't overcome the urge to eat the brownie, we can't keep our hearts from slamming and our palms from sweating when we step up to a podium in front of a room of peers, and we can't resist judging people based on appearance even when we think we can. We don't understand our own minds, and we can't choose our own choices even when we think we do. What happens when we embrace the truth? Don’t feign indifference, ease, confidence, perfection. Nobody has it. Instagram is a liar. There’s no power in the Emperor’s Clothes. Embrace your weakness, your fear, the overwhelming rage and pain and failure of your daily struggle and identity. Lean into your broken heart and listen to its cry for help. Open your eyes on the human mess left crushed under the weight of invisible urges, habits and thoughts and cultural expectations. Grit your teeth against the taste of how you unknowingly invited this into you, and crushed yourself in order to earn a place in the armpit of an undeserving culture of imitation and lack of fulfillment. Seek the scrape of your fists on the walls and the bruising of your knees on the rock bottom of your isolation, guilt, shame, and regret. Never brace yourself for the inevitable fall. Never stall before your arrival at that point of no return, but bring it forever closer to the light, closer to your beating heart, and closer to the surface. Bring your sensitivity into sharp relief, dive into your irritation and desire to change something, anything, and light a flame under your utter resolve to break free. There is nothing that fuels the evolution of the human race more than a complete conscious refusal to accept less than joy, less than connection, less than communion, less than truth, less than love. And you deserve all of it. Bring that point of breaking forward until it is hot and raw and bleeding on your kitchen table. Don't avoid it, burying it under layers of memory, repression, ignorance. This hot red poker in your side is your ticket to motion, piercing through the veils of complacency, an ignition switch launching you toward the being that you came to BE. The pain is a gift, wanting to throw you into action, to force you to release all the ties that bind and the baggage that suffocates you, and to cast off all chains as you rise into the unknown, kicking and screaming in every direction, as you fight for the gulp of fresh air you, my dear one, deserved since the first breath you took. You didn't come here to slowly drown in the whirlpool of complacency. You came here to learn to live fully and authentically. You came here to breathe, sharp and clean and possessively, drawing in that aliveness you long for in a sweet and tonic soprano of light, and exhaling the great great confusion of disappointing years of dissonance. You are the cauldron, the epicenter of the machine of transformation, and the zero point between what is and what can be. You are the event horizon. Choose, choose, and choose again, even when there seems no choice, to raise that rocky bottom of everything you fear until it is up so close that you no longer have to fall through the depths to reach it. Raise it up until you stand on it every day, and say: Today I will only go forward into the unknown, and rise higher. I will accept nothing less. This very moment is the point of no return, and every moment thereafter. I will not wait to make the change I know I must make. I will not waste my life drowning and waving for help. I will save me. I will rise. I am a fish who has learned to fly I am forever changed Let go your teeth I cannot take you on my back Your gills would only dry and crack and it looks so far down from up there The summer sun you idolize would only burn if you get too close and the clouds are not sufficient rain for fins you must have wings for sky things let go let go and swim some things were meant to be so I am weary of bringing hail and leaves for you to see and the soot shores that turn my feathers black are spent and will fall away beneath me I will not be held any longer by time and tide I am not of sea, but made of flight so turn eye and tail return to the deep I am the pearl you cannot keep From the book "Being" by Amber Jade
Copyright 2000 Amber Jade After one sweaty summer show in a park, I was approached by one of my loyal fans. Let’s call him Sam. Sam was one of those fans an artist dreams about having: supportive, active, an ambassador of your message. He had bought several large boxes of my CDs to give away to friends and family the Christmas before, and singlehandedly paid my rent that month. He was a good guy with a heart of gold. Sam pulled me aside and told me this story, and it changed my life: Sam’s brother-in-law, let’s call him Jim, had recently become estranged from Sam’s sister. Jim was a good guy, too. But, Jim had a very, very bad problem. It was a sad, but all-too-familiar story: After several years of experimenting with drugs and alcohol, Jim had developed a devastating addiction to heroin. Heroin? How? It was unclear to Jim how he got there. There was no decisive moment, no single misstep to blame for what came next. Everyone else seemed to have a better perspective on his fall from grace than he did. It felt like one day he was walking through his life, perhaps a little stumble here and there, and the next he was sliding slowly down an icy hill, picking up speed, until a rocky bottom came up at him faster than he could figure out what happened. He hit the ground with a resounding clunk. Jim's wife left him. He lost custody of his children, and then lost visitation rights. He lost his job, his home, his friends, and his health. His collarbone jutted out of his T-shirt, and his arms and toes were bruised and speckled with needle marks. If things didn’t turn around, he knew, he could soon lose his life. Jim’s existence was spiraling completely out of control, but no matter what he tried, he couldn’t seem to stop it. A series of failures and slights along the way were blows that took chunks out of his soul. He had lost all faith in himself. That Christmas, Jim found himself sitting