All or none.

Just a phrase 

for letting go

the dream you dreamt.

Go for broke.

Just another phrase

for foolish impulse

and sliding hours.

Be at it.

Stopwatch. Each day.

An hour’s void

from the

battering world.

Shush the pounding.

Take your eye

off that horizon.

Hear the whisper.

See the image.

In the void

the daemon beckons

dead centre

within.

Heed the call.

Keep your eye peeled.

There’s no horizon

but the one within.

Losing the whisper,

catching it again,

in the void you meander

to a pulsing strange thing.

It isn’t the dream

you dreamt.

Something else

entirely.

What’s left after

you sliver and scrape

and clear the detritus.

The original thing,

the one

you didn’t dream.

The dream

you’ve dreamt,

a shadow

of this strange joyful thing

cupping your soul.

You go down

on your knees,

forehead touches

the ground

for the grace that lit you

from within.

You see at last.

It wasn’t you

holding the dream.

It was the dream

that held you whole

without rent or seam.

(Poem triggered by “daemon” from Elizabeth Gilbert’s TED talk Your elusive creative genius.)