#35 The Work Unseen

You kinda have to be an artist to understand.
That behind each masterpiece of art lies work unseen.

That thousands of brushstrokes went into building the technique
That many paintings were discarded in the pursuit of perfection
Into the muscles mastering the precise control and co-ordination
Into having the patience to repeat, over and over, for every flaw
That which is before you is the sum of far more than just the time to create that one piece of work.
But only an artist would understand


You kinda have to be a musician to understand.
That behind each masterpiece of music lies work unseen.

That thousands of hours went into building the technique
That many melodies were discarded in the pursuit of perfection
Into developing the rhythm which will guide every beat
Into having the patience to repeat, over and over, for every flaw
That the work before you is the sum of far more than just the time to create that one piece of work.
But only a musician would understand.


You kinda have to be an athlete to understand.
That behind each masterpiece of athleticism lies work unseen.

That thousands of hours went into building the technique
That many techniques were discarded in the pursuit of perfection
Into the muscles mastering the precise control and co-ordination
Into having the patience to repeat, over and over, for every flaw
That the work before you is the sum of far more than just the time to create that one piece of work.
But only an athlete would understand.


You kinda have to be a scientist to understand.
That behind each masterpiece of knowledge lies work unseen.

That thousands of hours went into building the thesis
That many ideas were discarded in the pursuit of perfection
Into understanding exactly every assumption and justification required
Into having the patience to rethink, over and over, for every flaw
That the work before you is the sum of far more than just the time to create that one piece of work.
But only a scientist would understand.



Yet it took me a long time indeed to understand
That behind each masterpiece of any field lies work unseen.

That thousands of hours went into building the technique
That many techniques were discarded in the pursuit of perfection
Into developing any skill to the point that no one else could imitate it
Into having the patience to repeat, over and over, for every flaw
That the work before you is the sum of far more than just the time to create that one piece of work.

That every thing masterpiece you witness
Is the sum of a lifetime so far
That no truly great work is achieved without great effort behind the scenes
Without all the sacrifice, all the pain,
                                                     and all the work unseen

And I think that, just possibly, I'm beginning to understand.

#34 Roses

I've always been told,

"Why can't you just stop for a second and smell the roses?

Can't you see how pretty it is?

Feel how soft it's petals are?

How the thorns give pungent imagery about the intertwined nature of beauty and danger?

Just stop and appreciate the rose."

It might just be me, 

But I'm far more interested in the bit of graffiti

Etched imprecisely on a tree

Saying SW loves JD

In the slightly damaged branch

In the bit of litter on the ground

In the butterflies dancing with each other

In the oak that stands many meters tall

In the little bit of rope on the strongest accessible branch indicating the absence where a swing used to be

In the pattern of flowers that means nothing at all

I love the sound of a river streaming

I adore the rustling of leaves indicating the hidden life I can't see

I like stopping in a place with long grass indicating no one really stopped here before

I like to stop to try to work out why on earth I've stopped at all

And yes, sometimes, I like to stop to smell the roses.

But the only reason we can stop at all is because the rest of the time we're moving.

We can only stop so many times.

And I have to say, that when I stop

I want it to stop for my own reasons

And find my own beauty in this world.

#33 To care about something

It's quite odd that we view not caring about something as cool
I don't know why, but I had this feeling all the way through school
That it was wrong to have any greater goal and mission
That the greatest sin was the pride of ambition

Cynicism is king, scepticism the jester
That the worst person is the one who invests their
Time trying to be an active go-getter
Making fun of anyone trying to get better

All of this, sort of builds into a general theme
That to care about something is entirely obscene
To try to strive in a new direction
Is tantamount to utmost insurrection

And now I regret not doing more
That I didn't have more things to try for
For now the most fascinating people I know
Are those who've been driven be something greater since the word go

Because it's only when you take a stand you can realize you're standing on faulty ground
It's only when you've tried your time many times you can realize what you've found
Only when you've tried and failed and tried and failed again
Only when you've defied all odds can you love your mission

So screw convention, and the idea you shouldn't have a passion
Let's have an intervention, because apathy shouldn't be the fashion
Let's all go out in different directions, please go and stop stalling
This is my open invitation, for you to finally find your calling

#32 Breathing

I'm an asthmatic.
Sometimes, I really struggle for breath.
And I have to stay calm.
Can't be mad or fanatic
That way, I walk to close to death
To very dangerous harm.

You treasure seconds
You store them up for later use
Life is more real
The struggle beckons
As you try to reach a truce
So you can still feel

And then suddenly life is back to its normal pace
You're hustling about again, forgetting time is a race
You'll spend days doing nothing at all
Forgetting the moment you hit the wall

Forgetting the sweetness of the first true taste of air after an attack
Forgetting the fleetingness of moments where you didn't know how to come back
Forgetting the alien sound of wheezing coming from no mouth but yours
Forgetting the difficulty of the ground, the feeling of your pores

I have known the value of a single exhalation
Only when you know that can you know inspiration
Take that struggle, and know asthma only highlights what you spend every moment doing
Pull yourself up young muggle, because tonight you realise what is worth pursuing

See, that near death experience has become routine
I can disappear, greet the reaper, and return with absence unseen
It's not often, and normally it's not to severe
But when it is, you'll know if you happen to be near

Breath is short
Words are now even shorter
I become more zen
I'm caught
Possibly down for the slaughter
Life is precious again



Context: So, I've had asthma since I was a young child. Although the attacks I'm describing now have happened only a few times (usually when I've been an idiot and forgotten my inhaler), the feeling of struggling for each breath is certainly genuine. I do a lot of exercise, run a lot, and take my fitness for granted more than I should. It's really when asthma hits that I realise a lot of my natural inclination towards being athletic is more God given than I would like. And maybe, just maybe, it helps me realise how lucky I am, and help me work to push myself harder.