alone on a cot in a homeless shelter, skinny, cold and pitifully lonely, with his few remaining possession scattered around him. It seemed like the whole world had forgotten him. A black cloud of inescapable darkness had him tightly in its grip. But, then... a tiny ray of light broke through. Unexpectedly, Sam dropped by, and handed Jim the only Christmas gift he would receive that year, the “Breathe” CD. It was a brief and slightly awkward visit, but the gesture of kindness echoed through Jim's frail frame. "Breathe" wasn’t the kind of music Jim would normally listen to, but life at the shelter was both painfully lonely and painfully overcrowded, and today he just needed a little peace. So, he placed the CD into his portable CD player (one of the few possessions he hadn't sold to pay for his addiction, yet) put his headphones on, and lay back on the squeaky cot with his eyes closed, hoping to escape his harsh reality, if only for a moment. In a few minutes, the lyrics “When can we feel sober, now that we’ve hurt for so damn long,” floated through his ears. His eyes flew open as the words struck a chord within him. What was this about? He flipped the CD case open and pulled out the insert. The song was called “Sober.” One simple word that, for so long, had seemed impossible to live. “Hold on. Trust that solace finds you still…Trust your soul to miracles.” He scoffed at the words. Yeah, right. Then, one line hung in the air, “We still hold everything, and the grace to make a stand.” Something shifted inside him. A little more room to breathe. After everything goes wrong, what if we still have the grace to make a stand? What if it is possible? For the first time in over a year, Jim felt like there was light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe he was still worth something. Maybe there was a chance to prove it. If not to everyone else, then at least to himself. The possibility felt both terrifying and electrifying. It overwhelmed him and he found himself in tears, listening to the song on repeat, over and over. Jim cried for what seemed like hours, then picked himself up, and made a decision that would change everything. Within 6 months, Jim had gone through rehab, was 3 months sober, and had rejoined his wife and children back at home. He’d found the strength to conquer his demons, and to reclaim the life he thought he’d lost. A month later, Jim asked Sam to thank me for changing his life, for writing the song and giving him the message that he still had time to change his life for the better. He was too shy to thank me himself. After sharing the story, Sam left. I sat a long time contemplating what I'd heard. I was shocked, honored, and overwhelmed. I also knew an imposter when I saw one. Here’s the truth: I hadn’t written the song about actually getting sober. "Sober" was a metaphor for completely different subject, a story about a friend of mine, the abuse she suffered in her relationships, and the illogical decisions we humans make in pursuit of connection. Jim's interpretation of "Sober" was completely his own. And so was his triumph. As a young artist, of course I tended to get all wrapped up in what I had to say, thinking my message was Important, with a capital “I”. I wrote to change the world for the better, but when it happened, it wasn't how I expected, and I certainly didn't deserve a single ounce of credit. Here was proof that what I had to say to the world was not nearly as powerful as what someone has to say to themselves.I was immensely humbled in that moment, and learned something I’ve held onto since then... It is in our nature to evolve, to grow, to be resilient, and to become better versions of ourselves. All we need is a reason to let go of the anchor of our perceived limitations, so we can reach out and grasp who we really are. Perhaps the greatest gift we can offer is not perfection, or solved problems, or righteous action, but to be willing to see possibility within each other. Perhaps we don't need to define what that possibility is, but just to allow it to exist in all its evanescant glory, like a beacon in the night. When I look back on that story now, I realize that Jim changed my life as much as I changed his. We both gave and got what we needed most. Jim needed to see that he could have faith in himself, and I needed to see that I could have faith in others. In the end, we chose to become the cure to what ailed us. So here's to Jim, wherever he is today. I hope warm, safe, happy, connected and always evolving.
And here's to Sam, for being a bringer of light into dark places with his kindness. I have a feeling you will be in the library
Book in hand, half in some other world You will always smile predictably and perfectly when you look up and see me observing you from afar in the dust-lingering quiet You'll close your book, and ask me "What?" And blink And I will say "Oh, nothing..." You will wait awkwardly, but warmly, for me to turn on my heel Before you resume "What" is that I don't want a library of love With hearts locked away in intellectual discourse Straightened up in a proper binding of intellect and reason I am vermin I am hungry for destruction For the mingling of tails and claws Fur and teeth and writhing And ripping your pretty words to shreds I don't think it will be long before you realize you don't love me That warm smile reads: I am fascinating because You are frightened of me and... You just don't know it yet Copyright 2020 Amber Jade I am clenched teeth and taut arms braced for the neglected times in-between your touch when no mere love song can possibly repair seconds I am un-sewn and I find myself watching your eyes colors of the calm sea for signs of a stirring wind afraid of hating you for all the moments you may dissappear and you are out there not looking back at me From the book "Being" by Amber Jade
Copyright 2000 Amber Jade |
Amber Jade
Amber Jade - Clicking my heels and irreverently tripping the light fantastic all the way to nirvana, with a 50lb bag of cheese puffs in tow. Archives
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