Oh, to be seen…

greatest fear,

most secret wish. 

Oh, to be loved…

Always running from,

Always longing to be caught. 

Oh, to fly…

Cage door flung open, 

Still gripping the perch. 

Oh, to love…

Safely at a distance,

Terrifying when held. 

And then…

Chelsey Whitlow


I am 


I am a thousand tiny pieces, Scattered and reaching. 

I am a puzzle, Corners most distinguishable. 

I am a storm shrouded Wednesday, Letting loose in torrents. 

I am a sun soaked Sunday, Warm and bright and restoring. 

I am water, Born in a desert land. 

I am fire, One in a long line of passionate others. 

I am a whisper, A remnant of a history raised in shadows. 

I am an echo, Of all I have encountered. 

I am sorrow, An ache ever present to those who gave up the fight. 

I am laughter, Against the odds. 

I am forgiveness, Given and received. 

I am irrational hope, Thread together by grace. 

I am a curious collection of opposites, Fearful and driven, lost and found, hidden and illuminated. 

I am an endless story. 

Chelsey Whitlow



I love them each, in impossible ways. 

One is my future, the other my past. 

One shattered me without apology, opening wide what I was too afraid to see.  The other will thread me back together, carrying my grief like his own. 

One brought me to life, breathing fire into frozen places. The other will sustain it, exhaling cool water over the burns left behind. 

One is the autumn I fell in love, the other a winter’s shelter. One is eternal spring, the other the summer I’ll never forget

Who am I to have been loved by both so completely?

Who am I to have been chosen to live and fight and love beside them both? 

They are mine…

But I no longer belong to them both. 

Chelsey Whitlow 



It’s a funny thing, inspiration. 

Sometimes it creeps up on us slowly; a gradual revelation. Other times, it blind sides us; a marvelous shock to the system. And other, darker times, it’s elusive, distant, taunting; leaving us grasping. 

Last weekend I got the opportunity to wander through the Dallas Museum of Art with one of my best friends and I was reminded of how important inspiration is. My visit was a much needed adventure for this creative soul. I didn’t realize how desperately I needed a shock to my system. I didn’t realize how much I needed to be blind-sided by some art. 


One painting in particular, hit me like a Mac truck. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. No photograph does it justice. But something about the movement and the color and the texture…it haunts me.

Have you ever had those moments? When something or someone comes along and so captures your heart or imagination, you just know you won’t be able to forget? You don’t want to forget…

I’m not sure precisely what it was about this piece that grabbed hold of me so tightly. What about it struck so aggressively at such a tender nerve inside me.  Maybe the scale of it, the photograph above doesn’t come close to showing its size. Perhaps it was the movement of the paint and how it seemed to be both moving and still on the canvas. Maybe it was the violent color or the texture leaking out and the fact that I literally ached to reach out and touch it. I don’t know. But it took hold of my imagination in an instant and has been in a wrestling match with it ever since. A thousand thoughts and stories have been clawing their way to the surface. All because of one stunning painting. I wonder if the artist ever fathomed what his art could inspire in another soul. 

Isn’t that what we are all searching for in some way? What we desire, even if we don’t recognize it all the time? Those things, moments, people, that light a fire within us and inspire us to dream something outside ourselves? Something bigger than we thought ourselves capable of? Those things, moments or people that ask us questions without words, that challenge our emotions without agenda, that make us believe in impossible ideas? Don’t we all want just a taste of some sort of inspiration, even if it looks different for each one of us? 


Some people may think spending most of a day wandering around an art museum is a waste of time. I know some of the people who asked what I did on my mini vacation thought so. But it wasn’t a waste of time for me. It was a much needed revelation. Art, just like music or words, is fuel. It’s a sort of magic, unique and purposeful.  In my opinion, we don’t take enough time to appreciate these things. 


Daily life is hard. It often weighs us down and can destroy us if we let it. If we let it. We need to be reminded that we have a choice. We always have a choice. To see the world differently. To see its beauty and the beauty we are capable of creating, rather than always seeing the hate and uncertainty and ugly (which are often easier to see).  We need to be reminded that we are incredible, complex, emotive, magnificent creatures, echoes of our own Creator. 


We need to be reminded that we are not alone and art, music, writing…they connect us. 


We all need to be inspired. And in turn, maybe we will inspire someone else along the way.


I am grateful Kazuo Shiraga thought the painting above was important enough to create. I am grateful it’s left its mark on my soul, along with many others I saw last weekend. And I am grateful there are those in the world who think art and music and writing are necessary, life-giving, and important. 

If, for no other reason, than I need it.


 What’s inspired you lately?