david hayward. artist. cartoonist. teacher.

You must go find your own path. The path that that is walked is worn.
You must drink the new wine. The old wine has turned.
You must build your own house. The house of your birth confines you.
You must find your own lands. The land of your origin can’t sustain you.
You must climb your own mountain. The air you now breathe is stale.
You must find your own eyes. The eyes of others are blind for you.
There is a table set for you. But you must go into the midst of animosity to be enjoy it.
There is peace of mind waiting for you. But you must wander into the wilderness to acquire it.
There are friends you’ve never known who long for your love. But you must forsake all to embrace them.
There is new life just ahead, but you must die to find it.

Yesterday, instead of me speaking (since I’m taking a break from it for a while), we invited anybody to read something they’d written. For about an hour several people got up front and read what they’d written. Everyone was astounded. The quality of writing was amazing. There was poetry, journal entries, song lyrics, short stories, proverbs, and things that just can’t be categorized. The youngest to read was my daughter Casile, 15 years old, and the oldest was Joyce, in her 70s. There were people up there who are normally quite vocal and play a pretty visible and audible role in the life of the community. They weren’t surprises. But there were others who never make a peep and hide in the shadows who got up and read some of the most amazing stuff. We were shocked!

This is what I think: when you do something that doesn’t follow the norm, like reading personal journal entries in a religious setting, then something happens. It’s like all of a sudden things are being said that don’t sound religious, don’t have religious overtones and aren’t even at all moralizing. Some of the poetry that was read had to do with physical abuse of a child. Another of the beating of a woman. Some had to do with our blatant disinterest in Darfur. Some had to do with love. One had to do with the death of a sister. One had to do with wanting to die. One had to do with atheism and doubting, questioning and abandoning a god that never seemed to exist to begin with. One had to do with a tubal pregnancy and grieving something that was never even seen. One had to do with wanting to stop this race and just enjoy the view from here. One was a friend’s tribute to another woman in our congregation just diagnosed with Altzeimers. One had to do with depression. And I can fairly say that although they didn’t contain religious vocabulary for the most part, they were very religious in the sense that they testified to something larger than themselves. We all left amazed, encouraged and filled with a sense of awe. Everyone left feeling more creative or the desire to be.

Creativity cannot and should not be edited or controlled or directed. I don’t think most of the people who read thought, when they were writing, “What would God want me to write?” They just wrote what was heavy on their hearts at the time. As a result, it was free, risky and incisive. But because of that it did something. It crossed boundaries. It walked through walls. It altered our reality. We left changed.

The fine art photograph is the creation of my friend Jorgen Klausen.