Eric M. Petit

To Hold the Knife’s Edge

 

Do not be a sculpture, made and shaped in the minds of others.

Do not be the creation of anyone or anything but yourself.

Remember, though, that sculptures undergo the hammer and the chisel.

The carver of wood often cuts it to the core to get at its shape,

Peels its skin to give it another, sands its rough edges with the rasp.

The potter bakes the clay in fire and the smith strikes hard upon the anvil.

It takes courage to be one’s own creation, to hold the knife’s edge,

To the neck of the parts of us that must be cut away,

To stand still while the fire melts your bones molten,

To stay upright under your own heavy blows.

It is far easier to close your eyes and sleep awhile,

To let others do the work and never look in mirrors,

For fear of what they have made of you in the darkness.

Be fearless in your own creation, do not run from mistakes,

You cannot dream so far that you may not follow.

Live so vigorously that the rest of the mundane world despises you.

Do not fear to touch and taste and feel every sensation.

Be filled with fire and passion and the drive of intimate curiosity.

Never stop questioning the things you do not understand or believe.

Formulate and reformulate your own ideas concerning everything.

Do not go along meekly with anything you find false or foolish.

Do not fear to change course or abandon a sinking ship,

Or even a ship that is soundly sailing you in the wrong direction.

Constantly challenge that which you have always been told must be.

Resist the temptation to be normal, to be regular, to fit the paradigm.

Crawl out of the old molds, old tombs, old ideas, rethink yourself.

Resist the urge to walk in the same direction as everyone around you.

Break the seal and lose the virginity of your mind in hot flesh and blood,

Birth and rebirth new thoughts in the fertile womb of creation within you.

Approach the world with a fine and curious spirit.

Touch and know many passions, desires, loves and urges.

Make lavish meals of taboos and forbidden fruits.

Let no one convince you of the unimportance of your own joy.

Life is for living, if your own is untenable then make another,

Discard what harms and offends, disband that which kills the mind.

Pretend not to be anything than that which you truly are,

For within pretense is buried the little seed of the soul’s dying.

Given time it will grow its poisonous plant in you,

Bear slow and deadly fruit beneath the mask and gown.

Cast them off and be naked and free, there is no shame in you,

There is nothing to fear and nothing to hide in your clean spirit.

Let no one and nothing lay stones of guilt upon your heart.

Instead be wildly free, vastly different in your intricate peculiarities,

Revel in the exquisite beauty of your own heart, mind and body,

Touching, making and remaking the world that is,

Creating from yourself the world that burns at the bottom of your soul.

 

Eric M. Petit