Blog 21: Teach Me to Be Your Voice | When Inspiration Trusts You

Teach me to be your voice!

Teach me to hold you in sacred seeing.

Unbothered.

In Love.

  Simply in Love.

Allow me to get softer

 … so I can receive your brave moment for entrusting me with your tone.

I allow your expression. 

And know it doesn’t have to be brilliant. 

It doesn’t have to be complete.

Just real. 

Here.

And such is the thread of inspiration.

We identify with our creation or think it’s us expressing. I seem to have emptied enough to see that this is not the case. I’m not sure if it’s not the case in my case or if that’s just how it is … Let’s just say, in my case, I’m the witness—with a voice, hands, and feet.

An enabler into form.

When I put it this way, there’s an emergent implication that I’m just doing this thread a favor,  and I am—let’s say—lesser than it. But this is a very dynamically fragile relationship.

For this relationship to exist, the softness and vulnerability that one must muster (funny enough) for the thread to build enough courage in itself to take the leap into descent, is in itself the gift.

A gift that cannot be shared so much in its moment, so it feels highly unique—specifically individualized.

Let's pause here for another second.

This does feel familiar—doesn’t it?

We used to be that thread. A thread that wanted expression, then mustered enough courage to leap into density, into whatever space felt it could express it. Then ... Godspeed.

And now—now we carry the remembrance and the experience of hosting a thread through.

Sometimes it’s not about starting, or finishing, breaking the internet, or blowing minds. Sometimes it’s a quiet awe that can’t be shared—because it’s so deep it would fade in translation.

Those moments—those tender threads wanting to come through—are the true creators’ gifts. Whether they sum up to something or not.

The true function of these threads is in the tending to them. Our own softening toward them. To keep the door open just enough... and practice those vulnerability muscles. To prove to our bodies that it’s safe to do so.

No—more than safe—pleasurable. Beautiful.

It’s like petting your dog. Your heart melts, the worries slide off—even if it’s just for a second. And in that moment, there’s no projection. Not “How is this going to land?” Not “Who’s going to get it?”

Even if it’s just for a second of true creation— It has been witnessed. It’s logged. It’s true.

Perhaps you are holding a thread today, too.

Breathe in. Can you feel what wants to come through?